Christmas at Thunder Horse Ranch

When he reached for the door handle and twisted, it didn’t open. “Is there some kind of lock on this?”

“It should open when you twist the handle.”

He tried again.

About that time, the trailer lurched, sending him flying across the floor, slamming into the sink.

Emma fell across the bed. “What the hell?”

“The door lock is jammed, and someone’s driving your truck with the trailer still attached. Hold on!”

The vehicle lurched and bumped over the rough terrain.

“He’s backing us up!” Emma shouted. “If he goes much farther, we’ll end up in the ditch my team has been digging.” She staggered to her feet and flung herself across the room to the door. Another bump and her forehead slammed into the wall.

She slipped, her hands grabbing for the door latch. “We have to stop him.”

Dante staggered across to her. “Move!” He picked her up and shoved her to the side. Bracing himself on whatever he could hold on to, he slammed his heel into the door. The force with which he hit reverberated up his leg. The door remained secure. He kicked again. Nothing.

Emma grasped the sink and ripped the blinds from the window. “Oh, my god. We’re going to fall—”

The trailer tipped wildly. Everything that wasn’t nailed to the floor, including Dante and Emma, was flung to the back of the trailer as it tumbled down the near-vertical slope of the dig site. The rear end of the trailer slammed into the ground, crumpling on impact. Cold air blasted through the cracks and glass broke from the windows.

Dante landed on the mattress as it slid toward the back of the trailer. “Emma?” He couldn’t see her anywhere.

“I’m okay, I think.” A hand waved from beneath the mattress. “I’m just stuck.”

The truck engine revved and a door slammed outside. Then the upper end of the trailer caved in, bearing down on them. Dante rolled to the side, letting the mattress take the bulk of the blow.

When the world quit shaking, Dante was jammed between the mattress and the wall. Metal squeaked against metal and the trailer seemed to groan.

“Dante?” Emma called out.

“I’m going to try to move this mattress.” He squeezed himself against the wall and rolled the mattress back. “Can you get yourself out?”

“I’ll try.” Emma reached up, grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled herself out from beneath the mattress.

Dante let the mattress fall in place and hauled himself up on it, ducking low to keep from hitting his head on the crushed trailer. His stomach lurched when he saw the bumper of the truck through a crack in the wall. Whoever had driven them into the ditch had crashed the truck down on top of them. If it shifted even a little, they’d be stuck in there, trapped and possibly crushed.

Light and cold wind filtered through the broken window over the sink. Placing his head close to the opening, he listened.

“Is he gone?” Emma whispered.

A small engine roared above them. If he wasn’t mistaken, Dante would guess it was a snowmobile. “I think that’s him leaving now.” And none too soon. The truck above them shifted and the walls sank closer to where he and Emma crouched on the mattress.

The door was crushed and mangled. They wouldn’t be getting out that way. If they didn’t leave soon, the truck would smash into them. “We have to get out of here.”

“How?” Emma asked.

Dante lay back and kicked the rest of the glass out of the window over the sink. Then, using the pillow, he worked the jagged edges loose. “You go first,” he said.

“And leave you to be crushed?” Emma shook her head. “No way. If you can get out, I can get out.”

“If I get stuck, neither one of us will get out. If you go first and I’m trapped, you can go for help.”

Emma worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “Okay. But you’re not getting stuck.” She edged her body through the tight opening and dropped to the ground. “Now you!” she called out. “And throw any blankets or coats you can salvage out with you.”

Dante scavenged two blankets from the rubble and pushed them through the window. He followed them with Emma’s winter jacket.

Metal shrieked against metal and the trailer’s walls quaked.

“The truck’s shifting!” Emma called out. “Get out now!”

Dante dove for the small window, wondering how he’d get his broad shoulders through the narrow opening. He squeezed one through and angled the other, the rim of the window tight around his ribs. Then he was pushing himself through.

Emma braced his hands on her shoulders and walked backward as he brought his hips and legs almost all the way out.

The entire structure wobbled and creaked, then folded like an accordion.

Emma dragged him the rest of the way, both of them falling onto the ground as the truck’s weight crushed the remainder of the trailer walls beneath it.

Dante rolled off Emma and stood, pulling her up beside him. Together they stared at the wreckage.

She shook in the curve of his arm. “If one more minute had passed...”

His arm tightened around her. “We’re out. That’s all that matters.”

“But who would do this?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

* * *

EMMA COULDN’T REMEMBER the road leading into the dig site being as long as it was, until she had to walk through snow to get to a paved road. Her toes were frozen and her jacket barely kept the cold wind from chilling her body to the bone. But she couldn’t complain when all Dante had on were his thermal underwear and the blankets he’d salvaged from the trailer before it had been crushed beneath her truck.

With the truck a total write-off, she’d hoped the snowmobile she’d left parked outside the night before would be usable.

Whoever had tried to kill them had stabbed a hole in the snowmobile’s gas tank and ripped the wires loose. It wasn’t going anywhere but a junkyard.

If they wanted to get help, they were forced to trudge through three feet of snow for almost two miles just to reach a paved road. And as the North Dakota countryside could be desolate, it could be hours or days before anyone passed by on the paved road.

Tired, hungry and cold, Emma formed a smile with her chapped lips. At least she wouldn’t die a virgin. “Are you doing okay?” she asked. “We could stop and hunker down long enough for you to warm up.”

“I’m fine.” Enveloped in the two blankets he’d thrown from the wreckage, his thermal-clad legs were more exposed to the elements than anything else. “We should keep moving.”

Emma could tell he was trying not to let his teeth chatter. She slipped her arm around him and leaned her body into his to block as much of the wind as she could. Blankets provided little protection against the icy Arctic winds. If they didn’t find help soon, he’d freeze to death. How much could a man persevere after being shot down and nearly crushed?

Her gaze swept over him. The man, all muscle and strength, displayed no weakness. But as cold as she was, he had to be freezing.