ICE, ICE BABY
Lilly Tremont was trapped in the freaking, horrible, unrelenting snow.
"I hate Oklahoma in the winter," she muttered. Actually, she hated Oklahoma year-round. The only reason she was on this lonely, one-lane road was because her grandmother had left her the farm.
Well, what was left of it — old house, falling-apart barn, broken fences, and empty corrals. Nothing had grown or lived on that piece of land in at least a decade. Her grandmother had gone to Florida and lived out her golden years on the beach.
Lilly had gone to the West Coast and set up her gallery in San Francisco. Her eclectic pottery and statuary had been an instant hit, which was good because living in San Francisco was outrageously expensive.
She had hoped to never see Oklahoma again.
Then Gran had died and left her the family farm, and so, here she was, in a blizzard, driving an unfamiliar rental car. Well, plowing it into a ditch had stopped her from the driving part.
