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Reluctantly she sat up, but she was able to zip and snap her own slicker, and he helped her back into the wet coat. This time the coat went on the outside where it provided a barrier to the weather but wasn’t against her body. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but it would do.
They pulled up the hoods of their slickers, and Dare moved away from the shelter of the boulder into the heavy rain. After helping Angie up so she was balanced on her left foot, he knelt so she could climb onto his back.
They could do this.
They had to.
A touch of gray lit the sky to the east when Dare finally saw the cabin ahead. The darkness had been gradually fading for the past fifteen minutes, just enough that he could make out some details without the aid of the flashlight. The ferocious lightning and thunder had moved on, but the heavy rain hadn’t slacked off at all. The wind had blown rain against his face, down his neck, soaking into his clothes beneath the slicker. Angie had already been soaked. The oiled leather of the saddlebags had probably held up okay, but everything else, including his hat, was dripping; they might as well have swam here.
Angie was hanging over his shoulder again. They had changed position every time they stopped, but that was the position that seemed to be most comfortable for her, maybe because it required the least effort on her part.
The periodic stops had kept pulling her back from hypothermia, but each time she seemed to lose a little ground. Since the last stop she’d been just hanging there, limp and completely silent.
Two hours ago he’d decided they could relax their vigilance, at least as far as not needing to have the rifle instantly at the ready, and he’d been able to sling it on his shoulder and use both hands; he’d taken over carrying the flashlight, because Angie had begun drifting off and letting it drop. Each time she would startle awake and apologize, but the fact was she’d pushed herself almost as far as she could go.
He never would have thought it, but now he wished she’d light into him, giving him hell for everything he’d done wrong: for losing the horse, for not finding her sooner, for not making an appearance in her camp to let her clients know she wasn’t alone. The last two points wouldn’t be fair, but he didn’t care about fair right now, he just wanted her awake and spitting fire. He wanted her complaining about everything he did. He didn’t like it when she didn’t talk.
Keep them talking. He’d done that with wounded men, but Angie had stopped answering him a half-mile back. She was traumatized, hypothermic, possibly in shock. He’d forgone the last rest period, because getting her to shelter was more important than resting for ten minutes.
With nothing to distract him, he’d begun wondering about things he didn’t want to think about. The events she’d described were bad enough, but he couldn’t help thinking there might be more to the story, something she hadn’t told him. He and Harlan had talked about the dangers of a woman guiding two men, especially men like Davis and Krugman, the bastards.
Had she been raped? It didn’t make sense, not with the scenario she’d described, but then again he couldn’t be positive that her version of the incident had been a complete one. Was there something she hadn’t told him?
He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone for a long time, but at the moment he could cheerfully have put a bullet into Krugman.
All through the long trek he’d not only been watching for an armed man and a killer bear, he’d also been looking for his fucking horse. He’d hoped, for a while, that the buckskin would find its way back to him, or maybe to the cabin. Horses were herd animals; they didn’t like being alone. But there hadn’t been any sign of the animal, and though he could now see the building ahead, there still wasn’t.
Damn it all to hell, he might never find that damn horse. If it didn’t manage to find its way here—not likely, considering this was its first trip here, and it wasn’t familiar with the area—they’d have to walk off the mountain. He would, anyway. If Angie’s ankle was broken, she’d have to stay here while he fetched help. If the damn knuckle-brained horse hadn’t taken off, he’d have been able to use the sat phone to call for help.
Instead he was up here with a murderer, a killer bear, an injured woman, and no easy way out. The way things had gone to hell, he was surprised they hadn’t been struck by lightning; that was about the only thing that hadn’t happened. Of course, a lightning strike would have wiped away all his worries about the other stuff.
Dare was good at focusing. After allowing himself a brief respite by silently cursing at everything, he pulled his frustration back in and stuffed it away, so he could concentrate on what had to be done. Taking care of Angie was number one. Get her inside, get her dry and warm, check out her ankle—and any other injuries she hadn’t bothered to tell him about—and get her to eat. Survival always came down to basics. She needed medical attention, food, water, and sleep.
He couldn’t provide a hospital or a restaurant, but he did keep the basics on hand. Once she was taken care of, he’d make a plan for what came next.
“We’re almost there,” he said, jostling her a little to make her stir. “Are you okay?”
When she finally responded, her voice was thin and slurred. “You keep asking me that.”
“Yeah, well, you’re too fucking quiet.”
She mumbled something he didn’t catch.
“What?” he barked.
She lifted her head. He couldn’t see the motion, but he felt it, felt the shift of her weight. “I said, you curse too much.” Her voice was still weak, and she shook like a leaf, but she’d found the strength to criticize him.
He felt a little more cheerful. Things were looking up.
Chapter Fifteen
Dare stepped into the lower level of his cabin, out of the rain at last. He stopped, shuddering with relief, as he shone the flashlight around the stalls on the bottom floor, looking for any sign of disturbance. Everything was quiet, just as he’d left it. Only when he wa
s certain that nothing else was in there did he close the door and throw the heavy latch, as glad as he’d ever been that his design made this place a defendable fortress.
Exhaustion dragged at him. He made it a point to stay in shape, but he wasn’t Superman. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night before the storm had jarred him awake and the pistol shots pulled him out into the dark rain. For the past several hours he’d been pushing himself hard, so hard all he could do was thank God the cabin hadn’t been even a hundred yards farther, because he might have had trouble making that hundred yards.
He couldn’t rest yet, though. The next step was to get Angie up the damn ladder. Everything he needed to take care of her was on the upper level, and that was the safest place to be, anyway.
