My own beating organ had long ago developed a hard outer layer when it came to Susan, much like the Earth’s crust. As long as I kept away from surefire hot spots, like all-inclusive multi-day family holidays, I remained fissure-free with all of my hot gas locked safely under the surface.

  Susan was heartless. Therefore, she was unable to drum up any emotion from the deserted wasteland littered with jagged pieces of obsidian that was located between her lungs. While my parents disagreed with this diagnosis of my sister’s internal landscape, I refused to re-evaluate the Bitch from Hell until I saw some sort of sign of life push up through the barren layers of ash.

  This well-tested lesson about time and consequences brought me to one conclusion about my present situation: “I don’t think I’m going to make it,” I said aloud inside the crowded cab of my SUV, my voice strained.

  Natalie pulled her nose from the window and the swirling white world beyond it. “Cripes, Vi. That registered around an eight-point-five on the doom-and-gloom scale.”

  “I’m reminded of an article I read about the Donner party’s final lucid moments before they succumbed to cannibalism,” Cornelius said.

  I scowled at the leap he’d made between my despair and an urge to gnaw on another human. “If it comes to that, I’m eating you first, Cornelius.”

  “Sparky pro’ly needs to step outside and write her name in the snow,” Harvey said from the front seat, his focus out the windshield. The wipers were starting to lose the battle against Mother Nature, struggling to keep the glass clear.

  I followed his gaze, my eyes landing on the snowplow listing in the ditch in front of us like a battered ship. It blinked methodically in the waning light, beached in a sea of white swells. Maybe I should go jump off its helm.

  “Violet.” Doc stared at me in the rearview mirror. “You know that going outside right now is a bad idea.”

  How did he know I’d been pondering diving headfirst into a snow bank?

  Harvey shifted, glancing Doc’s way. “Maybe so, but it’d sure make my bladder gladder if I went out there. Hell, my inkwell is ‘bout to start leakin’, too.”

  “I don’t need to use the restroom,” I told my fellow lifeboat members.

  “What did you mean then about not making it?” Natalie asked, her eyes searching my face. “You’re not going to start flipping out, are you? Because now is not a good time to start foaming at the mouth.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’ll get me all wet.”

  “I’m not going to flip out.”

  A squawk came from the back of the vehicle.

  My left eye twitched at the sound of Addy’s dang bird. Twice. I looked away, trying to hide the telltale sign of my fissures widening on the inside.

  “I saw that,” she said, pointing at my face. “You’re starting to twitch. Doc, you need to calm her down.”

  I glared at her finger. “What is Doc supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know, kiss you senseless to take your mind off the current situation.”

  I guffawed. “Come on, Doc’s good, but it’s going to take more than a kiss to make me forget that we’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere in a stupid freaking blizzard and it’s all my fault because none of you would be here with me, risking your lives, if I hadn’t put my career before my children.” That last bit came out as a croak due to running out of air.

  Silence filled the cab, all eyes on me.

  “No offense, Doc,” I whispered, blinking back a swell of guilt and anger and frustration all condensed in a couple of stupid tears.

  “None taken, Boots.” He twisted in his seat and took my clasped hands in his. “I’d rather be here with you in the middle of this storm than anywhere else right now.”

  I blinked several more times. It was no wonder my heart sighed like a lovesick skunk whenever he was near. “Stop being nice to me when you should be telling me that I was an idiot to pooh-pooh the storm predictions.”

  Harvey snorted. “This is a bunch of turkey hooves.”

  I recoiled. “What?”

  “This whimperin’ business of yers is a bushel full of nonsense. We’re here by choice. If we didn’t wanna come, we’d have dug in our heels and stayed put down in Deadwood.”

  “Yeah, but if I’d left yesterday with the kids instead of waiting until this afternoon—”

  “Then Harvey, Corny, and I would all be alone for Christmas,” Natalie finished. “Instead, we’re lucky enough to be hanging out in this cozy cab with you.”

  Another squawk came from the back seat, louder this time, followed by several indignant-sounding clucks.

  Natalie chuckled. “Elvis is glad, too. She would’ve been stuck in the basement for days if it wasn’t for you.”

  I looked back at Doc, whose hand still held mine. “But what if we’re stuck here all night?”

  “Coop’s coming,” Natalie said, growling something under her breath that sounded like damn it.

  “But what if he doesn’t make it?”

  “He’ll make it,” Doc assured me, squeezing my hands once more before letting them go.

  “What makes you all so certain?”

  Harvey pointed in Natalie’s direction. “Coop’s sufferin’ from Cupid’s cramps, and we got his cure-all sittin’ here with us. He ain’t gonna let anything happen to her or the rest of us, fer that matter. If he says he’s comin’, ya can count on him like warts on a toad.”

  Natalie’s gaze tightened. “I told you before, there’s nothing going on between Coop and me.”

  He hooted back at her. “Well, then someone better tell yer eyeballs that, ‘cause they get big and googly when Coop steps into the room.”

  She gasped. “They do not, you ornery blowhard.”

  My eye twitched again. Ignoring their bickering, I nudged Cornelius’s arm. “I need you to take my mind off our current predicament. You know, like you did when you took my phone.”

  He stared out his window. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  Wait. What? I leaned closer to him. “What do you mean, ‘No, thank you’?”

  “You’re not my type, Violet.”

  Not his … I shook my head, feeling like I’d missed something. “What are you talking about?”

  He spared me a glance. “I’m not into blondes.”

  My jaw tightened. “What do you have against blondes?”

  “Studies have shown brunettes have stronger immune systems and are, therefore, less susceptible to diseases and stress.” He jabbed his thumb in Natalie’s direction. “Case in point—that brunette is playful and relaxed while your escalating stress level is making your eye twitch.”

  I covered my twitching eye, looking over at Natalie’s flared nostrils and red cheeks and then back at Cornelius. “You call that playful? If Harvey doesn’t quit picking on her about Cooper, she’s going to wallop him with her hammer.”

  “I’d call that spirited. Brunette members of the female species are known to be more emotional, whereas blondes are often described as heartless and icy.”

  I glared at him with my non-twitching eye. “We are not icy. Blondes are hot tempered just like brunettes and redheads, aren’t we, Doc?” My gaze swung to the front seat.

  Doc raised both hands. “You’ll get no argument from me, Killer.”

  “See,” I said, my focus back on Cornelius.

  “The Tall Medium’s opinion is invalid in this case.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you exchange bodily fluids with him, and he’s intelligent enough to realize that agreeing with you will allow him to continue participating in rhythmic coitus with you.”

  Doc chuckled. “I do enjoy a good romp of rhythmic coitus with a hot-tempered, blond Executioner when the opportunity arises.”

  “What’s this here now about someone havin’ coitus?” Harvey asked, butting into our conversation.

  I ignored Harvey’s gold-toothed grin. “If you aren’t into blondes,” I said to Cornelius, “then why were you drooling over that clockmaker?”

  He shrugged. “She’s not a blonde.”

  “What is she then?”

  “Otherworldly.”

  He had a point there.

  “And her lips glowed,” he added.

  “Which lips?” Harvey asked.

  After aiming a scowl in the dirty old bird’s direction, I told Cornelius, “Her lips did not glow.” Although the rest of her seemed to emit some sort of radiant light.

  “I’m not going to kiss you, Violet,” Cornelius said.

  I stammered. “K-k-kiss me?” I glanced at Doc, who was watching our play-by-play with a grin on his face, darn him.

  Cornelius studied his long bony fingers, as if we were discussing his last manicure. “Besides your hair color being a problem for me, sharing a single kiss can transfer up to a million bacteria, and I’m not interested in accumulating the bacteria from someone of your breeding.”

  My breeding?

  A cackle-like sound came from the feather-covered peanut gallery in the cat carrier behind me.

  I poked him in the leg. “First of all, I didn’t ask you to kiss me, Cornelius. Second, don’t you dare ruin kissing for me with a bunch of gross facts.”

  Harvey snickered. “I once read in one of those ladies’ magazines that kissin’ is good fer ya. It makes ya extra slobbery, which helps to prevent yer teeth from rottin’ out of yer head.”

  Natalie leaned over, joining in. “I read something about how kissing can lower stress and blood pressure.” She elbowed me. “You could use that in spades about now. Maybe I should switch places with Doc so we can test that.”

  “Doc and I are not going to sit here and have a makeout session in front of you three to see if it will lower my blood pressure.”

  “Why not?” Harvey asked. “We’re packed in here like cows in a haulin’ trailer with nothin’ else to do while we wait fer Coop to ride in on a red-nosed reindeer.”

  I frowned at Doc. “You’re not helping me here.”

  He winked at me. “You lost me at rhythmic coitus.”

  “Over ninety percent of women like to be kissed on the neck,” Cornelius pontificated, still on his factoid kick.

  Harvey looked at Doc. “Does Sparky like it on the neck or somewhere else better?”

  Doc mimed zipping his lips.

  Smart man.

  “Where I like to be kissed is nobody’s business but Doc’s and mine.”

  “According to one of my college textbooks,” Cornelius said, lacing his fingers in his lap, “psychopaths are more likely to kiss with their eyes open.”

  “How do you remember all of this nutty stuff?” I asked.

  “I like to read.”

  “Does Sparky kiss with ‘er eyes open?” Harvey badgered Doc.

  “I once dated a guy who kept his eyes open when we made out,” Natalie said. “It messed with my head. You know, knocked me off my game. It was like kissing Igor from that movie Young Frankenstein, because his eyes started going all wobbly when he got hot and bothered.”

  “You dated a guy with eyes like Marty Feldman’s?” Doc asked, breaking his silence.

  She nodded. “He had an incredible body to make up for them. Remember that time we saw him naked, Vi?”

  Doc raised his brow. “Naked, huh?”

  “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” I fibbed. “She must be getting cabin fever.”

  “But I ended up breaking up with him before we ever made it into the bedroom because I kept singing, ‘Jeepers creepers, where’d you get those peepers’ in my head whenever he kissed me. Made me giggle when I was supposed to be sighing and moaning.”

  Elvis let out a series of loud squawks that made me nearly jump out of my skin. “What is wrong with that stupid bird?”

  A fluttering sound came from the cat carrier, followed by more squawks.

  “Maybe she wants to write her name in the snow, like me,” Harvey said. “After being cooped up in this sardine can fer so long, maybe the bird just wants to stick ‘er pecker out in the fresh air.”

  Natalie smiled. “Are we talking about the bird or you?”

  “Yep.” Harvey shoved open his door. “I’ll be back in two shakes.”

  After the door closed, I asked Doc, “Should Harvey go out there alone?”

  One of his dark brows inched upward. “You want me to go hold his hand?”

  “Maybe, smartass.”

  Doc gazed out the passenger side window. “He’s not going too far.” I started to follow his gaze, but he blocked my view with his hand. “You don’t want to see this. I think he’s writing in cursive.”

  I cringed and then took his hand, kissing his knuckles, before handing it back.

  He frowned down at his hand. “Now I have your bacteria all over me.”

  I blew him a kiss, but then sobered. “I’m sorry I made you drive us out here.”

  “Violet, quit taking ownership of this situation. You have no more control over the weather or that plow’s broken hydraulic line than you do Addy’s chicken.”

  Elvis let out a series of cackle-squawks, as if on cue.

  “I just wanted your first Christmas with me to be filled with family fun stuff—the good kind of family, not my sister and her diabolical crap.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but Elvis started flapping around again, making ear-piercing noises along with loud thumps inside the carrier.

  “What in the hell is wrong with that chicken?” Natalie said, turning around in her seat. She pulled off the blanket that I’d used to cover the cat crate, sending tiny feathers floating through the cab.

  The squawking grew even louder, followed by thumping and clanging as Elvis tried to escape the carrier through the closed cage door.

  “Let me out,” I said, nudging her leg.

  “What are you going to do?” Doc asked.

  “Calm her down somehow before she breaks a wing.”

  Natalie frowned at me. “What do you think you are, a chicken whisperer?”

  “Maybe. Open the damned door, mother clucker.”

  “Okay, okay.” She spun back around and opened the door, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck as she stepped out into the snow and wind.

  Before following her, I looked back at Cornelius. “Thank you, by the way.”

  “For what?”

  “Distracting me again.”

  His crooked smile made a brief appearance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Violet.”

  I joined Natalie, my boots sinking a couple of inches into the snow piling up in the plow’s wake. The freezing wind cut through my wool coat like it was peppered with holes.

  Doc joined us, pulling on his gloves. “Come on.”

  The three of us made our way around the back of the SUV, hunched partway over to stave off the breath-stealing wind that tore at our coats and pelted us with snow. Doc opened the back door and dragged the cat carrier to the edge of the bumper.

  I squatted and peered into the carrier. Elvis was still fluttering and flapping in the tight space. I thought I saw a streak of something dark on her white feathers. My heart tightened. Was that blood? Shit! If anything happened to the crazy bird, Addy would never forgive me.

  “What should we do?” Natalie hollered over the wind.

  “Addy told me once that she thinks Elvis is claustrophobic. Maybe if I let her out in the back end for a little bit, she’ll calm down.”

  “Claustrophobic?” Doc repeated. “That doesn’t make any sense. Elvis likes to roost in small spaces, like your closet.”

  That was true. I tried to hold the cat carrier still as the bird jostled around inside, willing her to chill out. “Well then,” I told him, “maybe she needs to go see a man about a mule.”

  He stared at me for several beats, and then let out a loud laugh.

  “I’m serious. Addy has her potty trained. Maybe she doesn’t want to pee in the cat carrier.”

  Natalie bumped my arm. “Did you bring her leash?”

  “I thought I told you to grab it.”

  “No, you told me to get Elvis’s favorite sweater. The one your mom made with the poodle on it.”

  “Crap. I forgot the leash.” The carrier shook in my hands as Elvis went ape-shit again. “If I let her go, you think she’ll stick around?”

  “Where’s she going to go in this storm?” Natalie yelled. “Out for an evening stroll to try and pick up a rooster or two?”

  “Maybe she’ll cross the road,” I snapped back, pointing at the trees lining the ditch over there. I could barely see the pines through the snow whipping and churning around us.

  Doc laughed again. “Do you hear yourself?”

  I swatted his chest and then leaned down and popped open the cage door, reaching inside to grab the silly bird. Something pinched the webbing between my thumb and index finger through my glove.

  “Ouch!” I yelled, yanking my hand back. My glove caught on the cage door, pulling the carrier with it. The cage slid forward and landed upside down on the snow.

  “Son of a peach!” I yelled.

  Doc bent down to scoop it up, but Elvis made her escape before he got it back topside. Natalie reached for the bird, but she shot off across the snowy ditch, running toward the trees like a jailbird who’d scaled the prison wall.

  “Elvis, no!” I yelled, starting after her.

  Doc caught my arm and dragged anchor.

  “Doc, let go! I have to—”

  “Violet,” he hollered above the storm. “You are not following that chicken into the trees and getting lost in this blizzard!”

  I frowned after the bird, trying to see her white tail feathers through the whirling snow. My heart pounded in my ears, blocking out the whistling wind.

  Hell’s bells.

  Elvis was gone.

  “Fuck!”

  Chapter Nine

  US Highway 385, twenty-one miles out of Deadwood

  7:35 p.m.

  It was going to be a blue, blue Christmas without Elvis.

  Crud.

  I could avoid telling Addy that her chicken had run away in the middle of a snowstorm and most likely frozen her tail feathers off. That would delay the aftermath of tears for the time being, but the truth would come out as soon as we returned home to a chicken-less basement.