“Getting nekkid.”

“Right.”

“Well, damn.”

“You still have the option of taking me back to town.”

He looked out across the dark, barren landscape, made even more forbidding by the swirling snowfall. He cussed under his breath but then came back around. “I’m tempted to wish you luck and part ways. But I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. So …” He thrust his hand toward her. They shook on it. Then he reached beneath the driver’s seat and produced a cell phone.

“You have two?” she asked in surprise.

Distracted by punching in a number, he said, “Several. All with disposable SIM cards and blocked numbers.” Then he held his index finger vertically against his lips. She heard a man answer with a hello. “Hank?”

“Trapper? Where are you? Dad is about to stroke out, and I kid you not.”

“Are you with him now?”

“No, I’m at home.” In the background the sound track of a TV show could be heard, along with children’s laughter. “What are you up to?”

“It’s complicated.”

“With you, it always is.”

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Trapper—”

“Hank. You’re a minister. Isn’t this your calling? To help people in need? Or is that just hype?”

After a pause, Hank asked, “What do you want me to do?”

“First of all, has there been any further word about The Major’s condition?”

“Last report Dad got, he was holding steady. Even talking a little more.”

Trapper exhaled slowly, revealing to Kerra that he cared far more deeply about his father than he let on.

“Do you have Kerra Bailey with you?” Hank asked.

“Yes.”

“Is she all right?”

“Give me a break, Hank. You think I’d hurt a woman? Or take her by force?”

“I want to hear it from her.”

Trapper held the phone out to her and she said hello.

“Are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine.”

“Did he take you against your will?”

Maybe she was becoming hysterical over the madcap chain of events, because his phraseology almost caused her to laugh. “No. I came with Trapper willingly.”

Trapper took the phone back. “Satisfied? You’re off the hook. If you help me, no one can ever accuse you of aiding and abetting a kidnapper.”

“What about aiding a car thief?”

“Oh, so Glenn followed up on that. That’ll teach me to keep my big mouth shut.”

“What the hell, Trapper? You stole a truck?”

“No! I’ll explain everything, but later. Listen, you know the place we took the two girls that time? They had a bottle of homemade peach brandy?”

“The old line shack?”

“Right. Your condom broke. Hard to say who freaked out more, you or the girl.”

“That was before I started dating Emma.”

His self-righteous tone caused Trapper to look across at Kerra and roll his eyes. He asked, “Do you remember how to get there?”

“To the line shack? I think so.”

“Kerra and I need to drop out of sight for a couple of days. We’ll need supplies. Packaged food. Bottled water. Extra blankets. I’ll text you a list.”

“Are you nuts? The roads are frozen over. I’m not getting out in this tonight.”

Trapper swore, then said grudgingly, “Okay, wait till daylight.”

“I can’t do it at any time. First of all, Dad would go ballistic, if he didn’t put me in jail, which he probably would.”

“Only if you’re caught. Or blab.”

“Secondly, it just doesn’t feel right.”

“I haven’t broken any laws, Hank. Neither God’s nor man’s. Well, a few of God’s.”

“I don’t believe you’ve done anything illegal, per se.”

“I haven’t. So you’ll help?”

“Trapper, please don’t drag me into this.”

“Okay. Forget I asked. And, look, about the condom malfunction. It could happen to anybody. Especially in the heat of the moment. Lust fueled by peach brandy. I’m sure Emma and your congregation would understand.”

This time it was the pastor who swore. Then he sighed with resignation. “Text me your list. Will you be all right tonight?”

“It won’t be the Ritz, but we’ll manage. See you in the morning.”

“I can’t give you a time. A lot depends on the weather.”

“Whenever you can make it.” He paused. “And, Hank, I realize this is asking a lot. I owe you big time.”

He clicked off, then went into messages and began making a list of basic necessities. “Any special requests?”

“Toilet paper. Can Hank be trusted?”

He chuckled. “He can now.”

“You’re ruthless, Trapper.”

“You’re right,” he said and sent his text.

Around three a.m. the precipitation began to taper off. By dawn, it had stopped altogether. The sun came up behind an overcast eastern horizon, but the skies began to clear from the west, making the day brighter, the icy surfaces reflective.

Hank squinted against the harsh light as he braked his car at a distance from the shack.

Nobody knew who’d built it, somebody in the last century, possibly in the one before that. It had been used for shelter by cowboys checking herds and rounding up strays, or riding the miles of barbed wire fences checking for breaches, manmade or otherwise.

Most cattlemen now kept tabs on their herds and graze land from the cockpit of a helicopter, so nobody used the shack except for the occasional drifter who veered off the beaten path, or hunters caught in storms, or randy teenagers who upheld the tradition that Trapper had initiated.

After a quail hunt, during which The Major and Glenn had acquainted their two sons with the existence of the rough-hewn cabin, Trapper had claimed it as his personal pleasure palace, an ideal place to sneak away with a girl whenever he visited Lo-dal. One time Trapper had invited him to go on a double date. That was the last misadventure he’d had in Trapper’s corruptive company.

It was impossible not to like Trapper. He had charisma. Charm was effortless, as much a part of him as his fingerprint. He walked into a room, and the atmosphere became charged with vitality. He was the devil whispering in one’s ear of the delights to be found in sin if only one dared.

Throughout their boyhood, Trapper had mocked Hank’s conscience. He’d resented being the object of Trapper’s ridicule, but he’d also harbored a deep-seated jealousy of Trapper’s flagrant disregard for rules and often wished he could be that cavalier.

But bad behavior that could be forgiven in an adolescent was unacceptable in a grown-up. Trapper’s unconcealed scorn for high ideals and morality had left him a lonely, bitter man. He was liked, but not admired.

What mystified Hank was that Trapper seemed unaffected by the opinion of others. Indeed, he seemed indifferent to anything that truly mattered, including his own self-destruction.

Hank eased his foot off the brake and drove at a snail’s pace toward the squat, weathered structure. It was somewhat protected from the elements by the rocky hill that rose behind it. The rusty tin roof had barely a dusting of last night’s snow, while the black SUV parked outside had an inch of accumulation on its level surfaces. The tall off-road tires were caked with frozen mud.

How like Trapper to defy a blizzard.

Hank pulled up beside the SUV. He got out of his car and retrieved two bags of goods from his backseat. When he reached the door of the shack, he tapped it with the toe of his shoe. “Hey, Trapper, it’s me.” He hunched his shoulders in order to raise the collar of his coat up around his ears to protect them from the wind. “Hurry up. It’s freezing out here.”

When nothing happened, he set down the bags and tried the door. It swung open, was caught by the wind, and blew wide, banging against the interior wall.

The shack was empty. From the looks of it, it had been vacant for a long time. Cobwebs clinging to the doorjamb fluttered against Hank’s face.