Hard to Handle (5 page)

“Hello?”

“Anastasia Bradley?”

The brisk but scratchy voice wasn't familiar to her, and her unease resurfaced. She perched on the edge of a chair. After the warmth of the steamy bathroom, a chill chased over her, and she curled her toes. “Who's calling, please?”

“Satch Handleman,” the voice said with impatience. “I'm Harley's uncle.”

Harley's uncle!
Why would he be calling her? “Oh, hello, Mr. Handleman.”

“I've been trying to reach Harley with no luck. I know he rented a cabin from Anastasia Bradley, so if that's you, I could use your help.”

“I'm sorry. Yes.” Sitting up a little straighter, she said, “This is Anastasia, and yes, Harley rented his cabin from me.”

“He's not answering the phone there.”

“He's not there, that's why.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out on my own.” More impatience. “I tried his cell too, but he's not answering that either.”

“Here in the hills, the cell phones rarely work. Add to that a snow and ice storm, and reception is iffy.”

“Damn.”

Cautious now, Stasia said, “I hope nothing is wrong.”

“No one's dead, if that's what you mean.”

Relieved, Stasia rested back in her seat. “I wish I could help you, Mr. Handleman, but I'm afraid Harley already left.”

“Left
where?
”

The demand stiffened her back. “It's not for me to say, sir, but a few days ago he got a call from a friend and rearranged his schedule.”

“To come home?”

Unwilling to intrude on Harley's privacy, Stasia said, “I'm not really sure. I overheard the phone call, but not the particulars.”

“When did he leave the cabin?”

“A few hours ago. Maybe seven or eight o'clock. But he was going to play cards in town for a while before he headed out.”

“And just how do you know all that?”

Harley's uncle sounded very suspicious. “He stopped by my cabin to say good-bye and told me so.” A heavy silence made Stasia uncomfortable. “Mr. Handleman? Are you still there?”

“Interesting,” he finally muttered.

“That Harley would play cards?”

“No, that he'd bother to tell you good-bye.”

“Oh.” Now why was that of interest? Should she mention that she was already outside, or Harley probably wouldn't have bothered?

“You two involved?”

“No!”
She hadn't meant to sound so appalled by the absurd question. Good grief, she'd almost shouted her denial. After a quick deep breath, Stasia said in a calmer tone, “Of course not. That is, Harley just rents property from me. I was out gathering wood when he passed by, so he stopped—only briefly—and said good-bye. There wasn't anything more to it.”

“Hmmm.”

Stasia found Harley's uncle to be as enigmatic as Harley himself. “Not to be nosy, sir, but…”

“Call me Uncle Satch.”

She blinked. He wasn't
her
uncle. “I, uh…Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I suppose if it's really important, I could try going to town to see if Harley is still at the club playing cards.”

Uncle Satch hesitated only a moment, and then asked with concern, “You mentioned a storm. Is it safe for you to be out in the weather?”

Just like Harley. “Yes. I have a four-wheel drive, and I'll go slowly.”

“If you're sure, then yes, it's important. Thanks. When you find him, have him call me ASAP.”

“Yes…Uncle Satch.” Stasia felt like an idiot. She went back to the couch where she'd left a pen and her scattered papers. “I'll leave here in under five minutes, and it takes me about fifteen minutes to get to town. If Harley isn't there, is there a number where you'd like me to call you so that you know he hasn't gotten your message?”

“You can call my cell.”

Anastasia wrote down the phone number and tucked the slip of paper into her purse. The second she hung up, she ran into the bathroom and, feeling even more ridiculous, brushed her hair and cleaned her teeth before changing into warm clothes.

She was a nice person, she assured herself, even as she pulled on her boots and a thick, hooded sweatshirt.

Making a run into town in the middle of the night during a near blizzard wasn't a big deal. She'd have offered to do the same for anyone. It had nothing to do with a desire to see Harley one last time.

Definitely not.

Okay, maybe just a little.

But she
was
nice, and would have done the same for anyone.

In no time at all, Stasia was bundled toes to nose. The second she stepped outside, she felt that edgy uneasiness again. It had to be the awful weather, she told herself. A heavy layer of snow blanketed the area, causing tree limbs to bend, ice to crackle.

As she neared her truck beneath the carport, Stasia noticed that the newly accumulated snowfall almost disguised recent tracks around her property. She bent to study the markings, but the light from the cabin wasn't adequate to see much other than indentations. And with so many animals in the area, it could have been anything—most likely the deer she'd heard earlier. They seemed larger than deer prints, but the harsh winds could distort anything.

As proof of that, the carport hadn't adequately protected her truck from blown snow and ice. Almost frozen over, she had to use her gloved hands to brush over her door until she found the handle. Careful to keep the snow from falling into her seat, she climbed in and started the engine, turned on the defroster and heat full blast, and then used precious minutes to clear the outsides of all the windows.

By the time she finished, her nose was bright red and despite her thick socks and gloves, her fingers and toes felt frozen.

Was any man worth this much hassle?

She doubted it.

If she hadn't already promised Uncle Satch…

But she had, so she might as well get it over with. She got in the truck and carefully steered away from her cabin. Her tires crunched through icy snow and after some guessing, she found the nearly hidden road.

T
HE
darkness of the night and the frigid temperatures forced Stasia to use extra caution on the winding, hilly roads. To her surprise, she wasn't that far from her cabin when headlights showed up behind her. The trailing vehicle closed in, and then rode her bumper, crowding her. The reflection in her rearview mirror nearly blinded her. She couldn't see the vehicle clearly, but given the height of the headlights, she assumed it to be a large truck.

Uncertainty curdled in her stomach. Beyond her cabin and Harley's, there wasn't much on the road. It led off for a few miles, then finally hooked up with the main drag. Anyone going anywhere—other than to her cabin or the rental cabin—would be better served to use the main roads. Why anyone would be on this road now, especially in a snowstorm, she couldn't fathom.

But maybe those tracks around her car hadn't been caused by an animal after all.

Telling herself to keep her imagination in check, Stasia tried to encourage the other driver to back off by slowing even more, barely rolling along the frozen roadway. She'd just passed a closed service station, nearly invisible with the outside lights off, when the vehicle behind her revved its engine.

Seconds later a large muscle truck sped past her.

It cut so close that Stasia swerved to avoid contact and almost slid off the road. Hands clamped tight on the steering wheel, she reminded herself not to slam on the brakes. If she did, she'd definitely go into a spin and probably wreck.

She fishtailed, gliding over the icy road, all but stealing the breath in her lungs. Finally, with her careful maneuvering, her wheels again caught the road and the truck righted.

If she hadn't been going so slow, if she wasn't familiar with the awful road conditions, if her truck wasn't heavy and her tires weren't good…

So many ifs. And the other vehicle hadn't even bothered to slow down.

With relief, Stasia watched its lights disappear far ahead. It took a few minutes more before her heart stopped thumping and she began to relax. She even laughed at her fanciful imagination. Most likely, the people in the truck were no more than drunken vacationers who'd lost their way.

That made a lot more sense than assuming any evil intent against her.

Maintaining her snail's pace, Stasia headed down the steepest road and finally the center of town came into view. Relief stole over her. She'd deliver her message, say good-bye to Harley—assuming he hadn't left town yet—and return to her warm cabin in no time at all.

To keep from picking up speed on the steep incline, she touched her brakes.

Nothing happened.

The truck slipped, tires spinning, and she pressed down harder on the brake.

If anything, the truck went faster.

“Oh, shit. This can't be happening.” Hunched over the steering wheel, her every muscle clenched for control, she tried to think. Her wheels hit a hidden pothole in the road, and the truck bounced hard.

Horrified, Stasia tried again, pumping the brake pedal, but it felt spongy and didn't catch. Panicked anew, she stiffened her leg, pressing the pedal all the way to the floorboard.

Nothing.

“No, no, no.” Her heart lodged in her throat. Oh, God. This couldn't be happening.

The town, or what most in the area called a town, consisted of no more than a cluster of establishments: grocery, bank, post office, small department store, restaurant, movie theater, and a bar with illusions of being a club.

Farther out, folks could find a lumberyard, furniture stores, and other assorted necessaries, but that involved travel that only the locals indulged in.

Without brakes, her truck roared and bounced at a dangerous rate. Stasia saw cars parked along the cross street at the base of the hill, and a few late-night partiers just heading home.

She had to do something, and she had to do it quickly.

Teeth gritted, she steered the truck to the right, easing it toward the side of the road, hoping to hit the rough gully where friction would help slow her.

Instead, the truck hit a patch of ice and began skidding. Her passenger door ground against the snow-covered hill, careened the truck back out into the street, and, to her horror, sent her into a mind-numbing spin.

She screamed, and seconds later landed against a solid obstacle.

The truck slammed to a stop with jarring impact.

Her seat belt grabbed her with brute force, forcing a grunt of pain. Her head snapped forward, and then back again.

Seconds ticked by before she gathered her wits enough to open her eyes. Disoriented, it took her a minute to realize that she now faced the opposite direction, and was on the wrong side of the road. A mountain of snow piled high by the street crew when clearing the roadway earlier in the day smashed against the driver's side of the truck.

There'd be no driving out of this mess.

Fingers shaking, she turned off the engine and then just sat there, catching her breath, taking quick inventory of herself and her truck.

Her heart thumped hard enough to cause pain.

Her breath rushed, causing a sick echo in the quiet interior of the truck.

Other than being rattled,
very
rattled, she felt…uninjured.

Because the impact was all on the side of her truck and not the front, her airbags hadn't opened. With a hand to her forehead, she closed her eyes in relief. Her seat belt had kept her secure. Somehow, she had survived intact.

Knowing she couldn't just sit there, Stasia took a few deep breaths, then, hands shaking, she unhooked her seat belt. Crawling over to the passenger door, she got out to investigate her situation. It was so dark she could barely see outside the beam of the headlights, but it was clear that both front tires and one back tire were deep in a snow-filled ditch. It'd take roadside assistance to get her truck free.

Not that it mattered. Without brakes, she wasn't driving anywhere.

Now what?

A gust of wind almost took her off her feet. She pulled her hat lower, covered her nose and mouth with her gloved hands, and looked down the hill, maybe a quarter of a mile away. A few people stared in her direction, but without streetlamps, Stasia doubted they could see her. More likely, they'd just heard the noise and wondered at it.

At least the truck was off the main road, so she wouldn't cause any other wrecks.

Still trembling at the close call, she crawled back inside and turned off her headlights, but turned on her emergency blinkers. She grabbed the contents of her purse from where they had dumped onto the floor and shoved them back inside her purse.

She locked the truck, slung her purse strap securely around her neck, wrapped her arms around herself, and started trekking down the steep hill. Her feet sank so deeply into the crunchy snow that it fell into the tops of her boots and hindered her every step.

Stasia didn't let herself think about the wreck, or why her brakes hadn't worked, or the noises she'd heard long before leaving her cabin.

She concentrated on reaching Harley, and Lord help her, he had better be there. If he'd left already, she didn't know what she would do.

K
EEPING
all his attention on his cards, Harley shrugged off the female hand on his shoulder. Oddly enough, he wasn't in the mood for a woman, hadn't been in the mood since that strange visit with Anastasia.

Somehow she'd bewitched him, thrown him off his game, at least his game with women. Poker was something altogether different. He'd stayed over to play cards to give the locals a chance to regain their losses, but he kept winning. He couldn't leave with all their money. He had to stay for one more hand.

That was what he told himself anyway. He refused to acknowledge any other possibilities for his reluctance to get on the road.

The small hand touched his shoulder again, and again, he brushed it off. After the first woman had approached him, he'd been distant, almost rude to all interested females. He'd already slept with one of the ladies bothering him, and he wasn't interested in a repeat performance. This was her third attempt of the night, and he was starting to feel surly about it. She'd been pushy to the point of annoyance.

Ignoring how closely she stood behind him, Harley placed his bet. Nothing happened. No one stirred.

Disgruntled, he glanced up at Ned, who sat across the table from him. Ned, as well as everyone else at the table, stared just beyond Harley.

And that prompted Harley to look, too. He glanced over his shoulder, and started in surprise.

Damn! So it wasn't the blonde who'd been bugging him, but an altogether unexpected female visitor.

“Anastasia?” Pushing back his chair in a rush, Harley reached for her. With ice clinging to her eyelashes and her fair skin chafed bright red from the cold wind, she looked more miserable than any woman ever should. “What the hell happened? Are you all right?”

Teeth chattering, she whispered, “Yes.”

And then, to Harley's surprise, she slammed up against him and stuck her nose against his throat.

It felt like an ice cube, and he jumped.

She held on to him like a lifeline, trembling uncontrollably. It was late, the storm had worsened, but here she was.

As he put his arms around Anastasia, three of the women he'd ignored glared at him, but to hell with it. He obviously had a few things to attend to other than a card game or a few bruised egos. “I'm out, guys.”

Ned crowed, “That means you lose!”

“Fine.”

“No.” Still shaking like an earthquake, Anastasia pushed back and sputtered, “Finish your hand, Harley. I'll wait.”

Like hell! Her stoicism nearly made him hit the roof. For days he'd been thinking of her,
wanting her
, to the point that he'd turned down other women more suited to his special tastes.

Now Anastasia was here, frozen but in one piece.

It was clear that she'd come looking for him.

No way in hell was he waiting. “Take the pot, Ned.”

When Anastasia started to speak, Harley gave her a stern look and she went quiet again. After quickly collecting his personal belongings, Harley led her toward the bar.

“Coffee, Sheila. Lots of sugar and a little cream.”

Seeing Anastasia's state, the owner, working tonight as a barmaid, brought the order in a hurry.

“Harley?”

“Yeah?”

“Like the pied piper, you have a following.”

He glanced back and saw that all three women had clustered up closer, and were now watching him with mixed expressions of annoyance, yearning, and jealousy. He shook his head. “Don't worry about them.”

“If you say so.”

A million questions clamored in his mind, but Harley worked in order of priorities. He peeled off Anastasia's coat and sodden hat, then her gloves. They were good quaility, sturdy, but not enough to fend off the weather tonight.

“You're soaked. What the hell were you doing? Playing outside?” He hung everything on a wall peg without much hope of them drying anytime soon.

Anastasia ignored the question to wrap her fingers around the mug of hot coffee that Sheila offered. She didn't sip it. Not yet. She just held it under her nose and absorbed the warmth, the steam.

“I'm waiting, Anastasia.”

Sighing shakily, she closed her eyes and took one small sip of the coffee. “Your uncle called.”

“Uncle Satch?”

Her eyes opened, and she sipped again. “You have other uncles?”

He would not start this game with her again. “What did Satch want?”

“For you to call him.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.” Shaking so badly that she almost spilled the coffee, Anastasia said, “It's important, but he said no one's dead or dying.”

Harley marveled at her. So she hadn't pried, but she had found out enough to keep him from panicking. “You walked here to tell me that?”

Steam from the coffee lifted around her face. “I'm not stupid.”

The hat had flattened her hair, her nose was cherry red, her cheeks wind-chapped. She looked frosty and uncomfortable and…adorable.

Harley narrowed his eyes. “So you didn't walk?”

She shook her head. “Did you know that your cell phone isn't working?”

“No reception.”

“Your uncle couldn't reach you.”

Harley studied her. “You could have given the number of the bar.”

For a single heartbeat, Anastasia looked like a trapped doe. “I didn't think of that.”

Or maybe she'd wanted an excuse to see him again. Insane as it seemed, that thought brightened his mood. “If you drove here, then it must've been with your windows down, and that doesn't make any sense.”