Ash Blackwood hadn't meant to go far. Just a quick afternoon ride on one of the Sullivan Ranch's gentler trails - the kind Jem had assured her even a bookstore owner could handle. The November day had started mild enough, the kind of deceptive autumn warmth that made Montana winters seem distant.
The first snowflakes caught her by surprise. Within minutes, the light snow turned into a full whiteout, the kind of freak storm that old-timers told stories about. Visibility dropped to almost nothing, and the temperature plummeted so fast she could feel the cold through her duster.
Her horse, a steady mare named Birdie, seemed uncertain which way to turn. The trail had disappeared under the rapidly accumulating snow, and the familiar landmarks Jem had carefully pointed out were lost in the white void.
"It's okay, girl," Ash said, trying to keep her voice steady despite rising panic. "We'll figure this out."
But the storm had other ideas. The wind picked up, driving snow sideways, and even Birdie's natural instincts seemed confused by the sudden weather. They moved slowly through the whiteness, each step more uncertain than the last.
Hours passed, or maybe minutes - time became meaningless in the storm. Ash's feet had gone numb despite her boots, and her hands could barely feel the reins. She was starting to understand how people got into real trouble in mountain weather.
The sound came so faintly at first she thought she was imagining it. A whistle, cutting through the...