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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.
Though the storm had moved on and the sun had come out, the wind hadn’t let up, seeming to come directly from the North Pole.
When they reached pavement, Emma almost felt giddy with relief. With the gravel road she’d come in on buried in snow, she hadn’t been completely sure they were headed in the right direction.
“Which way?” Dante asked.
Emma glanced right, then left, and back right again. “If I recall correctly, the man who owns this ranch lives in a house a couple of miles north of this turnoff.”
A cold blast of wind sent a violent shiver across her body.
“Here.” Dante peeled one of the blankets off his back and handed it to her.
“No way.” She refused to take it. “I’m warm enough. You’re the one who needs it.”
“I’m used to this kind of cold. I grew up in the Badlands.”
“I don’t care where you grew up. If you drop from hypothermia, I can’t carry you.” She stood taller, stretching every bit of her five-foot-four-inch frame in an attempt to equal his over six-feet-tall height. “Put it back on.”
He grinned, his lips as windburned as hers, and wrapped the blanket back around his shoulders. “Then let’s get to it. The sooner we get there, the sooner I get my morning cup of coffee.” Wrapping the blankets tightly around himself, he took off.
Emma had to hurry to keep up, shaking her head at his offer of a blanket when she had all the snow gear on and he had nothing but his underwear. Stubborn man.
Her heart warmed at his concern for her and the strength he demonstrated.
So many questions burned through her, but she saved them for when they made it to shelter and warmth. Emma focused all her energy on keeping up with the long-legged Native American marching through the snow to find help. With the sun shining brightly, the blindingly white snow made her eyes hurt and she ducked her head, her gaze on Dante’s boot heels. She stepped in the tracks he left as much as possible to save energy, though his strides were far longer than hers.
After what felt like an eternity, cold to the bone, her teeth chattering so badly she couldn’t hear herself think, Emma looked up and nearly cried.
A thin ribbon of smoke rose above the snow-covered landscape. Where there was smoke, there was fire and warmth. Fueled by hope, she picked up the pace, squinting at the snowy fields until the shape of a ranch house was discernible.
Less than a tenth of a mile from the house, Emma stumbled and fell into the snow. Too stiff to move quickly, she didn’t get her arms up in time to keep from performing a face-plant in the icy crystals.
Before she could roll over and sit up, she was plucked from the snow and gathered in Dante’s arms.
“P-put me down,” she stammered, her teeth clattering so hard she was afraid she’d bite her tongue, but was too tired to care.
“Shush,” he said and continued the last tenth of a mile to the front door of the house.
Her face stinging from the cold, all she could do was wrap her arms around Dante’s neck and hold on while he banged on the door.
Footsteps sounded on the other side of the solid wood door and it swung open.
“Dear Lord.” An older gentleman in a flannel shirt and blue jeans stood in sock feet, his mouth dropped open.
“Sir, we need help,” Dante said.
“Olaf, don’t just stand there, let them in and close the door. Can’t let all that heat escape with the power out.” An older woman hurried up behind Olaf. “Come in, come in.”
Olaf’s jaw snapped shut and he stepped aside, allowing Dante to carry Emma through the door.
Even before Olaf closed the door behind them, heat surrounded Emma and tears slid down her cheeks. “We made it.” She buried her face against the cool blankets covering Dante’s chest.
“Set her down here on the couch in front of the fire,” the woman said, urging Dante forward. She waved a golden retriever out of the way and pointed to the couch she was referring to. “The storm knocked the power out last night and we’ve been camping out in the living room to stay warm by the fireplace. We have a generator, but we save that for emergencies.”
Emma almost laughed. To most people, a power outage would constitute an emergency. The hardy folks of North Dakota had to be really down-and-out to consider power failure to be an emergency.
Dante set Emma on the sofa and immediately began pulling off her jacket.
“Let me,” the woman said. She waved Dante away. “You go thaw out by the fire.” As she tugged the zipper down on Emma’s jacket, she introduced herself. “I’m Marge, and that’s my husband, Olaf.” The woman’s white eyebrows furrowed. “Should I know you? You look familiar.”
“I think we met last summer. My name’s Emma.” Emma forced a smile past her chapped lips. “Emma Jennings from the UND Paleontology Department. I was working at the dig up until yesterday.”
“I thought the site had been shut down at the end of the summer,” Olaf said.
Emma shrugged. “Since we’ve had such a mild fall I’ve been coming out on weekends. I’d hoped to get in one last weekend before the permafrost.”
“And then the storm last night...” Marge shook her head. “You’re lucky you didn’t freeze to death.”
“I c-can do this,” Emma protested, trying to shrug out of her jacket on her own.
Marge continued to help. “Hon, your hands are like ice. It’ll be a miracle if they aren’t frostbitten.” The woman clucked her tongue, casting a glance over her shoulder at Dante. “And him out in the cold in nothing but his underwear. What happened?”
Olaf took the blankets from Dante and gave him two warm, dry ones. “Did your truck get stuck in the snow?”
Emma’s gaze shot to Dante. She didn’t want to frighten these old people.
Dante took over. Holding out his hand to Olaf, he said, “I’m Dante Thunder Horse. I’m a pilot for the Customs and Border Protection unit out of Grand Forks. My helicopter was shot down several miles from here yesterday.”
Olaf’s eyes widened, his grip on Dante’s hand tightening before he let go.
When Dante was done filling them in on what had happened, Olaf ran a hand through his scraggly gray hair and shook his head. “Don’t know what’s got into this world when you can’t even be safe in North Dakota.”
Emma laughed, more tears welling in her eyes. After their near-death experiences, she was weepier than normal. For a short time there, she had begun to wonder if they’d find shelter before they froze.
“Mind if I use your phone?” Dante asked. “I need to let the base know I’m alive.”
Marge tucked a blanket around Emma. “Olaf, hand him the phone.”
Olaf gave Dante a cordless phone. Dante tapped the numbers into the keypad and held the phone to his ear and frowned. “I’m not getting a dial tone.”
“Sorry. I forget, without power, this one is useless.” Olaf took the phone and replaced it in the powerless charger. “Let me check the one in the kitchen.”
A minute later, he returned. “The phone lines are down. Must have been knocked out along with the electricity in the storm last night.”
“I need to get back to Grand Forks. My people will have sent up a search and rescue unit.”
“I can get you as far as Devil’s Lake,” Olaf said. “But then I’ll have to turn back to make sure I get home to Mamma before nightfall.”
“Don’t you worry about me. I can take care of myself,” Marge insisted.
