Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
“What? Yes. Sorry.” She hesitates. “H-how much is it?” The wind is loud through the phone, and I wonder if this woman is calling me from outside.”
“It depends on the size of the driveway and where you’re at. Give me your address, and I can get someone to come out.”
“Oh. Um, just an estimate is fine. I don’t have much, so I don’t want to waste your time.”
I let out an aggravated sigh. “You’ll be wasting my time if you don't tell me.”
“I’m sorry,” the soft voice says, and then she sniffles. “I’m new to town. Let me find it.” There’s a rustling that sounds like she’s flipping through papers. “It’s 17 Maple Street. It’s a green house with a brown door.”
“You’re at the old Murphy place?” If she’s where I think she is, then getting her out of there is going to be tough. Eli Murphy is a shady landlord that charges an arm and a leg for shit boxes that aren’t fit to live in. This one in particular is on a steep hill that even our plows have a hard time getting down.
“I think so?” It sounds like her teeth are chattering. “I just needed to get my car out.”
“I’ll come take a look,” I tell her, and before she can protest, I hang up the phone.
Hitting the button to reroute the phone, I see the lines light up so I know it’s working again. After that’s set, I go out into the storm and get in my diesel truck.
It’s going to be fucking cold tonight, but there’s no reason to hurry home to an empty house.
Chapter Two
NOLAN
Normally when the first big winter storm hits, everyone gets a little crazy. The problem is this time it’s a lot bigger than anyone anticipated. The snow is coming down heavy, and even my oversized truck is having a hard time getting through. I’ve got a guard on the front that helps me clear the road, but it’s not the same as driving a full-size plow.
“Dumbasses,” I say to myself when I see a group of teenagers doing donuts in the school parking lot. My crew is probably going to have to save their asses in an hour.
The whole drive over to Maple Street I’m wondering why the hell I didn’t just call it in for one of the other guys to handle. But if I’m honest with myself, I know exactly why. It’s because I’m stuck behind a desk most days. Either that or I’m sitting in meetings that could be handled without me. My company has grown to the point that I’m not needed anymore, and it’s pissing me off.
I’ve given up every other part of my life to make a name for myself and build something from the ground up. Now all I do is work on trucks to pass the time and try to stay out of the way.
Getting that call and hearing someone in need made me remember why I started doing this in the first place. Back when it was just me and my old Jeep that I’d installed a winch on. I used to go around pulling people out of the snow, and it made me feel like I was helping. I didn’t realize how much I missed that until I heard the woman on the other end of the line. She sounded like she needed help, and I didn’t hesitate to jump into action.
When I pull up to Maple Street, I slow down and take the curve as carefully as I can. The rain often runs off in this direction, so there’s likely a lot of ice under my tires.
“Shit,” I say when I feel the back tires start to slide. I put the truck in park and then hop out to get a better look.
Up ahead is the house, but I don’t see a light on. There’s a big lump in the driveway that I’m guessing is a vehicle, but it’s under about five feet of snow, so I can’t be sure. I trudge past where my truck stopped and make my way to the house. When I get to the porch, I duck under the awning and raise my hand to knock.
To my surprise, the door is pulled open before I can make contact. “I saw you drive up.”
“You the one that called about the plow?” I say as a big gust of cold wind blows ice and snow inside her house.
She’s a short little thing with big brown eyes and long dark hair. Her cheeks are pale, and her lips are a little blue as she shivers and pulls a thin cardigan tight around her body.
“Y-yes,” she says then swallows. “But I, um, wanted to know how much.”
Another gust of wind comes through, and I nod past her. “Why don’t you let me in so we can close this door?”