Nate gives a derisive laugh and turns the key in the ignition. Again. Nothing. The thick blizzard swirls around my head and I struggle to see through it. He tries starting the car for a third time.

"f.u.c.k!" Nate slams his hand against the steering wheel when nothing happens.

This is one situation I never would've wanted an I told you so against Nate Campbell. "Stuck, are we?"

"Obviously."

"Right." I walk around the back of the car then push open the boot.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for my coat!"

"Why?"

I look up at where he's turned in his seat and point at the sky. "Um. Snowing?"

"Get back in the car, then."

"No way. We need to go."

"Bu-"

"Don't tell me you're going to call and wait for the breakdown service? Not happening, Nate. Look at the b.l.o.o.d.y weather."

"I can see the b.l.o.o.d.y weather!"

"Oh, so now you can?" I snap and yank my coat from my bag. "s.h.i.t. I have no decent shoes."

Nate jumps out and approaches. "Don't be stupid. We can't walk through this and where would we go anyway?"

"Back to the pub you love so much, I guess."

"That's miles!"

"About five but I'm not staying in this car with you waiting to be buried in a snow drift. We can wait at the pub until we can get your car back. Come on."

Shaking from the cold and shock of the accident, I shrug on my coat and hesitate before picking up my bag. Nate looks in surprise as I thrust it at him.

"Here," I say.

"What's this?"

"My bag. You can carry it since you're the reason we're in this mess."

"What about mine?"

"Carry both if you want." My attempt to stalk off is marred by the struggle to get through the snow.

"For f.u.c.k's sake," he grumbles and catches up, my bag slung across his shoulder.

We walk along the tracks left by Nate's car, but the further we go the more new snow has settled and obscured the tracks. Nate walks ahead of me and his figure blends into the storm around, and every time I speak, I get a mouth full of snowflakes.

I fight the tears and anger at Nate, and at myself. Why didn't I catch the train? Fine, a two-hour wait for one, but at least, risking that would be better than wading through snow with the a.s.shole with no common sense.

We reach the final hill and I can see the pub through the snow. But my legs ache, and the prospect of climbing the hill arrests me. Nate's taciturn att.i.tude along the walk p.i.s.ses me off. Is this man incapable of apologising?

Nate paces up the hill, until he apparently notices I'm not with him and turns. Do I look as bedraggled as he does? Snow covers his shoulders and he fights a losing battle to keep the snow from his hair as he repeatedly pushes his hand through.

"We're nearly there," he says.

"I need to rest."

He crosses his arms. "Here?"

"Evidently." Screw it. I'm soaked anyway. I drop onto my backside in the middle of a snowdrift.

"What the f.u.c.k?" asks Nate. "You can't stop here. Get up."

"No."

"Fine." He turns and continues his journey.

Jerk. I stare at the ground and pick up snow in my cold hand, squeezing it through my numb fingers. My woollen coat is soaked, and my legs cold where my damp jeans cling to them. Sitting here with more snow settling around isn't the smartest move.

But I don't care.

Nate's booted feet appear in front of me. He yanks me by the arm until I have to stand and I slam into his chest. "You can't stay there. You'll die of hypothermia or some s.h.i.t."

I push him away and look into his p.i.s.sed-off face. "I have a coat on."

"Shut up and come on." I'm yanked again and he strides along the path he created, hunched against the snow. I attempt to keep his pace and fail, convinced my aching legs are about to collapse.

"Nate. I'm serious. I need a break."

An exasperated Nate drags both hands through his hair, and closes his eyes. He mutters something.

"What?" I snap.

"Get on my back." I blink away the snowflakes on my eyelashes unable to respond. "Riley, get on my back, and I'll f.u.c.king carry you."

I grit my teeth. "No." Unsteadily, I pick through the snow past him. I'm soaked, and p.i.s.sed off, and b.l.o.o.d.y cold. I trip with the exhaustion and land on my knees.

I will not cry in front of Nate.

"Now who's proving a point?" Nate's voice is softer as he helps me to my feet, his face drawn into concerned lines, and I'm caught by the drop in his att.i.tude to me. "Let me carry you the rest of the way."

I waver but the temperature and desire for the warmth of the pub at the top of the hill makes up my mind. "Okay."

Nate slings the bag across my shoulders instead and hitches me onto his back. My damp coat slides against his leather jacket and snow gathers on his head. I wrap my arms around Nate's neck, glad of the warmth and the fact the a.s.shole who crashed his car in a snowstorm has impressive upper body strength.

8.

RILEY.

The cars outside the pub are barely visible and drifting snow piles against one side of the building. Nate inelegantly drops me and rests a hand on the wall, out of breath. "It's a good thing you're skinnier because what the h.e.l.l is in your bag? It weighs a ton."

"The usual items somebody would take to a hotel for a business trip."

Nate mutters something, shakes snow from his hair and pushes through the pub door, which is already a third covered by a drift. The four people around the table look up in surprise.

"Whoa. What happened to you?" asks the young guy.

"Car broke down," says Nate flashing me a be quiet look.

"Unlucky!" George says with a chuckle. "I'd give you a lift but my car wouldn't make it far."

"Reckon you're stuck, mate," says the younger guy sitting with him.

I take a ragged breath and cross to the fire, hoping to regain sensation in my hands and feet sometime soon. "Are you okay, love? Did you have to walk far?" asks the woman.

Nate points at where I dropped my bag on the floor. "At least she has dry clothes."

Nate's leather jacket has protected some of him but his black jeans are soaked through. "You can always borrow some of our son's, while I dry yours," says the woman. "He's about your height. Toby isn't here, he won't mind."

Nate makes a humph noise and crosses his arms. The snow in my hair melts and slides down my face, along with my make-up. My usually neat style changes into wet tendrils and I shudder to think how I look right now.

"Well, I guess introductions are in order if we're going to spend the night together," says the older man.

Night?

"I'm George, landlord, and this is my wife, Val."

"I'm Jason," adds the guy with a grin. "I know you. You're Nate Campbell; what's your girlfriend called?"

"Excuse me, I'm standing here. You can ask me. Riley. And I'm not his girlfriend," I snap.

"Partner, whatever." He waves a hand.

I glance at Nate who's staring out the window. He'd better drop the arrogance; this group of people won't care who he is.

"Do you have the number for a taxi?" I ask.

George laughs and Val shakes her head. "You'll be lucky. No one would agree to come up here in this weather. They might get stuck."

"Are we stuck?" I ask in a low voice.

"You could take us to the village or something," says Nate.

Jason laughs. "Take you? No way. You not have a helicopter or something to take your rock star a.s.s out of here?"

Nate scowls and I sn.i.g.g.e.r. "He's not that big a rock star."

"One day I will be," he retorts. "Ruby Riot is getting there."

"One day isn't any help right now, Mr. Big Shot," I mutter.

"Jesus, please don't tell me we're gonna be stuck in the pub with two people who are likely to have a domestic every five minutes," groans Jason.

"Nah, we don't talk to each other half the time," replies Nate. He wanders to the window and gazes out.

I run my tongue along my teeth, holding back on a response to his turned back. I look to George instead. "Are we stuck here tonight?"

"At least."

"At least?" Nate and me say together, as if we're in a corny comedy show. I feel like I'm in a corny comedy show.

"If a thaw sets in, could be tomorrow, maybe longer," replies Val.

Stolen car, car crash, expedition through the snow... How has today happened? And now this. Val's words don't register for a few seconds, and then they slug me in the stomach with the same force every other disaster has today. Fate's repeated strikes against me finally win, and I panic as my eyes fill with tears. Everybody will see me cry, and they can't. I hold my breath and focus on the flames in the hearth.

"You look frozen, love," says Val gently and approaches me. "You can take one of the guest rooms. Have a hot shower and you'll feel better."

Her eyes are filled with kindness for a total stranger and she reminds me of Mum with her gentle intuition. I nod and squeeze my eyes together against the tears.

"Yeah, blue doesn't suit you," replies Nate, indicating my hands.

Too exhausted and damp to consider a retort, I follow Val upstairs.

NATE.

What the f.u.c.k am I wearing? They said their son is the same size as me. No way. The checked flannel - yes, flannel - shirt hangs off me. I'm broad chested so this guy must weigh a h.e.l.l of a lot. His black jogging bottoms aren't much better. I look like I've been swallowed by a charity shop.

Ugh.

Riley's in one guest room. Val showed me to the other so Riley and me can both dry and warm ourselves quickly. Has Riley figured out what I have yet? Two guest rooms, two couples, and one bedroom for the owners.

Nate and Riley fight incoming.