"Black ice!"

Blair jerked the wheel of his Volvo and muttered a curse about `Control Freaks'. This particular one was about to get socked in the jaw from a former pacifist if he didn't stop with the obvious comments.

"I know, Jim," Blair said, losing any soothing effect as his words strained through clenched teeth.

"So slow down."

For crying out loud, Blair glanced at his speedometer. They were already crawling down the road. "What do you want, man? I could slam it in reverse and go backward." He paused for a cleansing breath. "Now don't take this wrong, okay? But... shut up."

There, that was clear and blunt. Blair wanted to look at Jim, read his face for clues, but didn't risk taking his eyes off the icy road. Jim didn't like to be told certain things. In the years they'd been together, the term `shut up' was high on the list only an idiot - well, okay, and Simon - might attempt to tell the six foot plus, ex-Army Ranger.

So why was Naomi's only boy-child playing the part of Captain Banks? Blair refused to be placed in the category with idiots. Because he already felt like an over-cranked guitar string, damn it! Jim's little comments weren't helping.

Blair took a second deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax.

Thankfully, Jim fell quiet and Blair concentrated on driving. The Volvo was an okay vehicle for a classic and for warm, sunny drives down the coast. But it absolutely sucked on remote county roads in the middle of the worst October snow storm in the weather history of the Northwest.

Blair had to remember to relax his shoulders again.

They were far off the beaten path. When the car radio's traffic reporter had announced a blocking accident, Blair realized they were heading it. Jim had dug out a map and picked an obscure cutoff route.

But the bad luck kept coming. There had been no warning. One minute they were cruising down the road joking about bad taste in music, with rain drops splashing the windshield, then suddenly snow was everywhere. At least it wasn't sticking to the roadway, yet. The temperature had plummeted with the sun, causing black ice, a term used when the deadly road condition appeared invisible to the driver.

Part of Blair's brain wondered if Jim's sentinel ability helped him to see the black ice. He chanced a glance at his friend, opening his mouth to ask.

"Road, Sandburg!" Jim ordered sharply.

Damn!

The rear tires picked that second to skid right. Blair focused on his driving, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He automatically steered into the slide, correcting the problem without adjusting their speed. Their road followed the edge of a steep ridge for the last mile, adding yet another element of drama to their evening.

Jim grunted approvingly.

Sitting a little straighter in his seat, Blair accepted the compliment. Maybe this was going to be okay.

Besides, Blair knew he was a good driver. He had possessed a natural knack and an appreciation of machinery at the early age of twelve, or so his `uncle' had told him. He and the guy used to sneak out together. Blair would get driving lessons while sitting on phone books, the seat pushed forward to allow a young Blair to work the pedals. It had been a miracle they'd never been pulled over by cops. The lessons had stopped when Naomi decided it was time for them to move on.

"We should have left sooner," Jim said.

Blair knew the real problem bothering his friend: Jim wasn't the one behind the wheel. Actually, it said a lot about Jim's trust in him that he hadn't been evicted from the driver's seat at the first sight of snow.

"We'll be okay," Blair promised.

"We should have just accepted Angie's invitation to sleep over."

They had spent the day visiting with the singer and her daughter, part of a planned outing and reunion of sorts. Angie and Pam were staying up at a ski resort for a few months. They had offered the invitation to both of them to visit. Pam had cooked a terrific dinner. It was a good time and the talk never returned to that near lethal encounter with her ex-boyfriend-turned-stalker a few years earlier.

"I didn't feel up fighting with you for the chance to sleep on the sofa," Blair said teasingly. "Unless you were hoping to share with..."

Jim growled. "Knock it off, Romeo. It's not like that."

Chuckling, Blair fell silent and concentrated on the yellow reflectors in the middle of the road. Each one caught the light from the Volvo and gave him a reference point in which to steer by in the heavy snow fall. Blair could only see ten to fifteen feet ahead. It was mesmerizing to watch the road seem to suddenly appear out of the whiteness, like some huge hand was drawing his world for him, just as he needed it.

"It's starting to stick to the road," Jim noted glumly.

"I wonder -"

"SANDBURG!"

A large deer blocked the road. The wheel jerked from his grasp as Jim reached over and wrenched it to the right, sending the car into a sideways skid.

"Jim! Let go!"

The front wheels crunched over the small ridge of shoulder. Blair stood on the brakes. The back wheels locked uselessly as the car slid over the edge and dropped at a sickening angle. Car nose-diving into a decent, their downward progress ended with a jolt. Blair's head bounced hard off the steering wheel. A brilliant light exploded behind his eyes and then everything blinked out.

Jim was furious with himself. His roommate was hanging by his seatbelt, from yet another blow to the head. And all because he'd grabbed the wheel. God, he hadn't even stopped to think. He'd just reacted

First things first.

Quickly turning off the engine, Jim noted Blair's respirations were even and steady. Thankfully, they hadn't been going fast. If not for the drop off, everything would be okay. The car seemed to be caught in a thick snarl of blackberry vines and shrubs growing about twenty feet down the steep slope. Hopefully, the vegetation would continue to keep them from going any further.

"Chief."

"Uhhggghhh." Blair lifted a hand to his head, his eyes closed. Pain wrinkled his forehead.

"Easy," Jim ordered, catching the probing fingers and stilling them. "Open your eyes and talk to me."

Blair groaned again. "J-jim, man. What the h-hell ...," he demanded in a hoarse whisper.

Fearing head injury, Jim released his own belt and braced himself with the dash. He leaned over to look into Blair's eyes. "Don't you remember?"

"Yeah, you went nuts and crashed us."

Jim saw even-sized pupils in his friend's accusatory glare. Maybe Blair was okay. "Sorry, chief. You were about to nail a deer. Didn't you see him?"

Confusion appeared. "I did? I d-didn't... Jim, are you like... sure?"

"Don't worry. We missed him. How's the head? What day is it?" Jim gently probed the back of Blair's neck.

"Cool it, Mr. Medic. I'm okay. Bell's hardly rung." Blair made unsure movements to unbuckle. "Let's check the damage. You are so paying for my repairs this time."

Since his partner seemed alert and aware of his surroundings, Jim went with the plan. Jim took a flashlight from the glove box and handed it to Blair. They opened their doors. Cold air attacked like ice water filling a boot. Jim fought back the vegetation as he stood, his feet sinking into snow and crushed vegetation. The far away moan of the wind gave Jim a clue of the drop off below them. He was glad the fog hid the view or Blair would go ballistic.

Blair ran loving hands over his car, grumbling while admitting there was no real damage. Slipping and sliding and using small bushes for leverage, they finally reached the road's shoulder. The snow was falling so heavily now, the tracks the Volvo had made were already filling in.

"Where's the deer?" Blair asked, gazing up and down the road, playing the light like a search beacon.

Jim stepped out onto the pavement. The black ice played with his balance and he took a second to maintain a wide stance before searching the fog. The snow added a touch of brightness to the otherwise black night. Jim barely needed to adjust his sentinel abilities to see.

They were alone.

"He must've ran off."

"Maybe you dozed off," Blair suggested, while briskly rubbing his hands together. "I didn't see anything but snowfall."

"Yeah, maybe." Had he been imagining it?

Blair turned and peered over the edge. "Nothing short of a tow truck is going to get us back on the road tonight."

Jim was already fumbling for his cell phone. He didn't hold much hope. "No signal," Jim reported with a sigh.

"So, we walk?" Blair stomped his feet and tucked reddening hands under his armpits. He wore jeans, a thin leather coat over his shirt and tennis shoes.

They weren't dressed for this.

"Any chance you carry emergency supplies?" Jim asked.

"We're not talking a spare tire, are we?" Blair asked with a sheepish look.

"Coats? Hats? Mittens?"

Blair shook his head.

"Blankets?"

"Oh!" Delight broke over the younger man's face. "I used a blanket to wrap an artifact a few months ago. It could still be inside."

When he started to go back down, Jim stopped him. "No, Jack London. Let me. My hallucination got us into this. Give me the keys."

"I left them in the ignition."

Ten minutes later Jim stuffed his bounty under one arm; a smelly, cheap blanket, a single woolen glove and a pair of dirty sweat socks. He locked the doors and started the laborious climb back up to the road.

"Hey!"

Blair's call startled him. Jim couldn't see his partner. "What's wrong, Sandburg?"

"Hey! Mister!" Blair called out again." Wait!"

Another man was out in this storm? Jim hurried, slipping in the fresh snowfall, going down on one knee. He extended his hearing. The only sound he could hear was Blair's breathing and heartbeat.

"Jim! There's someone out there. He's leaving."

Finally reaching the roadway, Jim searched. His vision backed up his hearing. Nothing was out there. He turned back to Blair. "You sure you're okay?"

Blair looked annoyed. "I saw him. A guy about my age. He even looked right at me before walking off."

Jim turned toward the direction his friend pointed, scanning the snow on the roadway. "No prints, Chief. I think your head needs a rest. You took a pretty hard hit."

Blair glanced down the road, then back at Jim, his face in total bewilderment. "What?"

"I didn't hear anything but you up here a minute ago," Jim explained. "Come on, let's find a phone or something."

Blair looked both ways down the road as he rubbed his forehead, then turned a complete circle. "You're serious? No one?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jim closed his eyes. "Quiet, let me listen."

The snow drifted down silently, stroking his cheeks. Nothing. No sounds of movement except for the light flutters from birds and perhaps the heartbeats of a few small rabbits. Jim shook his head.

Blair sighed with resignation. "I don't know, Jim. I'm not sure what I saw." Briskly rubbing his arms, Blair looked miserable and tired, the beginnings of an ugly lump forming on his wide forehead.

Jim tried to remember how far back he'd seen any signs of a house or farm.

Blair seemed to be having the same thought. "I think our nearest house is this way," he said glumly, pointing back the way they had come.

"Okay, let's get going. Maybe a car will come by and give us a lift."

Snowflakes the size of butterflies floated down around them. Several clung to the blanket wrapped around Blair's head and shoulders.

Jim couldn't feel his toes. He wondered if it was possible to reattach frozen body parts. He didn't think so, something about the fluid inside the skin freezing and destroying the cells. But it had been a while since he'd read anything about extreme weather emergencies, so he wasn't sure anymore.

He did know one thing; this night was quickly falling into the category of `extreme emergencies'. They needed to find shelter, quickly. No cars had passed them. No signs of a farm house or even a barn. Jim was ready to accept an animal den, if he thought they could find one big enough.

"Jim."

The snowy world had a way of demanding whispers. Neither had spoken in over an hour. Jim had been listening to Blair's breathing and the way his teeth chattered. Now Blair stood, wrapped in his musty blanket with just the tip of his nose and eyes visible. He released the blanket with one sock covered hand and pointed.

"This way." Blair's shivers were bad enough to knock off a few of the snowflakes from the top of his blanket.

"What?" Jim whispered back.

"Come on." Blair left the road and started into the adjacent field.

"Hey!" Jim hurried to catch up, stilling him with a hand on his shoulder. "Sandburg, what's wrong with you?" He looked into Blair's eyes. They seemed glazed over. Was it the cold, or the head injury?

"Listen, Jim. Just listen. What do you hear?" Blair pointed into the field.

To humor his friend, Jim extended his hearing like a man fishing the depth of a lake with a sinker and a lure. Sounds of murmuring met his ears.

"You're right. Someone's out there," Jim said in amazement. "How'd you know?"

But Blair was off again. Left with the choice of returning to the road and leaving Blair behind - which Jim would never do in a million years - Jim followed.

After half an hour of walking through deepening snow, distant lights of a house winked through the swirling whiteness. They picked up their pace. Two-storied and old, the house reminded Jim of the mid-eighteen hundred mansions built by rich gentile-farmers. Each story was high, with a pitched roof that looked like it had a full attic. The old farmhouse towered above them as they reached a covered porch and climbed the icy stairs to the door.

Unhampered by snow, Jim's legs felt like hinged two-by-fours. He wondered if his toes were still attached.

Jim stopped Blair's reach for the wooden screen door. "Don't think so, Chief. Good way to get a shotgun in the face," he warned, knocking on the door frame instead.

A pretty woman in her mid-twenties responded. She was dressed in green corduroy overalls over a thick sweater. Her reddish brown hair pulled back into a single ponytail, revealing a natural beauty that didn't require aisles of cosmetics.

"Ohmygoodness! Dad!" She shouted over her shoulder as she opened screen door wide. "Please, come inside. You're both freezing! Dad! Come quick!"

Jim followed Blair into a pleasant living room and groaned as the wood burning stove's radiating heat hit his face. The furniture was from the seventies, the braided carpet was worn in spots and needed stitching; but as far as Jim was concerned, the room looked like the lobby of a five-star hotel.

"Thanks. We went off the road a few miles back," Jim explained. Just talking made him realize how numb his face had become. An older man entered the living room - her Dad. "We couldn't get a cell signal and we don't have the right supplies to risk staying put. Can we use your phone?"

The man gave them both a once over. "Sure, it's back here. You want something warm to drink first? Pull up some chairs to the firebox and thaw out."

"Thanks." Jim gently lifted the blanket from Blair's head. "I think we should leave this outside on your porch, though. It smells."

The couple, who introduced themselves as Gordon and Melanie Walker, extended every courtesy Jim could hope for and more. They were ushered into chairs. Fuzzy, warm blankets provided for their shoulders. Hot cups of tea appeared, smelling of orange and spices. Blair's hands shook too hard to hold his, so Melanie set it on a side table. Gordon reappeared with two pairs of thick boot socks and handed them to Jim, along with a towel.

Blair sat huddled in his rocker, eyeing the room with a sad expression. His shivering had worsened. Instead of warming up, he seemed to be getting colder.

"Sandburg, take off your shoes," Jim instructed, quickly toeing off his own shoes and donning the borrowed socks. When he saw Blair wasn't moving, he leaned over. "Chief?"

Blue eyes turned away from the small glass window set in the stove's door. "Huh?"

"You okay?"

"S-sure."

"Tell me what day it is."

"Ummm..." Blair's eyes returned to watch the flames leap and play. "Fourth down."

"Okay, Frosty," Jim said, dropping to his knee and starting on the laces to Blair's wet shoe. "Let's get you warmed up."

"He okay?" Gordon asked from the room's arched doorway.

"He's just a little confused, I think," Jim explained.

"Listen." Gordon crossed strong arms over a wide chest. His face was weathered, as if from decades of working outside. His silver hair was full and cut short. "The radio says this storm's going to get worse before it gets better. I doubt you two are going anywhere tonight. You're both welcome to use our extra bedroom."

With Blair's first foot covered in a dry sock, Jim worked on freeing the other. Thankfully, Blair's feet didn't exhibit the white, waxy signs of frostbite. "We might have to take you up on that. I still need to call my boss. I'm a police detective with the city of Cascade. Technically, I'm on call if anything big happens. He should know I'm not getting home tonight."

"You're a cop?"

Jim looked up, expecting the worst. "Detective James Ellison. That a problem?"

Shaking his head slowly, the man casually shrugged. "Just didn't expect a cop to be hanging out with a hippie in a snow storm." A faint look of amusement removed the sting from the blunt statement. "So, he's your brother or something?"

"No, he's my partner, Blair Sandburg. He consults with the police department. It's unofficial. He's working on his thesis for a PhD."

"Ah, a college kid."

"Yeah." Finished with his task, Jim looked up into Blair's face. Except for the shivering, he had all the animation of a doorknob. "Sandburg? You still with us?"

Blair blinked a few times and met Jim's gaze. "Jim?"

"Still me. You warmer yet?"

Blair shook his head, damp hair swung gently. "C-cold, man."

Even after Gordon built up the fire, Blair continued to shiver. Jim used the phone in the kitchen and told Simon their predicament. Simon repeated Gordon's weather forecast; a major winter storm had hit. He recommended they stay put.

When Jim returned to the living room, he found Melanie offering Blair an armful of warm looking clothes. She turned to Jim with a shy smile.

"These belong to my brother. They're big, but they'll be warmer than the clothes you two have on. Dad says you guys will be staying the night. Would you like something to eat?"

Jim accepted the clothes. "No, thank you. We already had dinner. But thanks for the clothes. Maybe if you could show us which room we can use..."

She nodded to the stove. "We use this to heat the whole house. I should warn you, it does a poor job reaching upstairs." She laced her fingers together absentmindedly. When she frowned, two small vertical wrinkles appeared between her eyebrows. "But, I'll get you guys some extra blankets. This way."

A center hallway led them to a steep staircase. They climbed to the second level. She showed them a small bedroom. Heavy wood trim and high ceilings, the house looked over a hundred years old. Jim followed her into the room, noticing the temperature difference compared to the first floor. Blair shuffled along at his side, standing mutely as Melanie opened a low wall vent. Jim's enhanced sense of touch immediately felt the warmer air trickle in.

"Sorry it's so cold. Each room used to have a fireplace, but they all got covered over years ago. We vent heat in from the woodstove. This room hasn't been used for a while, my brother... he sort of took off a few months ago," she explained.

A twin-sized bed and battered student desk with a chair occupied the room. Pictures of professional football players and team banners decorated the wall. A few framed photos of high school and college teams hung between them. A heavy coat of dust covered everything and Jim sneezed three times in rapid succession.

"Yeah, it's been a while since I've cleaned," she apologized quickly. "The sheets are clean and I'll be back with more blankets. The bathroom's at the end of the hall." Melanie removed the dusty cotton spread from the bed as she talked. She seemed to realize for the first time that she had two guests and just one bed. "Oh... is this going to work?"

Jim waved her off. "We'll be fine, thanks."

After providing extra blankets, she left. Jim wasted no time changing into dry sweatpants and shirt, then turned to a still Blair, who was peering nearsightedly at a few wall photos.

"What are you looking at?" He zoomed in on the photo that held Blair's attention; a close-up of a guy in his early twenties. The kid in the picture was dressed in a college football jersey, complete with shoulder pads, grinning at the camera as if he'd just won some important game. "Must be Gordon's son."

Blair whipped his head around, as if catching a movement from behind them. Jim turned as well, seeing nothing. Blair's startled gasp filled in the small room, then he crumpled to the ground.

God, it was cold.

"Sandburg, come on. Wake up."

Maybe if Mr. Save-a-dime would turn up the heat, it would be worth waking up. A sharp slap startled him.

Since when did Jim use violence to start the day?

"Roommate abuse," Blair protested weakly as he blinked his eyes open. "Whoa, where..."

"You okay?" Jim hovered over him. "You fainted," he accused.

"Sorry." Blair felt like someone who had fainted. He also felt like he'd just spent a week in a deep freeze. "Damn, it's cold."

Jim helped him sit up. Blair's body ached. Muscles from all over reported in, telling his brain they were overtaxed and looking for revenge.

Wait a minute. They were inside, in someone's bedroom. The last thing he remembered was standing in the snow storm. Blair started to ask how they'd gotten here, "Jim, you look freaked. You okay?"

Jim nodded once. "I'm okay. You're the one that dropped like a lead balloon. You okay?"

"Just freezing... and totally confused, man. How'd we get here? And while I get to ask stupid questions, where's here?" He let Jim pull him to his feet. An exhaustion like he'd never felt before made him sway.

"We walked, remember? Think `Donner' party, Chief," Jim said, looking relieved. "We found a farm house; we're guests for the night. Why aren't you remembering any of this? How's your head?"

"Thanks," Blair moaned. "I hadn't noticed. It hurts, too." He hugged his ribs. "Why's it so freak'n cold?"

"Here." Jim picked up some sweat clothes. "Change. I'm going to use the head down the hall."

A weird lethargy overcame Blair, like he'd just finished a week's worth of sleepless exam cramming. He started to undress, noting socks on his feet that he didn't own. It was hard to concentrate. Feeling a little better in dry sweats, Blair saw one bed. He couldn't stop a huge yawn from escaping. The door opened and Jim walked in. Blair pointed. "We're bunking together?"

"Yeah." Jim closed the door, tugging on the handle as if he expected it to spring open again. "No choice. You need to visit the bathroom?"

"No, mom, I'm good. Dibs on the pillow." Blair wearily climbed into the bed, scooting over to hug the wall. The sheets felt like shaved ice and his body shivered in spite of the sweats and socks he wore. Jim spread out extra blankets. Still, the additional weight of the bedding held no promise to keep him warm. As Jim turned off the light and climbed in, Blair rolled to his side, teeth chattering.

Jim shifted on the mattress as if he was counting the lumps under his back. "How's the head?"

Inches from each other, their conversation reduced to whispers in the darkness, Blair yawned. It was getting harder and harder to stay focused. "Sore."

"Roll over."

Blair turned to face the wall. He felt warmth along his backside. Another band of heat circled his chest and he relaxed with a sigh into darkness.

Blair fell asleep almost instantly and Jim felt a twinge of worry. How bad was that head injury?

He listened to the soft plopping sounds of snowflakes landing on the old house. He imagined hearing a million settling flakes. How deep would the drifts be in the morning? Western Washington just wasn't used to this type of snowfall. It was a good thing the local weather forecasters weren't docked in pay for screw ups. This unexpected storm would have set them back a few months.

Blair huffed in his sleep and shivered. His long hair was still damp. Taking a second to lift the strands away from the younger man's neck, Jim draped them up over the top of the pillow. He used the edge of a blanket to dry Blair's neck.

"Ummm... `z cold."

Jim pulled the blankets up higher and tucked them close over both their shoulders. His bed-mate burrowed down an inch, getting half his face under the blankets while one hand clutched Jim's arm closely.

Jim smiled. "Can't wait to tell the guys in the bullpen about this, Chief," he whispered. With his automatic safely tucked under their pillow, he let his body relax and his thoughts drift. Sleep pulled him down.

The crash shook the house.

Jim bolted up in bed, instantly awake. Quickly scanning the room and seeing nothing amiss, he grabbed his gun and jumped out of bed.

"What's happening?" Blair shouted as another crash sounded from above, proceeded by a sharp cracking sound.

Jim had a good idea what was going on. "I think the snow got too heavy for the tree limbs overhanging the house," he reported as he quickly pulled on his shoes.

Elsewhere in the house, Melanie called out to her father, who answered, shouting instructions back. Jim could hear movement, sounds of them dressing quickly. They all met in the hallway. Gordon managed a curt nod as he passed.

"Need help?" Jim followed down the stairs.

The house was colder now, the fire in the woodstove was out or just smoldering. Even though it seemed Jim had just closed his eyes, his watch told him it was nearly three in the morning.

"I need to check the roof," Gordon tossed back over his shoulder.

At the back door, Gordon flicked wall switches, simultaneously flooding the utility room off the kitchen and the back yard with yellow light. He lifted two heavy coats from a row of wall hooks and offered one to Jim. "There's a ladder in the barn, and some tools. We may need to replace some shingles."

Blair joined them, slightly out of breath, his hair sticking out in several directions at once.

"Jim?" He had his wet shoes on, the laces dragging on the floor.

"Stay inside, Chief," Jim ordered. "We're going to check the roof."

"I'll come." Blair looked determined.

Jim started to order him back, but Gordon stopped him with an outstretched hand. "I'd rather you help Mel. She's in the attic, seeing if anything needs to be moved. She could use a hand."

Not looking too happy with the division of labor, Blair reluctantly agreed. "Okay. Be careful up there, okay, Jim? No falling off."

"Sounds like a plan." Jim clapped his partner's shoulder before following the Gordon out into the night.

Three minutes later Jim was chilled to the bone. The cold cut through the coat like tissue paper. The snow drifts were above his knees and flakes continued to drift down without showing any signs of letting up. They had located the long, wooden ladder and carefully placed it against the back of the house. He held the base as Gordon climbed, two coils of heavy rope slung over one shoulder. Jim watched as he attached it to a sturdy set of bolts already secured under one eave, screwed into the heavy timber that made up the roof support. Then Gordon expertly tossed the ropes over the peak of the roof and climbed down.

"That will hold us," Gordon explained. "Let's move the ladder to the front."

On the front side of the roof, each wearing strong body harnesses secured to the ropes, Jim could see the tree that had caused the damage; an oak old enough to witness the passing of Lewis and Clark. Each branch supported a heavy load of snow. A few of its higher limbs had snapped off, landing on the house.

"Looks like three good-sized holes. You up for this?"

Jim nodded and they got to work. They worked as a team. Jim stayed below Gordon, supporting him, keeping him from sliding while the man pulled the broken shingles off and tossed them to the ground below. Underneath the shingles were long slats of wood which were spaced apart. Through the gaps, Jim could see light. He could hear movement and talking within.

Blair and Melanie.

Gordon reached back for a bundle of shakes tied to Jim's rope. Jim pulled the top one free, feeling awkward with the heavy gloves. He handed it up. The sooner they patched up the roof, the sooner they could get out of the cold.

"Let me help," Blair said, finding Melanie struggling with a heavy chest. He'd located a fold-down ladder and climbed into the overhead attic. It stretched the full length of the house, tall enough to be a third floor. "Jim's outside helping your dad. He sent me up."

"Thanks, I just need to move a few of these boxes back. So they don't get wet," Melanie said, her breath making small white clouds as she talked. She stood under a single bare bulb hanging from a rafter. The low wattage chased shadows from the dusty corners. Like Blair, she wore sweats and thick socks. The attic was cluttered with boxes, tarp covered shapes, and crates.

Blair picked a corner of the crate and shoved. They worked for a few minutes clearing the area as snow drifted down from the damaged roof. Sounds of hammering could be heard overhead.

"Man, I hope they're careful. The snow's going to make it slick." Blair gazed up at the rafters.

"Don't worry, Dad's probably got some harnesses fixed up," Melanie told him. "Help me with this?"

"Sure." Blair hurried over to assist. An old dresser with a large mirror was in danger of catching snow. As Blair moved to take an end, he happened to glance into the mirror.

A man stood in the back of the attic, near where the roof met the floor, half covered in shadows.

Blair spun around. "Jim?"

The end of the attic was empty, save a few large steamer trunks.

Melanie looked over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"Someone was standing there," Blair said, then paused as the back of his neck rippled with a new crop of goose bumps. God, was he seeing things again?

Shit.

Melanie peered intently into the shadows, fear flickering over her pretty face. "I don't see anyone."

Blair made himself look back into the mirror. Nothing. "Sorry, my mistake. Let's get this moved."

The dresser was heavy, as if filled with books. Working together, they slid it along the floor in short bursts until it was safe from getting wet.

"That should do it." Melanie dusted her hands on her jeans. "Wow, I guess we need to have a yard sale."

Blair had to agree, the attic was crammed. "I'd get an antique dealer up here first. You guys have some nice old stuff." He noticed a large collection of trophies piled in a box.

Melanie tracked his gaze. "Those belonged to my brother."

"He must have been a decent player. Those are a lot of trophies."

She shrugged. "Big fish, small pond. You know how it is. Dad thought he hung the stars in the sky, though." She crossed her arms, looking pensive.

Blair knocked the dust from his hands. "Jim and I are staying in his room, aren't we? Is he at college?"

She shrugged, hugging her thick sweatshirt tightly against her ribs. "We don't know. Trevor just up and left last July, we haven't heard from him." She looked up. "Sounds like Dad and your friend are finished. I'd better fix some coffee."

By the time the two men returned to the kitchen, an old-fashioned boxy radio gave the weather forecast; heavy snowfall was expected all morning. They shook the snow off their backs and returned the coats to the hooks by the back door.

"How bad is it, Dad?" Melanie asked. She stood at the counter, patting out biscuit dough. Turning a drinking glass upside down, she quickly cut out a dozen biscuits as easily as Blair could turn a page of a book. He'd been watching her toss together the ingredients, not even bothering to measure.

"It's not as bad as I feared," her father commented. He had brought in a plastic bucket half filled with chicken eggs and set it on a side table. "Thanks to Jim, the repair was quick."

"Blair and I got the attic squared away." She laid the round dough shapes into a glass pan and slid them into a preheated oven. "I figure we're up for the day, so I started breakfast. We'll eat in half an hour."

Gordon took a cup of coffee from Blair, nodding his thanks. "All animals are good. We fed the horses."

Blair held out another cup to his friend. Jim's cheeks and nose were red. The legs of his sweatpants were wet from melted snow. Removing a pair of bulky gloves, he blew on his fingers before taking accepting the coffee. "Thanks, Chief."

"Jim, there's more warm clothes up in your room," Gordon said. "Help yourself, you too, Blair. From the sounds of this forecast, you're both stuck here till afternoon."

Melanie took eggs from the bucket and rinsed them off. "Go on up and change. Look in the bottom dresser drawer, you'll find sweaters. If you'd like, I'll wash your clothes this morning."

"Thanks, dry clothes sound real good about now." Jim said.

Blair followed Jim up the stairs, his stomach already looking forward to breakfast. Back in their room, Jim rummaged around in the closet. Blair found two sweaters as promised and laid them out on the bed. It was colder on the second floor and he was eager to get back to the warmer kitchen.

"How's the head? Here, put these on under your sweatpants." Jim handed him a white pair of thermal Long Johns

"Still tender, but okay. Trevor is sure taller than his dad," Blair noted holding up the undergarment. "Good thing sweats have elastic cuffs."

"Trevor?" Jim had already shucked his wet pants and was threading a leg into his own Long Johns.

"That's the guy's name, Gordon's son. Melanie told me he split last summer." Blair looked up from his dressing. "And, Jim? I thought I saw someone standing in the attic earlier. Kind of freaked me out."

Jim paused. "You did?"

"Yeah." Trying to hide his nervousness with a casual laugh, Blair sat on the edge of the bed and toed off his damp shoes. "Looked into a mirror and thought he was standing behind me. You don't suppose Trevor's here in the house? Hiding?"

Jim was a fast dresser, already layered in the thermal pants and a baggy pair of jeans with paint stains. He finished donning the sweater and paused to tilt his head. A distant look told Blair that Jim was listening. After a few seconds, the cop shook his head.

"Only four heartbeats in the house, Chief. No Stephen King plots for your imagination today."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Blair finished with the long johns and sweatpants and picked up the sweater. "So, are we really stuck here?"

"Yeah, the way this snow is falling, not even four-wheel drive would make it out. Gordon said the plows hit the main roads first. It takes a while before they come this way." Jim went to the corner of the room where they'd dropped their clothes last night. "Let's get this stuff down for washing."

Jim hungrily eyed the shrinking bounty before him. Scrambled eggs, fried ham steaks and fresh baking powder biscuits waited for them in the kitchen. The food seemed simple and modest, but it was the best Jim had ever eaten.

And he had no intention of ever admitting that to his Dad's housekeeper.

Blair sat to his left, greedily shoveling eggs into his mouth, a large, butter-dripping biscuit in his free hand. Smiling happily, Melanie watched them eat.

"It's nice feeding a hungry crowd again," she admitted.

"Everything's tastes incredible," Blair said. He looked sheepish as he paused to swallow. "Sorry, normally I have table manners."

A low, oak bookcase filled with cookbooks had a place of honor under a framed picture of an old man in prayer. Jim zoomed in on the titles, wondering if he owned any of the books. Two cookbooks caught his eye; `Washington Farmhouse Cooking' and `Fabulous Cascade Foothill Desserts'. Both books had the same author.

"You're Melanie Walker," Jim blurted out. "I saw you on `Good Morning, America' last year. I was sick with the flu and watched the show. You gave me a real craving for potato salad.'

"God, no wonder my mouth is in heaven." Blair grinned happily. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

Gordon reached for a biscuit. "Her mom."

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Well, a college degree didn't hurt either, Dad." She turned back to Blair. "Mom was a great cook, though. I expanded on a few of her old country dishes and tried to find ways to cut out the saturated fat."

"Never hurt my family before," Gordon added glumly. "They all lived into their nineties."

"Anyway..." Melanie made a classic `don't mind him' look and continued. "I'm working on my third cookbook: breakfast foods. Someday I plan to turn this house into a restaurant. How do you like the biscuits?"

"I like." Jim buttered another one. "I can taste cheese and herbs."

"Very good, you have a distinguishing palette," she commented.

"If you only knew," Blair whispered with a grin before sipping his coffee.

"I'm playing with egg substitutes."

Gordon made a rude sound that seemed to knock some of his daughter's enthusiasm down a few pegs.

Blair's eyes flicked between them and he spoke up. "That is so cool. I'm trying to show Jim the healthier side of take-out. Maybe we can share some recipes?"

"Hey, Betty C," Jim cut in. "I eat healthy. I just enjoy many different cuisines. It's all about moderation."

"Whatever, man." Blair snickered behind a biscuit.

"Speaking of which." Jim moved the basket of bread out of his friend's reach. "I'm cutting you off. That's your third."

"Hey!"

Melanie laughed. They finished their meal with pleasant small talk.

Jim felt relaxed. Fond memories of life with his younger brother surfaced, before his mother had left them. His dad would already be gone for work, but his mother would sometimes treat them to pancakes with chocolate chips. He and Stephen would stuff themselves.

"After that meal, I need the work out," Blair said as he helped Melanie clean the kitchen.

Jim and Gordon were talking in the living room. Blair had stubbornly fought off any of Jim's plans to make him go back upstairs and rest. His head didn't hurt that much and he told Jim so. Besides, it was warmer down on the main floor, especially in the kitchen.

"Can you do me a favor?" Melanie turned and pointed to the dark utility room that led to the back door. "I need an empty jar from the shelves in there."

"Sure."

He'd been drying the dishes as Melanie washed. He draped the damp dishtowel over the stove handle and crossed the large kitchen. Spotting the wall switch, he flicked on the light, flooding the long utility room with brightness.

And saw a man standing against the back wall.

Blair's scream bounced off the walls. Stumbling backward, he tripped and fell backwards, hitting the back of his head soundly against a end of a cabinet. Either the rap to the head or the fall caused him to close his eyes. When he opened them again, the man was gone.

"Sandburg!" Jim appeared at his side.

"JIM! Shitohshit! He was HERE! I just saw him." Blair pointed and like a K9 with a fresh scent, Jim was off and running, through the small room and out the back door.

Blair rubbed his head, turning to see Melanie pressed against the far wall, eyes wide with fear. The back door opened and Jim reentered, bending down to help him up.

"Go!" Blair ordered, pushing him firmly even as Jim levered him to his feet. "I'm telling you, he was right here. You can catch - "

"Chief." Jim sounded patient, like Blair was mental or something. "There's half a foot of new snow out there. No tracks."

"Tracks?" Blair blinked, unable to remember the definition for a second. He raised a hand to the back of his head and winced when he felt a tender spot. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Gordon standing in the arched passageway between the kitchen and the hallway.

Jim looked concerned. "Did you fall first, then see him?"

Blair glanced down, biting his lower lip, His face felt hot. "I didn't make this up, man. I saw him first, man. Then I fell. I swear."

"Here, sit down." Jim tugged him to the nearest chair.

It was humiliating. Blair could see Jim didn't believe him. And Melanie and her father both were looking at him as if he were mental. Blair never felt so alone. "He okay, Jim?" Gordon asked.

"Yeah, think so," Jim answered.

To Blair's relief, the father and daughter left them alone.

"Jim, I want to leave."

Jim didn't stop from his examination of Blair's eyes. "I think you're okay, pupils are still equal and reactive. You've got a nice lump growing back there."

Blair knocked the probing fingers away. He knew that already, his head was pounding. "Jim! Listen to me. Something weird is happening," he whispered angrily.

"Calm down. I think you should rest upstairs."

When Jim tried to draw him out of the chair, Blair resisted. "Nah uh, I'm not going. Let's call Simon. Ask him to send someone to get us."

"Blair, this storm has Cascade by the short hairs. We're stuck here." Jim argued. "I want you to lie down - "

"How about we borrow a car?" Blair said, rushing the words out. Jim muscled him up and they were heading for the stairs anyway. Blair's head throbbed, making it hard to walk. "We can drive out, right?"

Back in the room, Jim continuing to shoot down each escape plan that Blair could think up. The room was just as they'd left it before breakfast and just as cold.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"If I guess right, can we build snowshoes and walk out of here?"

"Sandburggg"

"Three, damn it! Jim, I'm serious. Aren't you picking up any `Twilight Zone' vibes here?" If Blair thought for a second that stamping his foot would help convince his friend and break him out of his `No-such-thing-as' denial, he would, in a heartbeat.

Jim gently pushed him back, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed. He captured Blair's head in both hands and tilted his face down. Blair talked the entire time Jim's fingers parted his long hair and checked his new lump.

"Let's review the facts, okay? This guy keeps popping up - ouch! Watch it, that hurts - he doesn't leave tracks in the snow. Am I the only one that sees an x-file happening here?"

"Now you have a lump in the back of your head to match the one in the front," Jim said smoothly.

"Funny, Jim. Real riot-ville. Can we get back to this nightmare we're living? See where I'm going, here?"

Jim released Blair's head, pulled over the desk chair and sat facing his partner. "Listen to me," Jim said firmly, resting a hand on each of Blair's knees. "Shut up for a second and breathe."

When had he started gasping? Blair took a deep breath and forced himself to hold it for a second, his hands automatically covering both of Jim's.

Jim smiled. "Good. That's better. Now you and I both know that panicking - while fun - won't solve anything. We have to keep our wits together, agreed?"

Blair nodded. "Right, right. Panic bad. Rational thought better." Blair couldn't help himself. "Running best."

Jim's chest and shoulders shook with an unexpected amused snort. If nothing else, Blair Sandburg would be remembered for comic relief. Blair pushed his point one more time. "I don't want to panic. I just want to get out of here."

"I know. But that would be a really, really stupid move right now," Jim said; all trace of humor gone. "You haven't been outside. As cold as this room is, it's ten times worse out there. We don't have the equipment to even try it."

"Come on, Jim; please tell me you think something freaky is happening here."

One hand slipped out from Blair's. Jim rested it on Blair's shoulder. "I even have a vague sort of theory."

"You do? What?"

"You've had a hard knock to the head, Sandburg. Now I'm not saying -""

The room went black.

"NO!" Blair cried. He reached out in the darkness, grabbed Jim's arms and squeezing hard.

"Stay calm, Chief," Jim ordered.

"I'm not letting you go, man." There was no way he was letting this Sentinel out of his reach.

There were times when Jim's sentinel abilities truly acted like the gifts Blair was always yammering about. This was one of those times.

Blair should be resting, not following him around a dark house. Jim knew, as he navigated the dark staircase easily, he'd never get Blair to stay behind in that bedroom. Part of him wanted Blair as his side anyway, the part that wondered if perhaps there was something happening here. Jim called out to Gordon to let him know they were coming. A faint light flickered from the living room.

"Breakers?" Jim asked as they entered the room, Blair still clutching his hand like Jim was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. "Chief? Can you let just a little circulation in to my fingers?"

"Sorry."

Gordon stood over a hurricane lantern, getting ready to light it. "No point in checking the breakers. No power in any of the outbuildings. Wind's starting to pick up. Some tree must have knocked over a power line."

"We'll check anyway, where are they?"

The older man nodded in the direction of the kitchen. "Off the utility room, left of the back door. Look under the calendar."

"Be right back." Jim glanced at Blair's face, wondering how he felt about returning to the kitchen.

But Blair followed without protest. It was funny, Jim realized. The guy had his moments, but when it came to backing him up, Blair rarely failed him. He still hung on like a leech, but walked without dragging his feet or protesting as Jim guided them through the kitchen. Jim stopped and checked the wall phone. No dial tone. He located the breaker box and confirmed Gordon's assumption. No power in the line feeding the house. It must be a power line down, and whatever caused it took out the phone line as well.

"Jim, you should at least look like you need a flashlight," Blair whispered. Sometime during the trek to the kitchen, he had released Jim's hand and latched onto the back of his sweater.

"Good point." Jim scanned a row of shelves filled with old canning jars, cakes of wax, houseplant fertilizer, a package of unused mouse traps and a small box of old rat poison. He found what he was looking for. "Here. One for each of us." He handed Blair a flashlight and they both tested the batteries.

"When's sunrise?" Blair asked, his voice steady.

"Less than an hour." Jim slipped the flashlight into a back pocket. He'd use it as a prop for later. "Listen, we stay together, okay? I'm not taking any chances."

"Like I even want to go off alone right now," Blair whispered to himself.

The sun rose without any other strange incidents. Thankfully, the kitchen stove was powered with gas and the house was heated from the woodstove. Water was still a concern. An old-fashioned water pump was still attached to the well, but it needed a prime. Gordon worked on it most of the morning. Freezing temperatures proved the task difficult. Just in case, he showed them where he'd stored two large fifty gallon drums of drinking water in the basement.

"My first concern is the animals. Their water troughs are ice over," Gordon said as he walked back into the kitchen. "But I need to get that pump working, too."

Jim looked out the window. The landscape was devoid of all color but shades of white. It was still snowing hard. The sun bathed everything with diffused light, like a picture taken with a camera, its lens smeared with Vaseline.

"I'll do it for you."

"Me too," Blair added. He looked up at Jim's raised eye brow. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Gordon asked.

"How many water troughs we talking about?" Jim asked.

Gordon happily took them both up on their offer. After getting instructions on which troughs would need attention, Blair and Jim bundled up as best as they could. Gordon came up with extra rubber boots for them that allowed them to tuck in their pant legs. They dressed in matching rubberized rain pants with bib. Heavy canvas coats went over the top of their sweaters with knitted hats for each man's head.

"I can barely move," Blair muttered.

"I think you're as wide as you are tall," Jim told him.

"Great, now I get short jokes," Blair muttered unhappily.

The snow between the house and the barn barely showed signs of previous traffic. His legs sank into deep coldness causing each step to require a high knee kick. He checked on Blair.

"Not another word about the length of my legs, Jim." Blair had to swing his hips to fight the snow.

"It's a good thing we don't have to go too far," Jim admitted. "This is snowshoe depth."

They made it to the barn, both men breathing hard. Jim took a second to eye the roof from inside. The added weight of the snow put serious load on the structure. Jim wondered if the building was up to the challenge.

"Where are the axes?" Blair asked.

"I saw some tools over here." Jim walked to a side wall where several nails had been driven into the wood. Rakes, hoes, shovels and other assorted devices were organized and ready for use. Some had holes drilled in the handles, some hung by leather straps. Jim found the ax leaning against the wall, head down in the dirt.

"That the only one?" Blair started searching around.

A faint smell that reminded Jim of an old crime scene gave the cop cause to examine his ax blade. He sniffed it again. "Chief, I've got blood on this blade."

Blair spun. "What? Don't mess with me, man. Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Jim said with a nod. He set the ax carefully aside and began rooting though the rest of the tools. "It's only on that ax."

"Oh man," Blair groaned. "I am so hating this!"

Spotting two double headed pickaxes, Jim picked them up. "We'll use these. They're better on the ice anyway. Come on."

Even inside the roomy barn, temperatures were freezing. They took turns breaking the ice and scooping out thick chunks. The horses watched with reservation, but moved in as soon as they left. Finally the task was done and each animal had water to drink. They returned the picks.

"I'm going to tuck the ax out of sight," Jim said picking it up and heading for the back. He found a spot behind a stack of hay and slipped it in while Blair watched solemnly.

They followed their earlier trail back toward the house. It was nearly noon and if Jim was hungry, then Blair had to be starving.

"Is it me, or is the snow starting to slack off?" Blair asked.

Jim had noticed it. "Air feels different. I think the worst of the storm might be over. Maybe we're getting some warmer air off the coast and things can start thawing out."

"It is so cool that you can feel the difference, like a barometer, Jim. We need to run some tests." Blair whispered as he stomped his feet to knock the caked snow off his legs and boots.

"I'm more interested in my sense of smell right now," Jim whispered back with a half grin. "Guess what's for lunch?"

Blair looked instantly alert to the idea of food.

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