Murphy's Law

But not before Garrett felt a slicing pain all the way to his right hip, followed by a warm, sticky wetness that said his wound had reopened. Damn! It had only recently stopped bleeding again after his rude acquaintance with Murphy's nephew's floor.

How Garrett remained conscious was something he'd never know. The black edges of pain threatened to engulf him, but he struggled not to let it. In the end, he won…but not until he'd put up one hell of a fight.

He glanced to the left. The car was at a complete stop now, which was probably a good thing, since Murphy had cushioned her forehead against the back of her hands which, in turn, were tightly fisting the top arc of the steering wheel.

“Murphy?” When she didn't answer, Garrett grew alarmed. Had she hit her head? Was she conscious? “Murphy?!”

“What?” she replied miserably.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Fine. Great. Peachy-keen. But I don't think you're going to be when you hear what I have to tell you.”

There was a tightness in his chest that Garrett had never felt before. If he thought his wounded leg would have allowed it, he would have scooted over on the bucket seat, swept Murphy over the stick shift, and lifted her into his arms. “Don't worry about it. Whatever it is, it can't be too important. That you're not hurt is. It's very important.”

“No, you don't understand.”

“Then maybe you should explain it to me?”

She didn't. Instead, Murphy showed him. Bracing her forehead on the back of one hand, she gestured with her the thumb of her other behind them.

Moonshine had slid onto the floor near Garrett's feet. The cat now jumped onto Garrett's left leg and meowed loudly. Without thinking about he was doing, Garrett scratched the cat behind the ears as, scowling, he tracked the path Murphy indicated.

His heartbeat accelerated. The back window was foggy, but not foggy enough to prohibit him from seeing the tree trunk laying at an angle across the narrow, snow-strewn road. “Son-of-a—!”

As though in mockery, the car engine cough, sputtered and died.

Chapter 6

Murphy's Law #6: Two wrongs…are only the beginning.

MURPHY LOOKED at Garrett. “What now?”

“Damned if I know,” he admitted, then sighed. “I guess I could try to move it.”

“Move what? The tree?!”

He nodded.

“You?” Murphy shook her head. “Don't even think about it. You're the one who needed help getting dressed and into the car only an hour ago, remember?”

Moonshine meowed, as though to reaffirm Murphy's reminder should Garrett decide to argue.

Garrett split a frustrated glare between woman and cat. “We can't just sit here and freeze to death. What do you suggest?”

Murphy debated for a second. “The only thing we can do.”

“What's that?”

“Turn around and go back.” With trembling fingers, she twisted the key in the ignition. The engine ground and choked. For a few tense seconds she was positive the car wasn't going to start—it would be just her luck. Oh, yes, this was a bad-B movie scenario that her brother would have loved.

Finally, when she'd given up hope, the motor turned over. The engine hacked its way conscious like a heavy smoker in the early morning.

Murphy's cold fingers curled around the stick shift. She was in the process of pushing the lever into first gear when she felt Garrett's palm cover the back of her hand. His fingers settled naturally, warmly, between the webbing of her own. His big hand dwarfed her smaller, softer one.

Slowly, her gaze slipped up to his.

“We can't turn back,” Garrett said. The raspy whisper of his voice barely overrode the howl of the wind outside. “We've come too far to even consider it.”