Free Bitch Factor by Chris Rogers Page A

gravel—or dirt, whatever—to throw under the tires for traction. Chances are they’re sitting on weeks of packed snow and ice from earlier storms.”
    A light blinked on in Dixie’s mind. This was the same drill she’d use to get unstuck from Texas mud, except there she’d look for scraps of wood to wedge under the tires. She’d lived that scene often enough to know exactly what to do. If she could get out of a Texas mud hole, she could sure as hell get out of a snowdrift. Turning up her collar, she reached for the door handle.
    Dann slammed his palm against the steel mesh. “Hey! Aren’t you going to let me out of here?”
    And have him knock her in the head first chance he got? She might know zip about blizzards, but she knew plentyabout skips. In Houston, Dann was ninety-nine percent convicted, and his running would clinch the jury’s decision. Only a fool would return willingly; Parker Dann was nobody’s fool. Either he’d leave her here to freeze, or he’d lock her in the trunk and dump her at the first town on his way to Canada.
    “Dann, your part in this project is to continue offering sage advice. You might also pray a little.”
    “Aw, lady…”
    She pushed the door handle and felt the first blast of cold.
    “Hey!” Dann held up his parka. “At least take this. If you freeze, neither one of us gets out of here.”
    Dixie nodded and lowered the back driver-side window enough for him to push the coat through. It was too big, only the elastic cuffs preventing the sleeves from hanging to her knees, but once she was zipped into it, she felt a damn sight better about digging in the snow. Turning back, she opened the door again to flip the trunk latch.
    “Find some big rocks,” Dann instructed. “Pile them in the trunk for weight.”
    “Right.” Dixie squinted into the wind, wondering how to tell a rock from a clump of old cow dung when everything was buried under a swirling white coat.
    Twenty-two minutes later, she yanked the door open and slid across the seat, pain needling her nose and fingers, feet numb inside her boots. Dann had been right about ice forming under the car. The top layer of snow had already started to crust over. She’d dug through it, though, scraping away fresh powder until she hit the packed snow that formed solid ground. She still needed some gravel to throw under the tires, but her hands had stiffened until she could scarcely bend her fingers. They had to warm up some before she could dig again.
    She skinned off her frozen gloves and jammed her fists into the pockets of Dann’s parka. Better. But she couldn’t afford the luxury of sitting still for long. She glanced in the mirror; Dann was watching her through the mesh barrier, a cynical amusement in his eyes.
    “Got a pair of dry gloves back there?” She’d noticed a pairstuffed in a pocket of his coat before pushing it through the mesh opening earlier.
    “Wouldn’t need the gloves if you’d let me help. Be back on the highway by now.”
    “Just hand me the gloves, Dann.” She fumbled the keys from the ignition switch and opened the mesh panel.
    Dann handed the gloves through, then hooked his fingers over the bottom edge of the opening. “It’s getting cold back here. How about a cup of that coffee?”
    Eyeing the thermos, Dixie decided a few sips would be welcome before braving the cold again, and she supposed she owed Dann something for the use of his coat. She observed a rigid set of rules, however, when transporting skips.
    “Move your hand away from the screen,” she said.
    “What the hell, one cup of coffee—”
    She slammed the panel down on his fingers. The sharp steel edge cut into his knuckles.
    “Goddamn!” He jerked his hand back. A narrow line of blood oozed across his middle finger. “Are you nuts?”
    Dixie snapped the lock shut and pocketed the keys. She opened the thermos, poured a single cup of coffee.
    “Hellfire, woman. You’re a real piece of work.”
    The first sip burned her