The thought makes my chest hurt.
Like, really really friggin’ hurt.
I sit up, scanning the great room.
Empty.
Just the fire crackling away like nothing’s wrong, like my entire world isn’t imploding in approximately... I turn on my cell phone, and check the time... eight hours until the helicopter arrives. I power it off again. Still no signal.
Sounds from the mudroom. I hurry over in my socks, still wearing his hoodie because apparently I’m a masochist who enjoys torturing herself with his scent.
Gregory’s bundling up. A shovel is resting against the door beside him.
“Where are you going?” My voice comes out angrier than I intend. Because...
He thinks he can sneak out without my noticing?!
He doesn’t look at me. “To clear the helicopter pad. And my head.”
Oh.
Right.
The pad.
Because if four feet of snow is covering it, the rescue helicopter probably can’t land, and we’ll be stuck here forever, which should make me happy except it won’t because he hates me now and--
“What about the mountain lion?” I blurt out.
He shrugs. Actually shrugs. Like he doesn’t care if a cougar rips him apart. “If the pad isn’t clear, the helicopter won’t land.”
The casual acceptance of danger makes my throat clench. “I’m coming, too.”
“Suit yourself.” He still won’t look at me.
Ouch.
Okay.
That’s what we’re doing today.
But there’s no way I’m letting him go out there alone. Not with that cat potentially circling. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened while I was inside wallowing in my own self-created misery.
So I bundle up, too. Boots, coat, thermal gloves and mitts, hat. He wordlessly hands me his Patagonia jacket to layer over everything, same as yesterday during the firewood mission.The gesture would be sweet if he wasn’t treating me like a particularly inconvenient piece of equipment he’s obligated to maintain.
Outside, the cold hits like a slap. I don’t know how the hell he can take it in just a sweater, but hey.
The sun is brilliant on the snow, making everything so white it hurts to look at.
We trudge toward the helicopter pad. I lead the way, with Gregory guiding me. Two hundred yards from the house according to Gregory. With each step through the thigh-deep snow, my thighsburn.
I deserve the pain, though.
Probably.
I scan the trees, searching for signs of the mountain lion. Nothing.
So far.
