Kicking into the snow, she made divots, then she leaned one arm against the tree, stepped into the divots, and pivoted herself up, to the branch.
It sagged, but she grasped it with the other hand and used it to kick more divots into the snow. Another leap, and she grabbed an upper branch, pulled herself up, got one foot on the lower branch, then the other.
She was Tarzan, perched in a tree, swaying in the wind, the wind sharp against her skin.
Wren sat in the snow, her arms around Caspian, who lay next to her, watching Keely, unmoving.
It felt a little like being watched by a panther.
She worked her way out to the edge of the branch. A crack, the branch jerking—
She leaped for the bank.
Purchase, mostly, but she turned onto her back and scrabbled away from the edge, landing finally beside Wren.
Caspian got up, barked again, backing away.
“I know, I know,” she whispered. “That was nearly a tragedy.” Then she looked at Wren. “Let’s go home.”
It felt good to hurt.To ache from a morning of hard work, Dawson’s body reacting to the hauling and climbing and effort of freeing the community generator from the fallen tree.
And they’d gotten the boiler damper working, along with the generator that pumped warm water into the lodge and the other homes.
“No burst pipes on our watch.” Griffin held out a fist to him as they peeled off their work gear in a snow room off the lodge entrance. Different from the front door, this entrance held all the Carhartt coveralls, shovels, fur hats, and, of course, the weapons, locked in a case on a wall.
Dawson met the fist. “You sure it’s okay for us to take your only working snow machine? I don’t want to leave you without a way out.”
“Yeah. Just send a plane in with the rest of the plugs and a couple fuel lines. Or Sully. He’ll probably be by in a week or so with Kennedy to see River. I’ll snowshoe over to his place in a couple weeks and pick up the sled.”
Dawson hung up his coveralls. “Why to see River?”
“Kennedy’s pregnant.”
No wonder Sully had been in such a hurry to get back to her.
“I hadn’t realized they’d gotten married.”
“Yeah, last summer. Small ceremony, here in the community. Your cousin Axel was here with his girlfriend, Flynn. She’s Kennedy’s sister.” Griffin held open the door to him, then held out hishand. “You’re welcome back anytime, Daws. Consider yourself an honorary artist.” He winked and slapped him on the back.
Dawson headed inside the main room of the lodge, the smells of bread baking and something tangy, maybe pizza, or lasagna, emanating from the kitchen. Outside, the wind had picked up, the temperatures plummeted, and snow drifted from the slate-gray sky.
They’d need to leave, and soon, if they hoped to get to Sully’s before the blizzard socked them in. And even if they did make it to the outpost, Moose probably wouldn’t be able to fly in, the ceiling too low.
So, they’d be bunked up with Sully for a day or two, waiting out the next surge of storm.
Maybe they should stay put. And right then, the image of Keely standing in the snow, her eyes widening after he’d made that silly joke about packing something—what an idiot. Hopefully Moose had picked up the suitcases from the crash.
Probably not. Which only drove home the memory of the plane crash. It seemed so long ago, the blizzard having separated tragedy from the relative safety of the community.
“You sure you want to leave?”
The question jerked him out of his thoughts. Griffin stood there, hands in his pockets. “I can’t help but feel like you’re supposed to be here. To stay.”
Dawson frowned.
Griffin looked over at the kitchen, then back to Dawson. “It’s just ... I don’t know. I think God has you here for a reason.”
He frowned. “Have you been talking to Moose?”
