“There,” Wylie said, stepping back to survey her work. “Keep your hands tucked inside your sleeves and you’ll be ready for business.”
Wylie pulled on her own gear and stepped outside to retrieve the sled that she had dropped off on the front step. She’d use it to help transport the wood back to the house.
“Hey, you okay down there?” a man called from the top of the lane. “I saw the fire from the house and got on my snowmobile to see what was going on.”
He stopped halfway down the drive and removed his helmet. Through the falling snow Wylie recognized him as one of the neighbors to the east, Randy Cutter. From her research for the book, Wylie knew that Randy and Deb Cutter divorced and he moved to another residence not far away.
“Came upon the wreck,” he said breathlessly. Randy’s salt-and-pepper hair peeked out from beneath his stocking cap and snowflakes clung to his eyelashes. “Anyone injured? It’s a bad one.”
“Yeah,” Wylie called back. “It was crazy. I found a boy. He’s shaken up but fine. It’s the woman who was in the truck with him I’m worried about. She disappeared.”
“What do you mean, disappeared?” Randy asked.
“After I found the boy I went to see if I could figure out where he came from,” Wylie explained. “Found the truck and a woman. She was caught up in some barbwire and I couldn’t get her out. I went to get some tools and when I came back she was gone.”
“Gone?” Randy repeated. “Damn. Where would she have gone to?”
“Good question,” Wylie said. “It makes no sense. She looked like she was banged up really good. I can’t imagine she went far, I just couldn’t find her. This is a hell of a storm.”
“Yeah, it is,” Randy agreed. “I’d offer you and the kid a ride on my snowmobile back to my house to wait out the storm, but it’s getting worse by the minute. You might be better off staying put.”
“I think you’re right. We’re doing okay here,” she assured him. “We have wood, water, and food. We’ll be fine—I’m more worried about the woman. Any way you can go look for her?”
“I can do that,” Randy said. “I can’t stand the thought of someone stranded out in this weather. I’ll ride around and see what I can find. How about I stop back tomorrow and check on things, let you know what I find. Hopefully, the snow will be done by then.”
“That would be great. Thanks,” Wylie said, hesitant to send him on his way. “Be safe,” she said, as Randy turned and trudged to the top of the lane.
Back inside, Wylie shook the snow off her and carried the sled toward the mudroom. She debated telling the boy about Randy’s visit but thought the mention of the injured woman in wreckage might upset him. Better to wait and see if Randy found her.
Once at the door, Wylie realized that if she carried a flashlight outside with her, she wouldn’t have her hands free to haul the toboggan, heavy with wood back to the house.
Plan B. Wylie had a headlamp stowed away in her car. At the barn she’d retrieve the lamp and would have hands-free access to light.
“Okay,” Wylie said, pulling her gloves on, “you and Tas wait here, and when I get to the door, turn the knob and let me in.”
The boy nodded and Wylie opened the door. The frigid air hit them with a blast. Wylie stepped outside and bent her head to the wind. The air smelled like gasoline. The truck fire.
The flashlight she carried lit the way allowing Wylie to see a few feet in front of her. The new snow covered the ice, reached nearly to her knees, and provided some traction so that she was able to move at a faster clip.
When Wylie reached the barn, she tugged on the door. It opened only a few inches, the bottom edge getting caught up in the snow. She kicked at the snow with her boot, trying to clear a path, then wedged her hip into the opening and pushed open the door just enough so that she could squeeze inside.
Though the cattle that were once housed here were long gone, old farm equipment remained: a bale spearer, chain harrows, a loader bucket, and more.
She made a beeline for the Bronco and dug around until she found the headlamp. She pressed the on button and a bright beam of light appeared. She secured the lamp over her stocking cap and looked down at the pile of wood stacked in the corner.
It would take several trips to bring in enough wood to outlast the storm. Wylie piled the logs atop the sled and then covered it with a plastic tarp.
Above her, Wylie heard a noise. A dry, shuffly sound. Something was in the hayloft. “Hello,” she called out tentatively. Maybe the woman from the wreck had found shelter in the barn.