We pulled the minivan past the mailbox and let the tires crunch over the frozen gravel.

The heater was running full blast against the bitter March air.

The dashboard clock read nine fifteen.

We parked near the white farmhouse.

The harsh north wind was already rattling the bare cottonwood trees along the property.

I zipped my winter coat all the way to my chin before opening the door and stepping out onto the dirt.

The cold cut right through my jeans.

Luke shut his door and immediately buried his hands deep in his coat pockets.