Couldn’t she tie them back with a bit of leather or something? Did she really need to leave them hanging free all day long?
“No,” she answered. “Or at least not like I was this morning. Moving helps with body heat.”
She’d been cold that morning? Had she been cold last night too? How had he missed that? “Do any of your extremities feel numb, or possibly like they’re burning? Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?”
Her brows furrowed as she flexed the thin gloves covering her hands. “I don’t have frostbite, if that’s what you’re asking, but I also don’t think this wool coat was made to withstand an Alaska winter.”
Mikhail ran his eyes briefly over her coat. He knew the kind. The wool was lightweight and fashionable more than practical. It would look stylish on the streets of Washington, DC, but wouldn’t keep her very warm in a blizzard. “Next time you’re cold, let me know.”
“Why? Don’t tell me you have another Indian coat in your pack.”
“It’s a parka, and I have two.”
“Two extra parkas?” She stumbled again, this time over her own two feet.
He reached out to steady her, but she whirled around, jerking out of his grip.
“I would have caught myself.”
“Maybe, but I don’t need you getting scraped up or twisting an ankle. That will just cost more time.”
She studied him for a moment, her eyes moving over his face. What did she see when she looked at him?
Besides a man who scowled more than he smiled and dressed like he belonged in the woods rather than at a fancy dinner.
He could belong at both. The trouble was, he didn’t want to be at a fancy dinner, at least not at the moment. He wanted to be here, helping this team escape the wilds of Alaska unscathed.
Even if that meant dealing with the woman in front of him.
A woman he didn’t exactly like, but he had a fierce desire to protect.
Because she reminds you of Livy.
As soon as the thought sprang into his head, he shoved it away. He’d failed Livy, and the mistakes he’d made had haunted him for the past ten years.
He wouldn’t allow himself to fail Miss Wetherby too.
7
Mikhail crouched to pick up one last piece of firewood, the driest he could find in a valley that got soaked with rain on a regular basis, then stood again. His arms full of wood, he made his way back to the small clearing where they’d stopped to camp. But he couldn’t keep his jaw from clenching as he glanced up at the mountain looming to their east. The snow-covered peak towered over the lower valley, its jagged silhouette cutting against the afternoon light. Twilight was still about an hour away, but he’d wanted to be farther along by now, halfway down the other side of the mountain. Instead they were stuck at the base, setting up camp as if this was some leisurely expedition.
The valley itself was beautiful, of course. The sun—which had stayed out all day—hung low, casting long shadows over the landscape and painting the rocky slopes in a mixture of pink and gold and orange.
If only he could trust the sun to stay and the weather to hold until they reached the Iskut River. But he didn’t, considering it was November.
Voices broke through the stillness, and Mikhail straightened, his ears catching the unmistakable sound of an argument.
He headed toward the voices. He needed tension boiling over within the group about as much as he needed a broken leg in the middle of a mountain pass. But he moved only a few more steps before it became clear that Miss Wetherby was one of the people caught up in the argument.
“You knew where the river was this entire time, didn’t you?” Her sharp voice carried through the trees.
Mikhail quickened his pace, his mukluks thudding against the soft ground until his gaze locked on the two people standing at the edge of the clearing.
The giant trunk filled with specimens sat open at Miss Wetherby’s feet, but she wasn’t looking at the trunk. She was looking at her brother crouched a few feet away, staking his tent to the ground in a relaxed manner that looked terribly at odds with his sister’s tense posture.
“You knew where the river was, and you didn’t take us home.” Miss Wetherby crossed her arms over her chest, every line of her body rigid beneath her fancy coat.
“Stop asking so many questions.” Heath gave one of the tent stakes a tap with a large wooden mallet.
