Free A Week in the Snow by Gwen Masters Page A

stepped out of the house and confronted the snow. The sun was up and it was bright, but the heat from it did nothing to warm their little corner of Iowa. Richard led her to the garage, where she smiled at the snowmobile. It looked almost alive on the black skis, thrust slightly forward, as if sitting at the starting line of a race and ready to run hard. Richard checked the gauges and added a bit of gas from the container in the corner.
    The other vehicle in the garage was a truck, a newer model but well-worn. The tyres were huge and the bed was scratched. The interior lights of the garage glinted off the silver-grey paint. She looked in the window at the wealth of things in the cab—old newspapers, not one, but three travel mugs for coffee, sunglasses and reading glasses on the dash, and a few books with library stickers on the cellophane covers. There was an old blanket thrown on the back of the bench seat. A small rip in the leather showed from under the frayed corner.
    “This truck gets a lot of use,” she said. “You sure you’re a newspaperman?”
    He smiled as he got on the snowmobile. “I don’t have the patience for farming.”
    “But your house sits in the middle of all this farmland.”
    “Most of it is mine.” His voice was nonchalant. He turned the key in the ignition and the snowmobile roared before it settled down to a ready hum.
    “It’s yours?”
    “About seven hundred acres of it.”
    In Miami, land was precious. Seven hundred acres was a priceless commodity. “But you don’t farm it?”
    “Somebody else does. I lease out the land and by the middle of the summer I’m surrounded by corn and wheat. The newspaper pays peanuts, to be honest. Leasing the land keeps me in the black.” He patted the back of the machine and gave her a grin. “Get on.”
    Rebecca lifted her leg and slid on behind him. Her thighs were sore from a different kind of riding, and she groaned as she settled into the seat. She wrapped her arms around him and the snowmobile started to move forward, inching towards the snow-covered driveway. By the time they were out on what had once been the road, Richard had picked up speed, and Rebecca was glad for her coat and the thick gloves he had loaned her. They were far too big for her, but they kept the wind away from her hands, and she was toasty warm as they rode in ten-degree weather.
    “In Miami,” she said over his shoulder, “it’s about seventy degrees right now.”
    “But in Miami, you can’t do this.”
    Richard hit the gas. The world whooshed past them, and she hung on tighter. When they reached an open field, Richard suddenly turned the snowmobile, and they did a perfect doughnut on the white surface. Her heart thudded with excitement.
    “Wow!” Rebecca hollered. “More!”
    Richard accelerated to an impossible speed, then whipped the big machine to the side. It glided effortlessly, as if it were flying on air instead of snow. The whole world spun, and when it slowed down Rebecca laughed hard, so hard her belly hurt. Richard pulled to a stop and turned to grin at her.
    “I know what you want,” he said.
    She gave him an exaggerated leer. “I’ll bet you do.”
    “You want to rev my engine.”
    “How did you ever guess?”
    That’s how Rebecca wound up behind the handlebars of her very first snowmobile, plunging through drifts and throwing up rooster tails of white. She slid and shimmied and raced through the snow, revelling when she hit a dip and came up out of it with enough speed to make the machine roar. Richard told her where to stay, far away from the fences and low brush that could be so dangerous to a snowmobile and its rider. Between his safe guidance and her impressive driving skills, they were having the time of their lives.
    When they were both winded from the excitement and pumping adrenaline, she slowed the machine and turned to Richard. She pulled up his helmet, yanked down his mask and kissed him, her warm tongue sliding between his cool