Come Hell or High Water | mxm

1.4

1.4

The roads were a mess.

Snow drove sideways before the howling wind. Earth and air were indistinguishable in the flat, grey light. Sam had high beams shining and wipers creaking at top speed, but still he found himself leaning forward, eyes straining to see the road ahead. He crept the car along at the slowest speed he felt comfortable with, hands tight on the steering wheel, hoping no one else was out on the road in this weather because he would never see them coming.

Gradually, he realized the chill air was beginning to bite. Cranking up the dial for the heat, he held his hand hopefully in front of the vent, fingers spread. Air gusted noisily, but it grew cooler instead of hotter. Sam swore viciously and fumbled on the seat beside him for his gloves.

Over the past six months Sam had grown intimately familiar with these roads, but he still nearly missed the turn for the farm in the whiteout. Deep-grooved snow tires barely gripped the snow-slick surface of the road, and his little silver hatchback car fishtailed into the turn, making him swear again as he fumbled to correct.

The drive had been plowed level but the yard was drifted high, assorted vehicles nothing more than misshapen hummocks under blanketing snow. The rusted blue pickup, a bent plow affixed to the front, loomed stark in the dimness, and Sam pulled up carefully beside it. Light gleamed warm yellow in an upstairs window of the cozy house.

Gathering his briefcase, Sam buttoned his coat all the way to his chin before popping open the door and running across to the house, head down against the driving snow. He rang the doorbell, stamping snow from his feet and covering one cold ear with a palm, then the other. Whirling snow muffled the world, the mournful howl of the wind the only sound.

When Gord opened the door, he looked surprised. He wore only a frayed grey towel slung low around his waist and held closed by one callused hand. Long hair and beard dripped pearls of water over damp shoulders. His broad chest was lightly furred with soft curls that went sparser and darker across a toned stomach before visibly coarsening just above the rolled edge of the towel.

Sam looked away quickly.

"Sam. What're you doin' here?" If Gord had noticed the blatant staring, his voice made no hint at it. He stood back and gestured a welcome. "Expected a call sayin' you wouldn't make it."

"If they had forecast this, that's exactly what would've happened." Sam sighed, pulling off his shoes and knocking the snow off them as Gord shut the door. Inside the house the air was warm, and as soon as Sam stepped in he had started sweating inside his heavy wool coat. "I didn't expect it to get so bad. So much for forty percent chance of flurries. I came into town yesterday, though, and had a couple other meetings this morning, so I figured I might as well finish the rounds. But now the heat's gone on my car. God, what a mess."

"Surprised you drive that little golf cart out here in the winter."

"I wouldn't," Sam admitted, "but the soon-to-be-ex needs the truck for work, so I got the car. At my old job we had company vehicles for situations like this, but Vivid's a small shop so no dice." Sam shut the closet on his jacket and gave Gord a rueful grin.

"Well, stick around a bit, see if it lightens up." Gord adjusted his grip on his towel and gave Sam an appraising look. "You caught me in the shower."

"So I see," Sam said, sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

"No worries. Make yerself at home, just be a minute."

"Thanks."

Gord waved over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs.