Page 51 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

“Your dad sounds very smart,” I said. “Now go catch your bus before it leaves without you.”

The snow had picked up considerably and was no longer falling straight down, but swirling in dizzy spirals that made it hard to see more than a few feet ahead.

The school felt eerily quiet after the bustle of early dismissal. A few teachers were still gathering their things, but most had already headed out. I grabbed my purse and the stack of papers I'd planned to grade tonight—though now it looked like I'd have plenty of time for that if the roads became impassable.

“Cassie!” Kathy appeared in my doorway, pulling on her winter coat. “You heading out?”

“Just grabbing my things,” I said, shoving the papers into my bag. “This escalated quickly, didn't it?”

She nodded, her expression serious. “Weather service just announced it could dump four or five feet before it's done. I wanted to make sure you felt comfortable driving home. The road to your cottage can get tricky in weather like this.”

I appreciated her concern, but I also felt a surge of confidence. I'd been living in Montana for months now, and while I wasn't exactly a winter driving expert, I wasn't the same city girl who'd arrived here with summer clothes. I mean, I have snow tires now. That had to account for something.

“I'll take it slow,” I promised. “Besides, if I get stuck, Levi's just next door.”

Kathy's expression softened with something that looked suspiciously like motherly satisfaction. “Yes, he is. That's good to know.”

Ten minutes later, I was trudging through the parking lot to my car, my boots crunching through snow that was already ankle-deep. The wind hit me like a slap, and it wasn’t hard to find my car among the few remaining vehicles.

Frankie started on the first try—bless her reliable little heart—and I spent a few minutes clearing snow off the windshield and side mirrors. The world beyond the parking lot had become a swirling white void, but I could make out the main road, and that was enough.

The drive through town was surreal. Main Street, usually bustling even on a weekday afternoon, was nearly deserted. The few brave souls I saw were hunched against the wind, moving quickly between buildings. I thought I spotted Levi’s truck down a side street, but wasn’t sure. He did make a habit of helping out anyone who couldn’t fend for themselves, so no doubt he was out there somewhere delivering donuts or finding lost dogs. The traffic light at the center of town swayed back and forth, casting red and green shadows through the snow like a festive ghost.

I drove slowly, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary, my eyes straining to follow the road as it curved away from town toward the wooded area where my cottage sat. The familiar landmarks—the old barn, the bend by Sutter's Creek, the stand of birch trees—were all muted and transformed by the storm, like looking at the world through frosted glass.

By the time I turned onto the road that led to my cottage, the snow was coming down so hard that my windshield wipers could barely keep up. But I could see the warm glow of my porch light through the trees, a beacon guiding me home.

I'd never been so grateful to see that little yellow cottage, even blurred by snow. I pulled into my usual spot under the big pine tree and sat for a moment, engine running, letting out a relieved breath I'd been holding.

The storm was definitely worse than it was when I left the school. Through the windshield, I could see the trees leaning dramatically, their branches heavy with snow and bending under the weather's assault. The sound was incredible—a constant whisper that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

But I was home. I had plenty of food, a good supply of firewood, thanks to Levi, and enough books to last through a week-long siege if necessary. Plus, knowing Levi was just a few hundred yards away through the trees gave me a comfort I probably wasn't ready to examine too closely.

I turned off the engine and grabbed my bag from the passenger seat. The plan was simple: quick dash to the porch, unlock the door, and settle in for a cozy evening of storm-watching and paper-grading.

I should have known better than to trust simple plans.

The moment I opened the car door, the wind hit me like a living thing—wild, angry, and cold enough to steal my breath. Snow stung my face and immediately found its way into every gap in my clothing. I clutched my bag tighter and bent my head against the assault, taking quick steps toward the porch.

I was maybe halfway there when I heard it—a sound that cut through the storm's roar like a knife. A deep, ominous crack that seemed to come from directly above me.

I looked up just in time to see the massive pine tree beside my driveway—the same tree I'd parked under a hundred times before—beginning to fall.

Time did that strange thing it does in moments of crisis, stretching and compressing simultaneously. I had just enough time to think, with perfect clarity, “That tree is going to hit my cottage.” And then, a millisecond later, “I need to move. Now.”

I lunged away from the porch, but the tree was already committed to its descent. The trunk, easily three feet across and weighed down by decades of growth plus today's accumulation of heavy snow, struck the cottage with a sound like the world breaking.

The impact was tremendous. The entire structure shuddered, and I felt the vibration through the ground beneath my feet. But it wasn't just the trunk that did the damage—it was the branches.

A massive limb, thick as my waist, caught me across the chest and swept me off my feet like I weighed nothing at all. One moment, I was running toward safety, and the next, I was airborne, my bag flying from my hands, my feet leaving the ground entirely.

I hit the snow-covered earth hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs in a painful whoosh. For a few seconds, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only lie there in the snow feeling stunned and trying to process what had just happened.

When I finally managed to push myself up on my elbows, the scene before me was like something from a disaster movie. The beautiful old pine tree lay across my cottage like a sleeping giant, its trunk having punched through the roof and into what I knew was my living room. Branches stuck out at odd angles, and I could see broken glass glinting in the light.

My cottage—my perfect, crooked, welcoming little cottage—was destroyed.

The wind howled around me, driving snow into my face and clothes, but I barely felt it. I was in shock, I realized dimly. That was why everything felt so distant and surreal. That was why I was sitting in the snow, staring at the wreckage of my home, and feeling oddly detached from the whole scene.