okay, sweetie,” Isabella cooed, laying a hand on her belly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her child gave a healthy kick, urging its mother to ignore the chill in her chest and legs and the scratch of what felt like icicles in her throat. She would fight for warmth. She would fight for her child.
Her gaze lifted. First to heaven, asking her late father for help, then lower to the windshield. Snow pelted the glass, shutting her off from the outside world one perfect snowflake at a time.
Michael Wulf glanced out the tinted rearside window of the town car whisking him home from the airport. Beyond the car’s warm borders, the wind roared, causing the car to pitch slightly.
Just yesterday he’d been in Los Angeles, chuckling at the paltry first offer he’d received from Micronics to purchase a prototype of his vocal-command software. The heads of corporations never fully understood whom they were dealing with when they first met with him. They’d heard rumors that he was a mystery, a hermit, a genius, but they were never certain how to play the game.
Michael taught them quickly enough.
He’d finally left the warm sunshine with a very profitable deal closed, returning home to freezing temperatures. But the early-season snowstorm that met his plane wasn’t an unwelcome sight. He appreciated Minnesota and its climate, valued the hibernation, the solitude, the solace. Although he did miss the long daylight hours now that the beginnings of winter were here.
It was only early afternoon and yet the gray sky and unrelenting snowfall had turned the surrounding landscape dim. It was hard to see fifty feet in front of the car. But even with the hazardous conditions and his position in the back seat, Michael’s gaze caught sight of a faint orange light glowing against the snow in the distance. And near it, on the side of the road, something resembling an igloo with side mirrors and an Illinois license plate sat in ice-coated silence.
“What the hell is that?” he muttered.
The driver slowed, glancing to his right. “Looks like an abandoned car, sir.”
Abandoned. That word fisted around Michael’s gut, warning him that things weren’t always as they seemed. It would take all of five seconds to see if the car truly was abandoned. Five seconds he was willing to risk even in such a blizzard. “Stop.”
The driver did as he was instructed, pulling over in front of the car. In a flash, Michael was out the door, his bad leg stiffening in the cold as he trekked the few feet to the car. But he hardly noticed the dull ache. He was alert as he swept several inches of snow from the window, intent to see for himself that no one remained inside.
Suddenly his breath came out in a rush of fog. A woman sat in the driver’s seat. She was bundled from head to foot in down and wool, asleep—or at least he hoped she was asleep.
“Miss? Miss? Can you hear me?” He yanked open the door and ripped off his glove, then bent down and dipped a hand inside her scarf. A strong, steady pulse beat against his fingers.
She stirred then, her eyes fluttering open. She stared up at him with large, deep-blue orbs that, though shrouded with uncertainty, spoke directly to his soul.
Deep-blue windows he’d seen somewhere before.
Her lips parted. “You found me.”
And that voice. It was scratchy and raw, but he knew that voice.
The snow swirled around him like an ominous cyclone. Michael quickly shoved aside the questions forming in his mind. He needed to get her out of the car and to safety. But where? The hospital was forty-five minutes away. Too far.
“The heater stopped working…maybe half hour ago,” she said softly, slowly. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”
“You’re damn lucky,” he said, easing her out of the car then helping her to stand. “Another half hour and…” And that car would’ve become an arctic tomb. He didn’t say it.
The wind burned his face and neck as he stripped off his coat and covered her. “You’re going to be fine. Hang on.”
“All right,” she whispered.
He picked her up and started toward the town car just as the driver rushed up beside him to help.
“Sir, would you like me to carry—”
Michael ignored the offer. “Turn the heat on high and get us home as quickly as you can.”
The man nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Once tucked safely inside the car, Michael stripped off the woman’s boots and rubbed her cold toes.
“Feels good,” she said. “Itchy, but good.”
After her feet were warm, he slid off her gloves and rubbed her small hands between his large ones. Then he gathered her in his arms and held her close.
“How long were you out there?” he asked.
The woman let her head fall against his shoulder as she answered with a sigh, “Since ten. This morning.”
Five hours.
He cursed softly. “Just try to relax. You’re safe now.” Although a trace disoriented, she was going to be okay, he knew it somehow. But still, deep worry pricked at him. Her padded down coat couldn’t hide what he could feel against his side.
“When’s your baby due?” he asked.
She looked at him. “About a month.”
His jaw tightened. What idiot would let his wife travel alone through a snowstorm at this stage of her pregnancy? Well, he was sure going to find out.
With gentle precision, he drew off her scarf. He’d been so intent on getting her to shelter, he hadn’t been able to take a good look at her until now—except for her incredible and very familiar eyes. And what he could see made his chest tighten. Long waves of pale blond hair, heart-shaped face and a soft mouth. Again familiarity rapped at his mind. How the devil did he know her? He rarely went to social events, never went into town.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder again. “Thank you for coming to get me, Michael.”
At that, he froze like the icicles hanging off the stand of trees they passed. His mind worked, sharp and quiet, feeding information piece by piece until an answer formed.
And what an answer it was.
Falling asleep beside him sat the girl—no, the woman. A very pregnant woman. And the one person on earth to whom he owed a debt. One he’d vowed to pay back a long time ago.
He grabbed his cell phone, pushed a button and uttered, “Dr. Pinta,” into the receiver.
The old doctor who had treated three generations of Fielding residents and was as close to a friend as Michael allowed himself to have picked up on the second ring.
“I need you, Thomas.”
Visions of hot chocolate and electric blankets danced in Isabella’s fuzzy head. Along with a grainy movie of her childhood crush dressed in shining armor, rescuing her from a white dragon who breathed hail, instead of fire. It was lovely, but the closer she got to the chocolate and blankets and handsome knight, the more her toes itched and her throat hurt.
“Isabella?”
The voice came from far away, through a snow-covered haze.
“Isabella, I need you to wake up.”
The tone was parental and she forced her eyes to open and focus. She could feel that she was fully dressed, see that she was covered by several blankets and in a room that was not her own.
As she glanced around, her heart thumped madly in her chest. The room was large and furnished in dark wood. Drawn curtains made up the wall in front of her, a fire roared and crackled to her left, and a man sat beside her. A man she recognized instantly. His balding head, scholarly