Page 86 of Freeing Lark

“That’s not the same thing.”

“He’s been shot,” Lark yelled, shooting him a glare as he downplayed his injury.

“Fuck. Okay then. That changes things.” He heard voices in the background. “Flint and the others are still searching,” Haley continued. “They’ll get vehicles in. It’ll take a few hours to reach you.”

“Understood.”

“We’re coming, Hoot.”

“I know.” He ended the call, and Lark’s shoulders visibly relaxed. The relief on her face hit him harder than the pain.

He should’ve arranged the rescue before he’d passed out. He’d left her to handle everything alone. Again. His gaze landed on the two granola bars he’d packed. Both untouched.

He picked one up. “Eat.”

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s my line.”

Her lips twitched. “Apparently, it works.” She sighed and took one. “Happy?”

“Very.”

She broke it in half. “Here.”

He frowned. “That’s yours.”

“And now I’m sharing.” She held half out.

Hoot took it. “Stubborn.”

“Occupational hazard.”

He smiled. There she goes, using his own words against him again.

They ate in companionable silence. A little more water. A little more wood on the fire. Eventually Lark carried the empty jars back outside to collect more rainwater.

When she returned, Hoot was fading again. He shifted carefully on the couch. “Lark.” She looked over. “Come here.”

“I’ll let you sleep.”

“Come here.” She hesitated. Then approached. He shifted as much as the cramped couch allowed. “Lie down.”

“There’s barely room.”

“I’ve slept in worse.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “That’s not exactly comforting.” Still, she eased onto the couch beside him.

They ended up facing each other, bodies curled into the limited space. Hoot wrapped his injured arm around her while she laid her head on his good shoulder. She fit perfectly against him. Warm. Soft. A so very real.

He brushed damp strands of hair away from her face. “Thank you.”

Her eyes softened. “For what?”