Snow falls, p.2
Snow Falls, page 2
“That’s Cooper’s Peak,” she said, motioning to the mountain behind them. “My cabin is on the next ridge. We’re about fifteen miles south of Lake City. My name is...Ryan.”
“I’m Jennifer Kincaid,” she said. “Everyone calls me Jen.” She tilted her head. “Ryan? Is that your last name?”
Ryan lifted a corner of her mouth quickly, then began walking. “It’s just Ryan,” she said.
Chapter Three
Jen stopped short, watching the inviting wisp of smoke circling above the cabin. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Well, yes, she was. She was expecting a simple, weekend-type, one-room cabin. Nothing this elaborate.
Ryan turned back around, motioning to the door which was protected by a sharp, A-frame roof. Snow was piled around it four feet high.
“You coming in?”
Jen hesitated. “This is...this is where you live?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Alone?”
“Well, with the girls,” she said, glancing at the two dogs who waited patiently at the door.
Jen looked around, seeing nothing but white. Even the trees were still covered in glistening snow. “I don’t see a road,” she said.
“No.” Ryan shrugged. “Well, there’s the little Jeep road I use to get to the forest road, but that’s covered with packed snow. Until at least May.”
“So...” she said.
“So?”
“So what does that mean? May?” She could tell Ryan was quickly losing patience with her, but she didn’t know this woman. She could be an ax murderer or something.
“May is when I can get my Jeep out and drive to the forest road. You know, the one you were on. The one that was closed. The one that had a barricade across it. So that idiots don’t drive up here this time of year and get stuck. That’s what I mean. So are you coming in or not? I’m cold and it’s starting to snow again.”
Okay, so the “idiot” word was meant for her. She took a deep breath and nodded. She didn’t really have a choice. Darkness was nearly upon them. She looked up, watching the thickening snow falling around her. She mimicked Ryan, pausing to stomp her boots, knocking the snow off. The snowshoes Ryan had worn earlier were hanging on a hook beside the door, the poles shoved in a corner. Ryan silently handed her backpack to her, then closed the door behind them.
It was blissfully warm inside. Jen followed the dogs to the heat source—a black cast iron stove tucked into one corner. She dropped her backpack on the floor and tore her gloves off, holding out her hands to warm them. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until she was inside.
Ryan joined her, pausing to remove her wool cap. Her dark hair was shaggy and unruly, but all she did was run her fingers through it a few times. Jen stared, just now noticing how attractive she was. Jen, too, took off her cap, knocking off clinging snow that fell to the stove with a sizzle.
Ryan watched her, her gaze sliding from the top of her head to her face. Jen followed with her hand, trying to put some semblance of order to her hair.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan said. “I shouldn’t have called you an idiot.”
Jen smiled. “Well, I suppose it’s the truth. I suck with maps, directions. I was just so sure I was on the right road.”
“Technically, you were. During the summer, the forest road crosses the mountain and skirts Cooper’s Peak. It’s a nice shortcut for me when I go into town. But the lodge is not too far off of the highway, so you’d want to keep going up near Slumgullion Pass. On the paved road.”
“So you...you do go into town then?”
Ryan simply raised her eyebrows.
“I mean, living out here like this, I assumed you were...like a...hermit,” Jen said shyly.
Ryan gave a quick chuckle. “I prefer the term ‘recluse.’ Hermit sounds too much like an old crazy woman.”
“Okay, but essentially the same thing,” Jen said.
“And your point?”
Jen looked away from her dark gaze. “Just curious as to why,” she said.
“I don’t like people.”
Jen took a step away from her. “I see,” she said quietly.
Ryan held up her hands. “I’m harmless. Promise.”
Jen eyed her suspiciously. “And I’m really stuck here?”
“Afraid so. Cooper’s Peak drops its load every year. That’s why they close the road.”
“There was a metal bar across the road, yes. But tracks went around it and it looked well used,” she explained. Of course, at the time, she should have paid more attention. She was just too focused on not getting lost.
“Snowmobilers use it since it’s closed to vehicles,” Ryan said. “But the avalanche buries the road—like it did your SUV—and they won’t bother plowing the lower road until spring.”
“Okay, I’m sorry, but all of that means what? Besides the fact that I’m an idiot,” she said.
“Barring a helicopter rescue, that means you’re stuck here until the lower road is cleared. You’ll still have to hike down to that. Like I said, the road up here this high won’t be clear until May. But I’d think by mid-April, the lower road will be passable.”
April? “Two...two months?”
“Afraid so.” Ryan moved away from the stove, motioning to the kitchen area. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Actually, I really need to pee,” Jen admitted, looking around and wondering if the cabin boasted modern facilities. The kitchen appeared to be fully functional.
“This way,” Ryan said. Jen followed her down a short hallway with two doors. Ryan pushed open one, revealing a very large contemporary bathroom. Jen assumed the other was the bedroom. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment. The reality of her situation hit her full force, and she felt panic grip her. If Ryan hadn’t come along, she would have most likely been caught in the avalanche and killed. And, if she’d survived it, then what? With temperatures well below freezing, she probably wouldn’t have made it through the night.
But here she was, in a warm cabin about to use a flush toilet, in the middle of the proverbial nowhere. Miles from civilization. Sharing space with a “recluse.” And two dogs. For six weeks. Possibly eight.
She met her reflection in the mirror, uncertainty and panic giving way to dread. Could she survive being stuck here for two months?
Chapter Four
Ryan stood at the windows, staring out at the endless white landscape, the thick snow clouds ushering in dusk earlier than normal. It could be worse, she thought. She could have rescued a brash, obnoxious twenty-year-old male. Or a grandmother. So, yeah, it could be worse. Nevertheless, it did put a kink in her plans. She glanced at her desk, her eyes landing on her laptop. She supposed she could still get some writing done. Maybe Jennifer Kincaid would not be nosy and ask a lot of questions. She had her own laptop. Maybe she could stay entertained on her own. She turned when she heard the bathroom door open.
“Thank you.”
She simply nodded and returned to her view. She felt Jen come up beside her.
“This is incredible. Did you build it?”
Ryan nodded. “Took two summers. It’s not huge, but the workers could only work about five months each summer.” She stepped back, deciding to give a quick litany of the cabin and get it over with.
“I have solar panels on the roof and a battery array to run the appliances and lights. I have propane to run the hot water heater, clothes dryer and stove.” She motioned to the windows. “All of these oversized windows face south and west to optimize the natural light. As a rule, I don’t turn on any lights until dusk. I have a couple of small wind turbines farther up the mountain. Nothing fancy but they help recharge the batteries. And I have a generator for those prolonged snowy days when the solar panels are useless.” She went into the kitchen and turned on the faucet and quickly turned it off. “Running water. I have a well with a solar-powered pump. And I have a satellite dish for both TV and Internet.” She shrugged. “All the comforts of home.”
Jen smiled. “Some hermit you are,” she said teasingly. “So that means we have e-mail?”
“Yes, but not at the moment. After a snowstorm, the dish is covered. It takes a day or two for the snow on it to melt,” she explained. “Same with the solar panels. I have steps built to the roof so I can get up there and sweep them off. The dish, though, is on a tower, so I can’t get to it.”
Jen nodded. “I just need to let someone know I’m okay. I assume—when I don’t show up at the lodge—that they’ll call my agent or someone.”
“Your agent?”
“Yes. It was a writer’s workshop.”
Ryan stared at her. She’s a writer? Yeah, it just got worse.
***
“So, a writer, huh? Published?”
Jen nodded and took the cup of coffee Ryan offered. “Thanks. And yes, published. I write self-help books,” she said. “Well, three so far. I know I’m not a literary genius, but I really want to write a novel.” She smiled shyly. “Who doesn’t, right? I have an idea for one, I just don’t quite know how to go about it. That’s why I signed up for the workshop. One month of intense hands-on instruction.”
“At the Pattersons’ lodge?” Ryan asked doubtfully. She couldn’t imagine who would be up here teaching such a class. In February, no less.
“Yes. It’s sponsored by the Colorado Writers Group. They have quite a lineup of talented instructors.” Jen sipped from her coffee, her glance meeting Ryan’s above the cup. “One month. Fiction only. They teach various formats, structures and techniques. Character development and dialogue.” She wrinkled up her nose. “I suck with dialogue.”
“So you’ve tried to write before?”
“Yes. Tried being the key word there. Like I said, I’ve only written self-help books.”
Ryan’s instinct told her to steer the conversation elsewhere, but she was curious. Jennifer Kincaid was nearly bubbling with enthusiasm. Something she herself once had.
“So how does one write a self-help book?”
“Research, research, research. Especially if you don’t have initials after your name.”
“Like PhD or MD?”
“Exactly.” Jen reached for the sugar bowl and added a small amount to her coffee. “But really, I got the idea after reading one of Sara Michaels’ books.” She looked up. “Do you know who she is? She’s from Denver.”
Ryan shook her head. “No.”
“Do you remember several years ago, Senator Michaels was running for president? He went psycho and tried to have his daughter killed. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah. The lesbian daughter,” Ryan said. “She was hiking with a group of women over in the Collegiate Peaks area.”
“Yes, that’s the one. Her work evolved into a center in Denver where people—mostly women—go for classes on how to better themselves. She’s quite popular. Anyway, I read a couple of her books.” She shrugged. “Really, all self-help books are pretty much the same. So I thought, why can’t I write one?”
Ryan kept her smile hidden, surprised at how forthright Jen was being. “So you stole her ideas?”
Jen laughed. “Not exactly. My books tend to lean toward meditation and inner peace to help cope with life’s daily issues. You know—work, finances, spouse, kids. It targets women, obviously. My message is to take time for yourself,” she said. “And use meditation—and yoga—to tap into that magical energy we all have inside. I encourage people to take at least one hour each day that does not involve work or home or spouse or kids. One hour just for you.” Jen’s grin was infectious. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
Ryan arched an eyebrow skeptically. “And you wrote a book about that?”
“Yes. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“And people bought it?”
“Yes. Self-help books are all the rage.”
“And so you’re an expert on meditation and stuff?”
Jen brushed the bangs off of her forehead and sighed. “Okay, while my intentions were good, I will concede that no, I’m not an expert. Who is? I mean, I’ve taken my share of yoga classes. I’ve read countless books on meditation and the benefits of tapping into your own resources, your own energy. I do know what I’m talking about,” she said almost defensively.
“So, just regurgitated information?”
“Isn’t everything? You’re just rewording it, calling it something different. I mean, look at all of the popular diets. Low carb this and low carb that. All the same, yet you can buy ten or twelve different books. All they’ve done is just tweak a few things. My books are no different.”
“So you’re saying that anyone could write a self-help book?”
“Exactly.”
“But if it doesn’t work, don’t you lose credibility?”
“That’s the secret. Whether it works or not is up to the reader. As the author, all I promise is that ‘if you follow the instructions completely’ then it’ll work.”
“I see. And as the author, you make it virtually impossible for anyone to follow it completely so you’re off the hook.” Jen smiled again, and Ryan found she was not immune to her enthusiasm...or her good looks. She was absolutely adorable.
“See? You too could write one. The readers who follow it almost to the T, they get results. How could they not? But if they don’t get what was promised, they put the blame on themselves. Because they didn’t follow it one hundred percent. And quite frankly, most will start out like gangbusters, only to let real life get in the way. So the failure, again, is their own.”
“Sounds simple.”
“It is. Like I said, anyone can write one. But not just anyone can write a real novel. Thus, the writer’s workshop.” They were quiet, both sipping their coffee. Then Jen pushed her cup away and folded her hands together. “What about this helicopter rescue you mentioned?”
Ryan shrugged. “Up this high, they’d have to wait for optimal wind conditions. But since it’s not a medical emergency, I’m not sure what kind of priority you’d have. It would be fairly expensive too.”
“I see. So, I’m really stuck then.”
“You’re really stuck.”
“But you are intentionally stuck. Right? I mean, you said your Jeep road was covered with snow until May.”
“Well, like I said, I’m—”
“A recluse. Right,” Jen said. “So what’s your story?”
Ryan froze, not able to meet her eyes. After spending nearly ten years hiding from the public, only now was she beginning to feel almost normal. Well, as normal as living a solitary life can be. She had no wish to relive the humiliation of the controversy that broke out after the Pulitzer. But instead of telling Jen to mind her own business, she feigned indifference.
“No story.”
“There has to be a story. You’re living up here, isolated. Intentionally, it seems. I mean, letting yourself get snowed in and all.”
Ryan tapped her fingers against her cup, trying to appear disinterested. “I told you, I don’t like people.”
Jen smiled. “You forget. I’ve researched all this crap to death. I just don’t like people is not a reason for all this,” she said, waving her hands at the cabin. “Hermits—or a recluse, as you prefer—want to remove themselves from society. They just want to disappear.”
“Yeah? And?”
“If that was truly the case, you wouldn’t have a satellite dish for TV. And you wouldn’t bother with Internet.”
“I don’t necessarily want to forget about the world, I just want it to forget about me.”
Jen shrugged. “You made mention that you go into town and you knew the lodge by name. That tells me that you’re not quite as reclusive as you pretend.”
Ryan stared at her, knowing she had no retort to her claim. She looked away, saying nothing. If this was going to be a prelude to the kinds of conversations they were going to have for the next few weeks, she might very well fling herself into the canyon. So she stood, her glance going to the dogs, both sleeping near the stove.
“I should start dinner,” she said abruptly.
“Oh, I didn’t even think about that,” Jen said. “I promise, I don’t eat much.”
“I have plenty. The pantries are stocked. Six weeks, even eight, isn’t all that long, you know.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jen said with a laugh.
“We should have Internet back in a day or so. Hopefully that will keep you occupied.”
“What about you? What do you do to keep occupied?”
Ryan couldn’t help to take a quick, longing peek at her laptop. She needed to write. She would go stark raving mad if she didn’t. She was just getting a good feel for the story and she had words bouncing around in her head, begging to get out. But that wasn’t something she could announce. “I have plenty of chores to keep me busy,” she said instead.
To her chagrin, Jen followed her into the kitchen, pulling out one of the two barstools. Ryan felt self-conscious as she stared into the pantry, trying to decide on dinner. Despite her words, eight weeks was going to be an eternity.
“I can help with some of your chores, you know. Like cooking,” Jen offered. “And I mean, don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
Ryan glanced at her, then back to the pantry, eyeing the soup cans.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
Ryan bit her lower lip. God, she had to have rescued a chatterbox, didn’t she? She sighed, grabbing a couple of cans of soup and holding them up for her guest to inspect. “Hermit and all, not used to talking,” she offered as way of an excuse.
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry. I tend to talk a lot, especially when I’m nervous.”
Ryan pulled out a pot. “Are you nervous?”
“Well, yeah,” Jen said with a short laugh. “I mean, I’m apparently stuck here. You’re a stranger to me. I don’t know you, yet I’m at your mercy, basically. And who’s to say you don’t make a habit of abducting unsuspecting tourists and then hacking their bodies into little pieces and burying them in your snow-covered backyard?”
Jen had a smile on her face, but there was a wariness in her eyes that Ryan found surprising. Was she really afraid of her? And here Ryan thought she was being on her best behavior.
