He placed the shovel in the trunk of his car. Peeling off the latex gloves he’d been wearing, he tossed them into the trunk as well, then shut the lid. He got into the car and quickly closed the door, welcoming shelter from the biting wind.
Shivering, he blew on his hands and vigorously rubbed them together in the hope of restoring circulation to his fingertips. The latex gloves had been necessary, but they hadn’t provided any protection against the cold. He took a pair of cashmere-lined leather gloves from a coat pocket and pulled them on.
He turned the ignition key.
Nothing happened.
He pumped the accelerator and tried again. The motor didn’t even growl. After several more unsuccessful tries, he leaned back against the seat and stared at the gauges on the dashboard as though expecting them to communicate what he was doing wrong.
He cranked the key one more time, but the engine remained as dead and silent as the women crudely buried nearby.
“Shit!” He thumped both gloved fists against the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, although there was nothing to look at. A sheet of ice had completely obscured the windshield. “Tierney,” he muttered, “you’re screwed.”
CHAPTER
2
THE WIND HAS PICKED UP, AND THERE’S ICY stuff falling out there,” Dutch Burton remarked as he let the drape fall back into place over the window. “We’d better start down soon.”
“I need to empty these few shelves, then I’ll be done.” Lilly took several hardcover editions from the built-in bookcase and placed them in a packing box.
“You always enjoyed reading when we came up here.”
“That’s when I had time to catch up on the latest best-sellers. Nothing to distract me here.”
“Except me, I guess,” he said. “I remember pestering you until you put your book aside and paid attention to me.”
She glanced up at Dutch from where she sat on the floor and smiled. But she didn’t pursue his fond recollection of how they’d spent their leisure time in the mountain retreat. Initially they had come here on weekends and holidays to escape their hectic schedules in Atlanta.
Later they’d come here simply to escape.
She was packing what remained of her personal belongings to take with her when she left today. She wouldn’t be coming back. Neither would Dutch. This would be the last page written—an epilogue, actually—of their life together. She had hoped to make their final farewell as unsentimental as possible. He seemed determined to stroll down memory lane.
Whether his recollections of times past were designed to make him feel better or to make her feel worse, she didn’t want to engage in them. Their good times together had been so eclipsed by their bad ones that any memory reopened wounds.
She steered the topic back to pragmatic matters. “I made copies of all the closing documents. They’re in that envelope, along with a check for your half of the sale.”
He looked down at the manila envelope but left it lying on the oak coffee table where she had placed it. “It’s not right. My getting half.”
“Dutch, we’ve been through this.” She folded down the four sections of the box top to seal it, wishing she could close the argument as easily.
“You paid for this cabin,” he said.
“We purchased it together.”
“But your salary made that possible. We couldn’t have afforded it on mine.”
She pushed the box along the floor to the door, then stood up and faced him. “We were married when we bought it, married when we shared it.”
“Married when we made love in it.”
“Dutch—”
“Married when you served me my morning coffee wearing nothing but a smile and that afghan,” he said, motioning in the general direction of the knitted throw on the back of the armchair.
“Please don’t do this.”
“That’s my line, Lilly.” He took a step closer to her. “Don’t do this.”