Snowstorm Ch 01

**Author's Note: Well, to start off, there is no sex in this part of the story, but it is intended to be a story of nonconsent. Sorry! I wanted to see what sort of reactions this story garnered before I took it any further. I haven't written anything in a long, long time, so this tale might be a bit clumsily developed. Again, sorry. I hope you enjoy it.**

Sara's feet pounded on the cold earth as she ran, her breath turning to clouds of mist in the frigid mountain air. Small, scattered flakes of snow had begun falling, but she wasn't concerned in the slightest. Her husband David had warned her against going for a run during this kind of weather, but she ignored him. What did he know? A computer software scientist for SciTech, David spent most of his time in a climate-controlled office 400 feet off the ground. His idea of running was spending an hour running fruitlessly on a treadmill at some overpriced fitness center. For the first year of their relationship Sara desperately tried to get David more involved with the outdoors, but to no avail. He just wasn't interested. Still, she had somehow succeeded in dragging him along on her annual winter camping trip in the mountains, so she couldn't say he didn't at least make an effort.

She was running for a while before she noticed the flakes had increased in size and the snow was significantly heavier than before. In fact, Sara realized grudgingly, her visibility was beginning to decrease, which was going to make getting back to the campground a bit of a challenge. She slowed to a stop and glanced around her, trying to get her bearings. "All right David," she said to no one in particular. "You win." He was on her case all morning after she had told him she intended on going for a run. 'No,' he'd insisted. 'No, I checked my Blackberry and it's supposed to blizzard. Worst snowstorm of the season. Don't be ridiculous, Sara.' But she had ignored him.

Nevertheless, pigheaded as she was, Sara knew when she was beat. She turned around and began running the direction she came from, squinting her eyes and rubbing away the snowflakes that blurred her vision. This was the direction she had been running from, wasn't it? She felt butterflies flit around in the pit of her stomach as she began to doubt her choice of path. Good thing she brought her cell phone; Sara could only hope she would get some sort of reception out here in the middle of nowhere.

Just as she reached for her phone a loud crack of a tree branch forced her to turn around.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. Eight yellow eyes stared back at her as she came face-to-face with four very large, very rangy, very hungry looking coyotes. "Relax Sara," she murmured shakily to herself. "They're probably more scared of me than I am of them..." Desperately, she looked around for something she could arm herself with -- a branch, a rock, a shotgun. Unfortunately the latter wasn't available, but there was an apple-sized stone a meter or so from her right foot that might do the trick. Bending down with measured slowness, Sara's picked up the rock, hefted it in her hand, and threw it at the nearest animal with as much force as she could muster.

It was a glancing blow to the coyote's flank, but it was enough to give the creature pause. The other three animals, however, were unimpressed and began to slowly advance on Sara. Blind with fear, Sara did the next thing that came to mind: run! She whirled around and began to sprint, legs pumping as fast as she could move them. She could hear them close behind her, and one glance over her shoulder painted a terrifying picture. Four shaggy, slavering animals the size of large dogs were chasing her, and they were all too close for comfort.

Sara probably would have ran until her legs gave out from underneath her, but Mother Nature had other things in mind. Hidden beneath the growing layer of snow, Sara didn't see the tree root. One foot hooked underneath it and she began falling. As the ground rushed up to meet her, the last thing Sara thought was, 'David, why do you always have to be right? ' Her head hit something hard, she heard a deafening crack, and everything went white.

***********

She awoke to a searing pain in her forehead, and when she tried to move it felt like someone had stabbed a hot poker in her left ankle. Groaning, Sara endeavored to sit up but even the slightest tilt of her head made her dizzy. Lying back against a pillow, she used her moment of incapacity to survey her surroundings. The room she had been sleeping in was small, windowless, and sparsely furnished. A nightstand to her left, a chest of drawers to her right. There were no electrical appliances in the room, and the only source of light was a lit oil lamp hanging from a hook on the wall across from her. "Okay..." she murmured uncomfortably, and tried sitting up again. This time, with a little teeth-gritting and a lot of pain, she managed to get her shoulders half-way up the headboard of her bed. Where was she? Why was she here? Come to think of it... Sara frowned and stared distantly into her lap. Come to think of it, who was she? Her hand fluttered up to the bandages on her forehead. Yep. A good head injury could certainly make you forgetful.

Lost in her thoughts, Sara didn't hear the door to her room creak open, and didn't see the man slip into her room until he was standing right across from her at the foot of her bed. She looked up and gasped, scrambling to collect some bed sheets to cover herself with. "Who are you?" she demanded breathlessly, her heart racing.

The man gave her a small smile and held up his hands as if to demonstrate to her that he was harmless. "I found you in the woods," he said. His voice was gravely and rough, probably from smoking, or maybe from underuse. Despite his non-verbal assurances that he wasn't any threat to her, Sara still felt uneasy. The man was huge -- at least six and a half feet tall, and built like a bull. Rolled up shirtsleeves exposed thick forearms roped with muscle; his shoulders and chest were broader than a lumberjack's. She cleared her throat and swallowed loudly. "You found me in the woods?" she repeated dumbly. "How? Where?"

"Down the road a ways," he replied. "I was out splitting wood when I heard a scream. I got to you while the coyotes were still thinking over what to do with you. Managed to shoot two of them before the other pair ran away." His face creased into a concerned frown. "What were you doing out there all by yourself? Forest isn't the safest place for a young woman all alone."

Sara flushed and glanced down into her lap. "I know, I feel like a complete idiot. I was, um... Well, actually, I can't quite remember why I was out there." She looked up. "Truthfully, I really can't remember that much at all. I don't remember why I was outside, I don't remember where outside is, and..." She trailed off, sniffed, and dropped her gaze again.

"And?" He walked over to the side of her bed and reached for her head. Without thinking, Sara inhaled sharply and jerked herself away before he could touch her.

"Relax," he insisted. "Your head is still bleeding, and unless you want it to continue that way, I'd let me take a look at what's going on underneath those bandages."

Sara mulled this over for only a moment before nodding her head in assent. "Sorry," she apologized quietly. "I'm just a little confused right now."

He knelt on the floor beside her, patted her arm in a friendly manner, and then began unwrapping her head dressings. While he busied himself with reapplying clean bandages to her forehead, Sara stole furtive glances at his face. A five o'clock shadow gave the man a grizzled look, but she couldn't deny him his rugged good looks and startlingly green eyes. She guessed he was in his early to mid 40s, judging by the grey hair at his temples and creases around his eyes and mouth. The violent looking scar that spanned from his chin up to his hairline almost complimented his features, adding to them a fierceness that was both attractive to Sara and inexplicably discomfiting. There was a story behind that scar, Sara knew, but she wasn't sure if it was a story she wanted to hear.

His voice sliced through the silence like a hot knife through butter, causing her to jump. "All done. It's not a bad head wound; should heal up fairly quickly." He stood, and held out a hand. "It's about time you get out of bed. You've been sleeping for over 24 hours. Come on. Get up."

Somewhat hesitantly, Sara slipped her comparatively smaller hand into his, unsurprised by the calloused, roughhewn texture of his palm. "My leg hurts," she murmured as she struggled to sit up in the bed.

"I know," he said simply before leaning over, yanking off the remaining bedcovers, and sliding his other arm underneath her legs. He hoisted her up off the bed before she could say anything, and was already outside the small bedroom when she said, "I could have walked. You don't need to carry me."

Apparently her half-hearted assurances fell on deaf ears, as he didn't say anything while he carried her down a short hallway and into a dimly lit space she assumed was his living room. There was an overstuffed couch, a leather armchair, a small table, and a wooden bookcase filled with various titles. Across from the couch was a large brick fireplace, wherein a fire was crackling and hissing. A window told her it was daytime and still snowing heavily, though the brightness outside could very well have been from the several feet of snow that had already piled up on the ground.

The man deposited her onto the couch as gently as a mother would her own child, and propped her swollen ankle up on a pillow. She didn't protest when he threw a heavy blanket atop her, as she was only wearing a thin men's undershirt and a pair of boxer shorts. Wait -- boxer shorts? "These aren't my clothes," she mumbled half to herself, glancing down and picking at her shirt.

"No, they're mine. Your clothes were wet by the time I got you back in here, and since I didn't need you catching a cold, I changed them." He said it so matter-of-fact, as if undressing a strange woman was part of his normal routine, but it made Sara blush furiously.

"You had no right taking off my clothes," she protested, clutching the blanket underneath her chin. "What are you, some pervert?"

He stood with his back to her, facing the fire. "Maybe. Or maybe I just didn't want a sick girl on my hands," he replied in a low tone of voice. "If I'd let you lay in that bed with those wet clothes on, you would have shivered yourself to death." He turned around, his expression indiscernible in the weakly lit room. "I didn't take off all your clothes. Your panties and bra I left on. I didn't see -- or do -- anything you wouldn't approve of." He took a seat in the unoccupied chair and stretched his legs out on the coffee table.

Silence filled the air, and after a minute of zero conversation Sara was beginning to feel antsy. "So..." she began, unsure of what to say. "Have you called anyone to let them know I'm here?"

He shook his head no.

"Um, why not?" Sara glanced around the room, looking for a telephone. When he didn't answer, she asked, "You do have a phone, don't you?"

"I haven't had a phone for 14 years. Even if I were able to make a phone call, no one would be able to get out here for at least a few weeks. It snowed all last night and it's still coming down hard." As if in response, the wind outside gave a blustery howl, causing the windowpane to rattle against the house.

Sara shuddered and nestled herself deeper into the couch. "So I'm stuck here."

He grunted.

"I'm sorry," she continued, glancing at him. "I'm just... nervous. I don't know who you are, and I'm just so confused right now. I don't know how I got here. Not here, just..." She gestured at the window. "Out there."

The look he gave her was penetrating, almost invasive, and Sara had to avert her gaze. "What would you like to know about me, Sara? Ask away."

A cold chill curled up her spine. "How did you know my name? I certainly didn't tell you it."

"You had identification on you. Hold on, I'll go get it." He got up and disappeared down a hallway, returning a short moment later with her driver's license in hand. Sara took it from him and examined it closely.

"Sara Walters, 25 years old, 5'9", 135 pounds, brown hair, blue eyes..." She trailed off, and then chuckled absently. "Well, I guess that's me. I still... I don't remember much. This is so frustrating!" She tossed the license onto the coffee table and slumped down in the couch. "I must have hit my head hard. I should be at a hospital, not here." The look she directed towards the nameless man was plaintive, but he shook his head.

"No. I already told you, the roads are impassable, and I'm not going to risk my life for some stranger who was stupid enough to take a hike through the woods during a winter storm."

Sara glared at him. "Stupid? How was I supposed to know we were going to get 3 feet of fucking snow? I thought we'd get a few inches or so, not a goddamned blizzard. Don't go calling me stupid, you have NO idea who I am."

His reply was cold. "You're plenty welcome to walk to the nearest hospital, Sara. The door is unlocked, and I'm not stopping you. You know..." He sighed loudly as he stood up and started poking at the fire, which had since burned down to sizzling orange embers. "This wasn't exactly the sort of thanks I had expected from a woman whose life I had saved."

The man had his back to her so Sara couldn't read his face, but there was some quiet note of suggestion in his voice that made her terribly uncomfortable. She immediately adopted a different approach to the situation. "I'm sorry sir, I'm sorry. I'm just so confused and in pain, I shouldn't have yelled at you. I am incredibly grateful for what you've done for me, I really am." When he turned around, she gave him an ingratiating smile. "As soon as the roads are cleared I'll be out of your hair. I'm sorry to be an imposition. When do you think they'll be by to plow the roads?"

"Never. They don't plow the roads around here because there's no one to plow them. You're in the back woods, honey, not in suburbia." There aren't any plowmen sitting around waiting for a big snow. We'll have to wait until it melts enough for my truck to make it through, which could be a few days, or a few weeks, depending on the weather."

Sara rubbed her forehead, sighing deeply. This was a nightmare. What was she supposed to do, shack up with this strange, intense man for the next few weeks while she healed up? That was impossible. "There's nothing, absolutely nothing you can do? Surely you have some way of contacting the outside world. What if you got hurt? Do you have a radio or something?"

"I do, yeah, but it's not going to do us a lot of good. Listen, if it makes you feel better, I'll go radio the forest service, let them know that I've got you out here, but they're not going to be able to come and get you until the roads are clear. That's the last time I'm telling you that, okay? Enough questions." Without waiting for a reply, the man stalked away from her and disappeared into another room.

It was a good 20 minutes before he returned, and by then Sara had nodded off into a deep slumber. He stood there for quite some time, staring intently down at the slender-bodied creature sleeping peacefully on his couch. Something flickered behind his gaze, and for a moment, his green eyes smoldered as hotly as the embers in the fire. Then it was gone.

He walked away and went about his normal business, waiting for Sara to wake up.