Page 6 of Cold and Bitter Snow

She nodded, hoping he was telling the truth. There was no way she could carry him anywhere.

“My phone is back in the garage,” he said ruefully. “It was out of battery.”

She patted her own pockets, where hers should have been. The movement made her bare hand hurt like hell, and the phone was nowhere to be found. She shook her head.

He nodded, seeming to come to a decision. She was going to have to rely on him. He seemed to know what he was doing, and this wasn’t the kind of decision-making she was good at. Give her a challenge and a computer system and she’d give it her best shot, but out here in the open, she felt naked.

“We can make it back to the maintenance hangar. It’s not far. We’ll get dry and get help.”

Not daring to ask what “not far” meant Siena started walking, her ski boots like anchors around her ankles.

#

Conor

He felt like he’d ripped something in his shoulder, but this didn’t seem like the time to worry about it.

The cold was likely to be a bigger problem for them. It wouldn’t be getting any warmer than ten degrees anytime soon, and they were both dripping wet.

He watched Siena walk shakily away from the hole in the direction he set her in. She wasn’t complaining but didn’t seem to be doing so well either. Her ski boots weren’t helping the situation.

He looked down at his own feet, amazed he hadn’t lost his snowshoes. He jogged up ahead of her, realizing he could at least break the trail and make it easier for her.

“Step where I step,” he instructed.

She nodded but didn’t say anything else. He took off at an easy pace. Although he could hear her labored breathing behind him, he still looked back every few steps, to make sure she was keeping up.

They’d only walked a few minutes when she stopped. Her hands were on her knees and she was breathing unsteadily.

“I can carry you,” he offered.

She leaned back as if he’d struck her. “No! I can do this,” she insisted.

He began walking again, slower this time, to keep pace with her. Walking actually felt great. It helped his muscles generate heat, which meant he was doing less shivering.

Suddenly, he stopped hearing any noise behind him. She was fifteen feet behind, on her knees and shivering violently.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Give me a second.” She looked like she was trying hard to pull herself together, but when she stood up her legs looked as stable as those of a newborn colt.

Conor sighed. She didn’t look like she wanted to be touched, but he wasn’t about to let her freeze to death on the snow. If he was right, they were literally minutes away from the garage where they’d be able to warm up and call for help.

He knelt down beside her. Her beautiful hazel eyes were brimming with tears.

“I’m sorry …” she began.

“Put your arms around me,” he asked, keeping his voice gentle but matter-of-fact. He slid his good arm under her body and lifted her gently, ignoring the pain as he moved his other arm under her knees. The bright red ski boots looked incongruous hanging off her slim calves.

As he straightened up, she tucked her head against his chest. He was wowed by the trust.

She couldn’t weight more than a hundred and thirty pounds, and that was counting the ski boots. He’d carried backpacks that weighed more than her but, the way his shoulder was burning, he didn’t think he could carry her for long.

Clamping his jaw against the pain, he half jogged, half-stumbled up the hill with his precious burden. As soon as he crowned the top, he saw the familiar yellow building.

Thank God.

“We made it,” he said.

She raised her head from his shoulder and gave him a small smile, but her eyes were glassy and her expression lethargic. It scared him, but he couldn’t do anything about it out here in the cold—the first priority was getting her out of the cold.