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, realizing with 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, he realized 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 his layers of clothing and the poncho that kept him dry, the wind leached his body heat away and he shivered.
He’d left the two thermos bottles in the truck. Great. He’d give a lot for a cup of coffee pretty damn soon, but no way was he going back for it. He wiped the wind-blown ice crystals from his face. Maybe Lollipop would have coffee. If she did, it would probably be some flavored shit, but if it was hot he’d drink it.
That’s assuming she’d let him inside.
As Gabriel neared the house he pulled his anger in, a little. A lot of years had passed since Lolly had been the spoiled stuck-up brat teenager he remembered. He wasn’t the same, and she probably wouldn’t be either. It wasn’t her fault the sheriff was a control freak where his people were concerned. Most lawmen would’ve been content to assume his constituents could take care of themselves, until informed otherwise. Not Harlan McQueen.
All the lights in the downstairs appeared to be on, as was one light upstairs, in the front room on the right. There was a Mercedes SUV parked beside the front porch, and behind was an old, beat-up Blazer. He could see Lolly driving the Mercedes, but who the hell did the Blazer belong to?
Shit, maybe she had some kind of romantic rendezvous going on. What was he supposed to do now? She wouldn’t want to be interrupted, and he sure as hell didn’t want to do any interrupting. His only other option, though, was to walk back to the truck and spend the night there, hoping that there was enough gas in the tank to keep the truck running most of the night so he wouldn’t freeze to death, at the same time praying that he—and the truck—didn’t get crushed by a falling tree limb. So he guessed Lollipop would have to be pissed.
Tough shit.
Then he frowned at the two vehicles. That was weird. Why was the Mercedes parked out in an ice storm, when the garage was right there at the rear of the house? Why hadn’t she parked in there, to protect her vehicle?
Instinctively he switched off his flashlight.
Before he stepped onto the porch steps, Gabriel slipped into a deep shadow and came to a dead stop. Ice danced around him, peppered his face, stuck to his coat and boots and gloves. Something wasn’t right. He’d spent a long time in law enforcement, albeit the military version, and he’d learned to listen to his instincts. Right now, everything in him was telling him to approach with caution. Maybe there was nothing going on other than some screwing, but he wanted to make certain before he knocked on that door. At the very least, his dad had been wrong about Lolly being up here all alone.
Keeping to the shadows, Gabriel moved to the end of the porch and up the steps. It was an old wooden porch, and he stepped carefully, keeping to the edge of the planks where it was less likely there would be any squeaks. He didn’t approach any of the windows, but shifted around until he could look past the partially open curtains into the living room where several lights burned, illuminating the man and the woman there.