I grabbed him around the middle and heaved. Deadweight. He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a scream but wouldn’t get his legs under him.
“Al, I swear to chocolate, if you don’t get up, I’m leaving you here.”
Empty threat. We both knew it.
I got my arms under him and lifted. Two hundred pounds of wet, freezing, stubborn alpaca. My back screamed. My legs burned. But I got him up, got him draped over my shoulders in something vaguely resembling a fireman’s carry, and yanked three times on the rope.
One step. Two. The rope tightened, guiding me.
I followed the tension in the rope, one agonizing step at a time, Al Pacacino’s weight threatening to drive me into the snow with every stride. At least the ornery son of a bitch wasn’t trying to bite me, which actually concerned me more than offered relief. Jet stayed at my heel, barking encouragement or criticism—hard to tell with him.
Then hands grabbed my arm. Audra, appearing out of the white like a ghost, her face raw from the wind.
“I’ve got you,” she shouted over the storm. “Keep moving.”
Together, we followed the guide rope back. Audra in front, one hand on the rope, one hand locked around my arm. Me behind, carrying an alpaca who had finally stopped struggling and was just shivering against my back—I didn’t even know alpacacouldshiver but evidently they sure as hell could. Jet bringing up the rear.
The barn door materialized out of nothing. Audra wrenched it open, and we half-fell inside, Al Pacacino and all. Audra pulled the door shut against the howling night. We stood there, all of us, breathing hard, covered in snow, still alive.
Al Pacacino shook himself, sending snow and ice everywhere. Then he turned, looked directly at me, and spit.
“You’re welcome, you ornery son of a—” I cut myself off. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
Audra laughed—a slightly hysterical sound that said her nerves were as shot as mine. She wrapped her arms around me, not caring that we were both soaked and freezing, and held on.
“We got him,” she said into my chest.
“We got him.”
We were both cold and exhausted but we couldn’t rest yet. We dried Al Pacacino as best we could, settled him back in his pen with extra hay and a stern lecture about staying put. I added a strategically placed nail so dumbass wouldn’t be able to unlatch his door and take another field trip back into the blizzard.
We checked all the other animals one more time. Made sure the barn was secure against the storm. Made sure everyone was safe and warm and content. Audra wrapped her arm around my waist.
“They’re good for the night,” I said.
She nodded, looking around. “Let’s get ourselves the same way.”
We bundled back up and followed the guide rope to the guesthouse, Jet tethered to us once more, crazy dog excited to go back into the storm.
The guesthouse was small—just a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchenette—but it was warm. The heat had been running all day, and walking through the door felt like walking into an embrace. Jet immediately staked out his position by the door, guardian even now.
I looked at Audra. She was shivering, her clothes soaked through, her lips slightly blue. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Shower,” she said through chattering teeth. “Now.”
I didn’t argue.
The bathroom was tiny, barely room for one person, let alone two. But we made it work. I had no problem being close to my fiancée any time, but especially when she was undressing.
She turned on the water while I peeled off my wet jacket, my soaked shirt. The mirror was already fogging by the time she turned back to me, reaching for the hem of her sweater.
“Let me.”
I lifted it over her head slowly, watching goosebumps rise on her skin that had nothing to do with the cold. Her bra was wet too, clinging to her, and I unhooked it with fingers still clumsy from the chill. Let it fall to the floor.
“You’re freezing,” I murmured, running my hands up her arms.
“So warm me up.”
