“Come on, solider,” she said through choppy breaths. “Left. Right. Don’t you give up. I’m not leaving you here, so if you stop, we’re both going to die. Keep going.”
She had to give it to him; he moved one foot in front of the other for a long time. But about halfway there she felt him collapse. It was all she could do to keep him from falling face-first into the snow.
“Ren!” She crouched down and tapped his face lightly again and again but he didn’t move. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. Panicking, she ripped off her gloves and held her fingers to his icy neck, nearly sobbing with relief when she felt his pulse, thready but there.
They weren’t far from the cabin but there was no way she’d be able to carry him the last couple hundred yards. They might as well be miles away.
She put her gloves back on and yanked off her jacket, rolling his torso onto it. Then she grabbed it by the collar and pulled, once again using her weight and gravity to her advantage. Every time she pulled him forward it was by crashing herself into the ground, but at least it moved him.
The progress was slow and agonizing. She had to fall into the snow each time just to get him to move one or two feet. It wasn’t long before the cold and exertion was stealing all her strength.
She fought to keep her mind in the present as the agonizing burn of the cold tried to throw her back into the past. When she was helpless. At Damien’s mercy.
As the flames of cold licking her skin receded to the blessed numbness, her mind wanted to hide. From the pain, from the exhaustion. To just curl up in the snow and let everything float away.
But if she did, she and Ren would both die. And damn it, she wasn’t going to let that happen.
They were less than fifty yards from the cabin—she could see it, for heaven’s sake—when her coat ripped under Ren’s weight. Sobbing, she stumbled up to the house, grabbed a blanket from the bed and ran back down to Ren.
She laid the blanket out on the ground and used her legs—there was no way she’d be able to do it with her arms—to roll him face-first onto it.
Reaching for an inner strength she didn’t know she had, past all the pain of getting them this far, she got them the last few yards and into the house, kicking the door closed behind them. She fell next to Ren on the floor, breaths sawing in and out of her chest.
She just wanted to lie there, but knew she couldn’t. They weren’t out of the woods yet. Leaving Ren where he lay, she crawled over to the stove. The fire had gone out so she built a new bundle of tinder like he had taught her.
Using the flint with numb, exhausted fingers was even more difficult, but—thanks to Ren and his patience—she knew she could do it. Finally, a spark caught the kindling and a flame began. She built the wood on top of it and opened all the vents on the stove to allow as much heat out as possible.
She pulled off her own clothes, now just as soaked as Ren’s, wincing at the pain down the entire back of her body after throwing herself onto the ground time after time to move him. She wrapped herself in a second blanket, crawling back to him. She got his wet clothes off as quickly as her numb, trembling fingers would allow, and wrapped his wound with a T-shirt tostop the bleeding. She threw all the frozen clothes and blanket she’d used to pull him into a pile by the door, just under her painting.
With the last of her strength she grabbed a quilt resting over the back of the couch. She crawled back to Ren where he still lay on the floor, pulled his naked body to hers and wrapped them both as best she could in the blankets. She knew she should try to get him to the bed or closer to the fire, or do more with his wound, but she couldn’t. Her strength was gone.
She pulled his icy hands under her armpits and his toes between her calves. She was so cold the difference in temperature barely registered.
She’d done all she could do. She prayed it would be enough.
Blackness claimed her.
* * *
EVERYPARTOFhim was screaming in agony. Ren fought back a moan of pain, years of ops kicking in, not sure where he was and if it was safe to make any sound.
Slowly, awareness came back to him. That damn mountain lion and the icy bitch of a river as it had stolen every bit of breath he had.
But now he was in the cabin with Natalie, lying on the ground, naked with her in his arms. How the hell had they gotten here?
He shifted, and pain blistered up his shoulder. He moved cautiously, glancing down at the wound. That cat’s claws had gotten him good. It was going to need to be stitched.
Natalie rolled, moaning, and her blue eyes blinked open.
“You’re awake,” she whispered, before her eyes closed again briefly in relief.
Then she frantically sat up and began examining his fingers and toes. “You were wet for so long. I was worried about frostbitebut I didn’t know what to do and once I got you here I just ran out of steam.”
He could feel her poking at his hands and feet as she continued talking. “But they look okay. Thank God.” Her hands moved to his shoulder, her voice becoming more and more distressed. “Oh, no, your wound. I knew I needed to do something about it, but I—”
He put his finger to her lips to stop her stream of words, his body burning. “I’m okay. You did great. How did we even get back here?”
“I got you out of the water and you walked part of the way.” She shrugged. “Then you lost consciousness and I pulled you the rest of the way on my jacket, then a blanket.”
