novelxo Her Knotty List: Chapter 6
This guy is a fucking asshole.
But—with the flannel shirt and the worn canvas baseball cap pulled low over his brow—he has the grizzled look of a mountain man, so I decide I’ll follow him to the car buried under a snow drift.
Fuck, it is cold out here. When my followers voted on this location for glamping, I thought I’d gotten off easy. It wasn’t the Himalayas or the Rockies. Or some glacier in Alaska.
The Blue Ridge seemed like a good spot for a bit of holiday content. Lots of snow, pine trees, mountains. Just… you know, no death.
Or, so I thought.
But, right now, there is totally a dead chick in the front seat of this car.
Oh God. Oh hell. Shit. Motherfucker.
Mountain Man knocks at the frosted window, trying to rouse her. But she doesn’t even twitch, as far as I can tell. The glass is fogged from the extreme cold, but it looks like she isn’t moving.
I start to pant, the cold, thin air doing little to fill my lungs. The guy next to me—possibly the alpha-iest alpha I’ve ever met in passing, goddamn—reaches over and pounds his thick fist into my bare chest.
“Breathe right,” he orders. “And close that stupid coat. We already have one person in need of medical care. If you pass out, too, I’m leaving you in the snow.”
See? He’s a dickhead.
Cute dog, though.
The sleek tri-color pup digs at the car’s door, paws flying at the snow built up against it. His owner scans his eyes over the scene, analyzing. “You said you called the fire department?”
I nod, feeling dumb. “Called 9-1-1 and got the fire department.” Now that I think about it, that’s weird. “You guys don’t have, like, emergency dispatch or whatever?”
He snorts, wading closer to the car. “No. Just the local fire station. The closest hospital is almost forty minutes outside of Knotty Hollow.”
I try to do the math. The Hollow is the nearest “town.”
You have to use air quotes when you call it a town, because it’s literally, like, one street. Maybe four, if you count crossroads.
My inbox had a few suggestions for the little hamlet while I’m here, but they all made me scoff. When I looked them up, I found that the recommended coffee shop is, in fact, the only coffee shop. Ditto the barbecue place and the local gym.
What is it they call it? A one-horse town?
Yeah, this place doesn’t even have a horse.
Maybe some goats.
The closest city is Asheville, but I don’t know jack about how to get someone there if they need emergency medical care. Guess that’s why I need the Brawny Paper Towel Guy next to me.
His blue eyes are intense, running over every part of the car and the blurry shape of the woman inside. When he notices me staring, he grunts. “I don’t want to move her in case her neck is broken. And if I open the door and she’s already hypothermic, she’ll only get colder. I don’t have a heating blanket on me.”
He flicks a look at my content-filming ensemble. “You clearly don’t either.”
Well, he’s got me there. I don’t think anything else would fit into these furry briefs. I can already feel one of my ass cheeks trying to escape. Fortunately, all this snow has my junk shrunk up, so there’s some extra room if I shift around a bit.
The things I do for the ’Gram.
Honestly? This? Standing in a snowbank with my package wrapped in faux fur? This doesn’t even rank.
While my unfortunate companion continues to analyze the situation, his dog goes fucking ballistic. I feel bad for him.
Taking pity on the poor creature, I crouch a bit and reach to pet his head. “I know, dude. Shit’s rough. Bet you wish you could get in there to help.”
The dog bounces a bit, whining and licking my chin like I’ll let him assist if he can convince me he’s a good boy.
“No convincing needed,” I tell him, blowing out a breath. “You’re obviously a good doggo. I just can’t let you in, man. I don’t even know how to unlock the door. But good on you for trying.”
He chuffs at me, sending a puff of fresh snow into his own face.
Damn, he’s cute. Maybe I should get a dog. I could film a shitload of content with one.
Jesus, Zane. Not the time.
Mountain Man watches the way his pup winds between my legs for more pets and begrudgingly offers his leather-covered hand. “Knox.”
I shake it, standing back up. “Zane.”
He narrows his eyes. “Your name is as stupid as your outfit.”
I shrug. He isn’t wrong. “And you have no social skills.”
He nods, like he agrees that this exchange accurately sums up the situation. Before I can ask him what the fuck we’re going to do, headlights appear on the horizon. They approach from the opposite direction this girl was traveling in—down the mountain instead of up. Judging by the huge flash and the rumble under my feet, it’s a big-ass truck.
Knox mutters, “Thank God.”
So I assume he recognizes the blue Ram rolling right up to us.
Another guy jumps out, covered head-to-toe in padded fireman-red cold-weather gear. His black rubber boots crunch through the snow surrounding the car as he approaches.
With a hood over his head and snow flurrying, it’s hard to see what he looks like, but I glimpse dark-brown skin and lighter eyes as he notices me and shoots a curious look at Knox.
I raise my hand. “Zane. I called in the crash when I saw smoke from my campsite.”
The fireman nods, his expression grave. “Smart. Most people would have waited until they got here, and that wastes a ton of response time. It’s good you called when you did.”
Without another word, the guy pulls out a hatchet—an actual fucking mini-axe, people—and shatters the car window. His gloved fingers fumble with the lock. Then he’s in, bending over the woman on the seat. As an afterthought, he reaches up and unlocks the door on our side, too.
Knox immediately dives for the handle. Trying to be useful—since the extent of my medical training is, like, Grey’s Anatomy—I drop into a crouch and wind my hand around the dog’s collar, holding him back from jumping on the woman.
“It’s okay,” I murmur while he wiggles. “They’re going to help her, dude. We just have to be patient.”
The fireman shucks his gloves and starts a careful examination. “Unconscious,” he reports, solemn. “She has a pulse, but it’s thready. Mild head contusion. No external bleeding—oh, wait. Here.”
He feels around the blonde curls cascading over her shoulders, up to her hairline. “I feel a lump,” he says, bending closer. “No blood…”
He turns to look at the dashboard, where I notice a crack in the windshield and a set of spent airbags. “She probably hit her head when the airbags deployed.”
He sighs, leaning back to take in her exposed, pale limbs. “She might have passed out on impact. If not, I bet she was disoriented and scared to get out of the car alone. She may not have a cell phone signal up here.”
“So, you don’t recognize her?” Knox asks.
Fire Guy shakes his head. “She definitely isn’t local. Just look at her clothes.”
He has a point. The girl—I can see now that she’s young and seriously fucking pretty—has on a beaded white flapper dress. It’s paper-thin. I go to shuck my coat automatically, wanting to cover her, but Knox stops me.
“You’ll be just as cold as her in five minutes,” he grumbles, removing his own vest and coat. Under the blue corduroy and puffy down, he has on a red flannel shirt.
Because, of course he does.
Fire Guy looks me over, notes my outfit, but doesn’t comment. I decide I like him better.
Turning his focus back to the girl, he sighs. “I don’t see any reason not to move her. We need to get her vitals and warm her up. She’s between the second and third stages of hypothermia. If it gets any worse, I won’t be able to help her, and we’ll have to call for a med-evac.”
Knox tosses me a look, translating with a grunt, “Helicopter.”
Okay, fuck. That sounds serious. The fire guy nods at me, his expression mirroring my concern. He turns back to Knox. “Your place is just up the road?”
Knox seems to hesitate—like he isn’t sure he wants this shitshow at his house.
And, seriously, bro? Man up.
I slap his shoulder. He growls, then grits, “Yes. Two miles down the highway and one more up the switchback.”
The other guy nods at him. “Help me get her in the truck.” He tosses me a look that isn’t completely devoid of amusement. “You can grab her purse.”