“I don’t think it will be too bad. Think of how easily things glide on top of the snow. Once we get moving, it shouldn’t take too much. There’re a few uphill sections of road going out to the highway . . . that might be a different story, and we might have to do some walking, but most of it is downhill or flat. My fingers are still crossed we can get pretty far with the truck.” He hurled another load of snow. “But pulling something behind the snowmobile is the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

They worked silently for a few moments. “One of my cases made me think of it,” Gianna said quietly. She’d hadn’t been able to get the old images out of her mind for the last two minutes. “A ten-year-old girl. A snow day off from school. Her dad was towing her and her brothers behind his quad on sleds in the snow, but he was going too fast and took his corners too sharp. The centrifugal force during a sharp turn slammed her and her sled against a small stone wall.”

Chris had stopped shoveling and was watching her intently. “She didn’t survive?”

“None of my cases survive.”

“How do you work on kids?” His gaze bored into her. She had a well-rehearsed answer for his common question.

“I care about them. I know that when they’re on my table, they’ll get the tenderness and compassion a child deserves. I want their parents to know that their children are handled with sensitivity. Just as I’d want Violet handled, so I give my best.”

He held her gaze for a few seconds. “You do, don’t you?”

“Every time. I’m human and I’m a mom. The tragedy of some of the cases kills something inside of me, but I counteract it by giving back to the child and family with my actions. Not all of us can do it. Usually within an office you know which cases are not good for certain people to work on. I have a type of case I don’t care to work on and they keep them away from me. It’s not uncommon for examiners to struggle with child autopsies, but I take pride in doing them. An abused child needs someone to speak for him.”

He turned back to the snow and dug. The set of his jaw told her she’d struck a nerve.

“I think this is good enough.” Chris set his shovel aside. He’d leaned the rifle against the door of the garage while he worked, but Gianna had noticed that he never took his gaze from the woods for more than a few seconds. If someone wanted to shoot at them, the two of them would be easy targets, but they’d agreed to take the chance. He handed her the rifle and bent down to pull up on the giant door handle. The door stuck. He grabbed the handle with both hands, planted his feet, and yanked. It slid upward, its horizontal panels neatly arcing up and into the garage in its tracks.

A set of rectangular headlights stared back at her. The old Ford truck was tall; its giant black tires had huge teeth designed for getting traction in deep snow. She didn’t know the technical term, but she recognized what her friends would call a “redneck truck.” If any truck could handle the snow, this was it. But she understood his doubts; the snow was deep. If those big tires got stuck, they could be stranded.

She crossed her fingers.

His garage was as immaculate as she’d expected. Everything in its place. “Help me with these,” he said as he started to load a few small concrete blocks into the back of what seemed to be the longest truck bed Gianna had ever seen. “It needs some weight over the back wheels.” Together they added a dozen blocks. Chris grabbed a few pieces of wood, two sleds that were hanging on one wall, and several lengths of rope, and stowed them in the bed near the cab. Sliding open a garage cabinet door, he pulled out two heavy-duty canvas duffel bags and added them to the truck’s bed. He saw her watching and said, “Emergency supplies.”

She wasn’t surprised. The man had always prepared tattooed on his forehead.

He also pulled out a helmet and a few pairs of ski goggles. “For the snowmobile.” Gianna nodded. The falling snow had bitten into her eyes and skin on her trip back without Frisco. She hadn’t cared much at the time.

Together they shoveled the drifts into a semblance of a ramp leading out of the garage. Once they’d eliminated the drifts, Gianna estimated the snow’s depth to be about two feet. How deep would the truck sink? Was it even possible to drive in snow that deep?

He added their two snow shovels to the bed. “Let’s see how she does.”

It’d been a hard decision, but Chris finally felt it was worth the chance. He’d kept picturing his old Ford stranding them in deep snow, but with Gianna’s suggestion about Frisco’s snowmobile, they now had a solid backup plan. He never liked to make a risky decision without a secondary option. Walking ten miles wasn’t a practical secondary option.

Gianna’s gaze had rested on his duffel bags, but she hadn’t asked questions. He had a second set he kept at his home in Portland and a smaller version in every vehicle. Foodstuffs, flashlight, batteries, Leatherman tools, tarps, blankets, fire starters, to list a few. In other words, peace of mind.

They both held their breath as he started the engine and drove out of the garage. The big tires bit into the snow and the truck groaned as it sank and pushed through the deep white fluff. Chris clenched his teeth. He’d never driven in this depth, but the truck managed. He drove carefully from the garage and parked as close to the cabin porch as possible. His brain filled in the details of the landscape that were buried under the snow, and he steered to avoid the border of small boulders he knew lined the driveway. He loved the old truck. It’d been through hard times and had the scrapes and dents to prove it, but it kept going. Sorta like him.