Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“Thanks.” I turn toward my vehicle. “Be back soon.”
My engine turns over without hesitation, but I let it idle for a minute. While it warms up, I shoot off a quick text to Margot so she doesn’t worry, then tap Remy’s number.
He answers on the second ring. “Jigsaw?” His voice is low and rough. “What’s up?”
“Like two feet of snow.”
He chuckles, the sound muffled by wind. “Yeah, no shit. Been plowing all morning.”
Good. “Think you could swing that plow over to Pine Hollow?”
Silence, except for the wind howling over the line. “What’s out there?”
“The Cedarwood Funeral Home.”
Another pause. “Oh.”
“I’ll pay you.”
“It’s not that,” he says quickly. “One of my neighbors is sick. I’ve been keeping their place clear. Just in case, you know, she needs to call an ambulance. Her husband’s...not doing great.”
“Shit. Sorry to hear that.”
He sighs, heavy and tired. “They were good to my grandparents back in the day. Just trying to return the favor.”
Grinder had mentioned Remy helped out most of his elderly neighbors. One of the reasons he’s got so much respect for the kid—when Grinder usually dislikes almost everyone. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Let me make a call,” he says. “I got a buddy out that way who can probably get there faster than I could anyway.”
“That’s all right. We’ve got a snowblower.”
“That’ll take forever to clear their parking lot. Hang tight. I’ll call you back.”
“Thanks.” We hang up, and I shift into Drive, easing onto the slick road, while flakes continue to fall in lazy swirls. At least the snow seems to be slowing.
Half an hour later, I pull back into the Cedarwoods’ driveway, sliding into the spot I claimed earlier—close to the house, out of the way of the plow Remy promised should be here in another thirty.
Paul’s shoveling in front of the garage. He’s actually made a lot of progress in the short amount of time I’ve been gone.
Snow crunches under my boots as I step out of the truck. The wind hasn’t let up, but the flurries have slowed.
Paul stops and waves, hurrying over to me. “That was quick.”
I pull the can out of the back. “Didn’t stop to browse. Let’s get that beast going.”
We trudge through the powder to the machine, where I unscrew the cap and tilt the gas can, steady and slow. Fuel splashes into the tank with a satisfying glug, glug, glug. Paul stands back, arms folded, watching like I’m performing surgery.
“Think it’ll start?” he asks.
“It better.” I set the can aside, prime the engine a couple times, then hit the electric start. The machine coughs, sputters, then rumbles to life like a pissed-off dragon. Runs rough. But at least it’s chugging along now.
Paul lets out a relieved breath. “Damn. I didn’t think it would be that easy.”
“Just needed to feed it.” I grab the handles. “This thing’s barely broken in.” I bet they didn’t winterize it last year, either. That’s something I can do at the end of the season.
I test the controls, adjusting the chute direction and speed. Tracks grip the snow like tank treads. Yeah, this thing’s a beast.
Before I can get started, footsteps crunch behind me. I turn to find Margot’s dad bundled up in a winter coat, holding out a pair of tan coveralls in one hand and a broken-in Carhartt jacket in the other.
“Here,” he says. “You’ve got more muscle on you, but I think these might fit.”
“Uh.” I glance down at my jeans and leather jacket, the cold sinking into my bones.
Pride begs me to refuse the offer, but he’s right.
“You’ll freeze in that.” He pushes the coveralls toward me.
“Okay.” I grab the clothes from him. “Thanks.”
He nods. “I appreciate the help. I don’t know what happened to Henry.” His frown deepens. “I hope he’s okay.”
“Maybe he’s stuck in the snow somewhere?” I suggest. “Cell service out here’s spotty. Worse in a storm. I’ve got a friend with a plow truck on the way, but I’ll finish the driveway that Paul started and work my way around the house.”
He studies me again with that quiet, assessing look of his. “Thank you, Jensen.”
I return the nod, solid and simple. No need to make it awkward.
What kind of asshole would I be if I just sat around and watched my girlfriend’s family struggle to do a task I can easily handle?
Now that it’s gassed up, I shouldn’t have a problem starting the snow blower again. I shut it off and follow Mr. Cedarwood up the front steps into the house.
Sweet, suffocating heat wraps around me as I step inside. Margot’s waiting to the side. Her dad stops to have a word with her, and she nods.
Someone laid thick, plastic runners over the carpet; even so, I don’t want to track more snow over the house than necessary. I quickly unlace my boots and pop them out on the porch, then step into the coveralls. I shrug my jacket off and Margot tugs it from my hands.