At least one of us isn’t worried.

“Ready?” he asked Gianna. She nodded at him and held up one gloved finger, asking for a moment. Chris studied their backup plan, pleased with the results. The rope towline should pull the sleds with no issues. He simply needed to be careful when stopping and cornering. It would get them where they need to go. Gianna directed Violet to one of the toboggans. They’d agreed the teen should wear the helmet. The girl sat down, put on her goggles, and gripped a duffel. Oro promptly sat in the front of her sled, his eyes and ears stating he was ready for fun. Violet patted the dog and gave a weak smile. The first Chris had seen all morning.

“That’s his usual seat,” Chris explained. “He loves sledding.”

Gianna took a seat on the other sled. “Let’s go.” She pulled her hat down and her scarf up over her nose and mouth to her goggles. Through the clear plastic, her gaze said she had complete faith in their success.

Chris took a deep breath and started the engine.

A windshield would have been nice.

Gianna kept her head down, thankful for the goggles. The wind was nearly unbearable. It blasted right through her scarf and gloves. She’d tried facing backward during part of her ride, but it’d nauseated her. Violet rested her helmeted head against Oro’s back, using the dog to block the gentle snowflakes that turned into stinging pieces of ice upon impact with skin. Oro didn’t mind the cold.

Twice they’d dismounted and walked up hills when the engine groaned with its load. Chris would drive the snowmobile to the top of the hill, then walk back down, breaking a path for them. For the first five steps she’d welcomed the change and relief from the cold wind. Then she’d simply been miserable.

Violet was quiet. Gianna was 90 percent certain that nerves had upset her stomach back at the truck. The teen hadn’t complained about the cold or the hikes up the hills, making Gianna simultaneously proud and worried. Her pace was a bit slow, but she didn’t ask for a break. When they got back on their sleds after the second hill, Violet had promptly closed her eyes and leaned forward against the dog. Gianna noticed that Chris kept an eye on her daughter but didn’t ask questions.

Their progress was slow. She and Violet had learned to use their heels to help slow the sleds when Chris needed to stop or take a sharp turn. Frankly, the sleds worked so well, she wished they hadn’t wasted energy on the truck. But once they got out to the highway, she knew they’d wish they had the Ford. After what felt like hours, the tall firs lining the narrow road opened up to a wider highway.

Chris raised one arm in exultation and Gianna cheered. Violet’s smile was wan, but Gianna could feel her relief. Along the edge of the highway, a tall berm of plowed snow made for some tricky maneuvering to get to the road. Clearly the snowplows hadn’t even attempted to plow the road to their cabins, and had simply passed it by. Frisco. The forest ranger’s face filled her mind, and she said a silent prayer for the kind man who’d clearly gone out of his way to check on them. Without his snowmobile they’d still be stuck in the cabin or in Chris’s truck. With a murderer running around.

With a burst of teen energy, Violet ran out into the center of the road and spun on one foot, her arms in the air. A mother’s instinct urged Gianna to tell her to get out of the road, but it wasn’t necessary. No cars. No sounds of traffic. The highway was typically two lanes wide but was currently plowed to a width of one and a half. It hadn’t been disturbed in hours; a couple of inches of powder rested on top of the packed snow. No tire marks.

“They must have closed the highway,” stated Chris. “The accident must have been worse than Frisco realized.” He pulled out his phone. “Yes! I’ve got coverage.” He immediately dialed and held the phone to his ear.

Violet checked hers. “I’ve got coverage, too.” She looked at her mom. “Who should I call?”

Gianna considered calling her uncle but then rejected the idea. They’d argued the last time they spoke. He’d wanted her to move to California instead of to Oregon, claiming she needed to be near family. She didn’t want to admit that she’d stranded herself and Violet during their first month in their new state. No matter how much she loved the man who’d raised her after her parents’ deaths, it would trigger a million questions she didn’t have the energy to answer. “We’ll let Chris make the calls.” Violet gave her an odd look but slid the phone back in her pocket.

No one knows we’re here.

If she and Violet had died in that fire, how long would it have taken before someone missed them? A week? She had a scheduled phone call with her uncle on the first of the month, no matter the day. So he wouldn’t have noticed until she missed their call. She had close friends back in New York, but they knew she was slow to answer emails and texts. She wasn’t the type to call and chat for hours with friends on the phone.

Her empty life spread out in front of her.

Would her new employer have been the first person to notice they were gone?

She’d moved to the West Coast with the intent to make a fresh start, and that fresh start had nearly killed her and her daughter.

I’m not reckless.

Not like them.

For years she’d heard the stories about her parents. The adventurers. The beautiful people. So many friends. So little time.

Gianna had been their trophy child. Photos showed a serious girl who always had a bow in her hair and was dressed to match her mother. Having a daughter hadn’t slowed down her parents. They simply took her with them. Before she was six, she’d been to Australia, Italy, Russia, and Japan. She didn’t attend kindergarten; her parents had felt it was a waste of time. Instead they filled her world with books and travel. When it was time for first grade, the carefree travel stopped, and they stuck to winter and summer vacations for trips. Gianna remembered her introduction to the monotony of school. Suddenly she’d been forced into a structured schedule and immersed with children her own age. Before, it’d been the three of them and her parents’ adult friends.