Ice by Linda Howard Read Free Book Online

bumper dug into the soft dirt of the bank, bringing him to a stop.
    Swearing a blue streak, he stared through the icy windshield at the road ahead.
    No way was his truck going to make it up that hill, and no way was he even going to try it. The rain was still falling, a wickedly gentle rain that wasn’t heavy enough to run off, which would at least reduce the amount of ice that could form on the trees. No, this was the worst possible rain, a slow, light rain that the cold air would freeze before it could slide off the leaves and branches, and had now made the road impossible to drive. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he looked over his shoulder at the road behind him, remembering some of the hills and curves he’d already maneuvered.
    Damn it, fuck, and son of a bitch!
If he’d arrived in town an hour earlier, he would’ve been able to make it to the Helton house and back with no problem. If he’d arrived an hour later, it would’ve already been impossible to make it even this far. Instead he’d arrived just in time to get his ass stuck a little more than halfway up the mountain.
    Shit. He’d have to walk the rest of the way.
    He switched his all-weather cap for a knit cap that he could pull down over his ears, wrestled himself into the hooded poncho his mother had given him—the Ford was a big truck, but he was a big guy, and he needed a lot of room—then tugged on his gloves. His boots were waterproof and warm, too, so at least he was dressed okay for the weather.
    He grabbed the flashlight and got out of the truck, slamming the door with a vengeance, still swearing. He used all the words and variations he’d learned during his years in the army, which was a lot. Why not? No one could hear him, because everyone in their right minds was indoors, preparing for the storm. Not him. No, he had to be out in the damn storm, playing Dudley Fucking Do-Right.
    He put his head down, pulled his knit cap down low to protect his ears, and tightened the drawstring of the poncho hood so the wind wouldn’t blow it back. The last thing he needed was for his head to get wet. Moving to the side of the road where the narrow, weedy shoulder gave him a better surface for walking than the slick road, he plodded forward, realizingwith a boulder in his gut that he was going to have to spend the night at the Helton house. No way was he getting down the mountain now, not unless he decided to walk it—and walking back to town in an ice storm would be damn near suicidal, at least right now. After the rain stopped, walking would be more feasible. Spending the night with Lolly Helton, who would probably be blindly ungrateful, was the better option … barely. Even then, only the thought of Sam tipped the balance toward staying.
    The footing, even on the shoulder, was more precarious than he’d realized. Hell, how had he made it as far as he had without going off the road? Several times, when his feet slipped, he had to grab one of the overhanging tree limbs to keep himself upright. A sense of foreboding seized him when he played the flashlight beam along the branches and saw the layer of ice that already coated them.
    At last he made it to the top of the hill. The road dipped there, then curved once again, but when he looked ahead he saw the lights of the Helton house. So, she was there after all, and hadn’t made an escape earlier in the day. He didn’t know if he was glad his fool’s trip hadn’t been in vain, or angry that he’d had to make it at all. Both, probably. He was pissed, and he intended to stay pissed.
    Even though he could see the lights, the house was still almost two hundred yards away, sitting on the right in a clearing that was surrounded on three sides by the woods. Now that he was at the top, almost, herealized how much the mountain itself had been shielding him from the icy blast of wind, because it hammered at him with such force he almost staggered back. Then it eased, before another gust pounded him. Despite