Chill Factor Read Free Page A

dreamlessly
but,
actually, not that long. As dark as it was, she had expected it to be
much later. The low clouds enwrapping the mountaintop had created a
premature and eerie darkness.
    The ground was now covered with an opaque layer of sleet. It
continued to fall, intermingled with freezing rain and what
meteorologists call snow grains, tiny chips that look more menacing
than their lacy cousins. Tree branches were already encased in tubes of
ice, which were growing discernibly thicker. A strong wind buffeted the
windowpanes.
    It had been careless of her to fall asleep. That mistake was
going
to cost her a harrowing trip down the mountain road. Even after she
reached Cleary, weather would probably factor into her long drive back
to Atlanta. Having dispatched her business here, she was anxious to get
home, return to her routine, get on with her life. Her office would be
a bog of backed-up paperwork, e-mail, and projects, all demanding her
immediate attention. But rather than dread her return, she looked
forward to tackling the tasks waiting on her.
    Besides being homesick for her work, she was ready to leave
Dutch's
hometown. She adored Cleary's ambience and the beautiful, mountainous
terrain surrounding it. But the people here had known Dutch and his
family for generations. As long as she was his wife, she'd been warmly
received and accepted. Now that she had divorced him, townsfolk had
turned noticeably cool toward her.
    Considering how hostile he'd been when he left the cabin, it
was
past time for her to leave his territory.
    Acting hastily, she carried her suitcase into the front room
and set
it beside the door. Then she gave the cabin one final, rapid
inspection, checking to see that everything had been turned off and
that nothing belonging to her or Dutch had been overlooked.
    Satisfied that all was in order, she put on her coat and
gloves and
opened the front door. The wind struck her with a force that stole her
breath. As soon as she stepped onto the porch, ice pellets stung her
face. She needed to shield her eyes against them, but it was too dark
to put on sunglasses. Squinting against the sleet, she carried her
suitcase to the car and placed it in the backseat.
    Back inside the cabin, she quickly used her inhaler. Breathing
cold
air could bring on an asthma attack. The inhaler would help prevent
that. Then, taking no time for even one last, nostalgic look around,
she pulled the door closed and locked the dead bolt with her key.
    The interior of her car was as cold as a refrigerator. She
started
the motor but had to wait for the defroster to warm before she could go
anywhere; the windshield was completely iced over. Pulling her coat
more closely around her, she buried her nose and mouth in the collar
and concentrated on breathing evenly. Her teeth were chattering, and
she couldn't control her shivers.
    Finally the air from the car's defroster became warm enough to
melt
the ice on the windshield into a slush, which her windshield wipers
were able to sweep away. They couldn't, however, keep up with the
volume of freezing precipitation. Her visibility was sorely limited,
but it wasn't going to improve until she reached lower elevations. She
had no choice but to start down the winding Mountain Laurel Road.
    It was familiar to her, but she'd never driven it when it was
icy.
    She leaned forward over the steering wheel, peering through
the
frosted windshield, straining to see beyond the hood ornament.
    On the switchbacks, she hugged the right shoulder and rocky
embankment, knowing that on the opposite side of the road were steep
drop-offs. She caught herself holding her breath through the hairpin
curves.
    Inside her gloves, her fingertips were so cold they were numb,
but
her palms were sweaty as she gripped the steering wheel. Tension made
the muscles of her shoulders and neck burn. Her anxious breathing grew
more uneven.
    Hoping to improve her visibility, she rubbed her coat sleeve
across
the windshield, but all that