Free Snow Blind-J Collins 4 by Lori G. Armstrong Page B

wrong.
    I’d passed the Deadwood Avenue exit on I-90 West when my cell phone rang. I didn’t bother to look at the caller ID. Not only because I couldn’t take my eyes off the shitty road conditions, but I figured it was Martinez checking up on me, making sure my phone was attached to my hip.
    “Hello?”
    “Julie. Thank God I got a hold of you.”
    Nothing good ever comes from that conversational start. “Hey, Trish. What’s up?”
    “The kids and I are in Denver and I can’t get in touch with your father. I’ve tried the house phone and Doug’s cell. I even tried calling Melvin, the hired man. I’m starting to get really worried.”
    Oh, hell no. Don’t even ask.
    “I hate to ask you this, because I know how things are between you and Doug, but would you please go out to the ranch and check on him to make sure he’s okay?”
    “When was the last time you talked to him?”
    “The night before last. I didn’t talk to him at all yesterday, and I’ve been trying to call since six o’clock 84

    this morning. I know he didn’t go anywhere—he wouldn’t leave the cattle even for three days to come with us. And now I see on TV there’s a blizzard warning for western South Dakota. Is the weather bad?”
    “I-90 isn’t too terrible.” Liar, liar, Julie.
    “If you’re already out and about, can you swing by the ranch and make sure he’s all right?”
    Crap. I fell right into that snow trap. “I’m sure he’s fine, Trish. He’s probably just busy and forgot to charge his cell. You know how much he hates to talk on the phone anyway.”
    The ugly, thick silence my comment caused burned my ear like a case of frostbite.
    “Trish? You still there?”
    “Yes. You know I never ask you for anything, but I’m begging you this time, Julie. Please, I have a bad feeling. Doug is not as young as he used to be. It’s calving season and if he’s there alone. . . so many things can go wrong. You know how exhausting it is.”
    I did, which was precisely why I didn’t want to go to the Collins ranch. “I’ll try to call him from here.
    Maybe you’re in a ‘no service’ area or something.”
    “Wrong. I’m not on my cell phone.”
    So much for that theory.
    A tug-of-war over the receiver ensued, followed by fierce whispers. “Hi, sis.”
    “Hey, Britt.”
    “My mom is totally freaking out, and it’s freaking me out. So would you please, please, please with sugar 85

    on top go and check on Dad?”
    No .
    “For me?”
    Hell, no. I hated the pseudosweet baby talk tone she used.
    “What if he is hurt? Won’t you feel really bad that you didn’t at least try and check on him?”
    No, no, no, no, no.
    She sniffled. “Can you think about me for a change, instead of yourself? I don’t want my daddy to die. Even when you pretend you’re all tough and say you don’t care, I don’t think you really want him dead.”
    She paused to let that tidbit sink in.
    Fuck. Send in the ringer, why don’t you, Trish?
    “Fine, I’ll check on him. But if I drive all the way out there and he’s napping on the couch? You’re on latrine duty. I’ll expect you at my house every Saturday morning for a month to scrub toilets. With a toothbrush.”
    “As if I’d ever do that. So you’ll call us and let us know what’s going on?”
    “Right away.”
    “See you later,” Brittney said.
    “Not if I see you first.”
    She giggled in a falsetto tone, which struck a wrong note with me, and my subconscious said, sucker .
    86

    The conditions off the interstate in Bear Butte County were beyond horrible. The snow was a sea of white so blindingly bright I slipped my shades on. I inched along County Road 12, plowing over snowdrifts and sending up a little thanks to the car gods for my four-wheel drive Ford truck.
    I didn’t encounter a single vehicle in that five-mile stretch of road, which was good because I drove straight down the middle. Most people were smart enough not to venture out during a storm. Usually I was one of