He grunted as he rolled over to his hands and knees, the sound deep inside him, as if he might be trying to rev something. His heart, probably.
He sat up, and she slammed herself into him, her arms around his neck. “You came back. You came back!”
He was soggy and frozen and unsteady. Even put a hand out as she nearly knocked him over. She grabbed his arms, pulled him back. “Are you okay?”
He leaned forward, put his hand down, and grunted. “Yeah, but I don’t think my knee ... I think I left it back in the river.”
She hadn’t a clue what he meant. But she got her arm around him, and he leaned hard on her as they struggled up, then to the porch, up the stairs, into the house.
He sank into a nearby chair. “Bolt the door.”
She obeyed, and when she turned, he was trying to pull off sodden mittens. Failing.
“Why are you wet?” She yanked off his mittens. Oh, his hands were icebergs.
“I went in the river.”
“What? How?” She knelt and untied his boots and eased those off. Ice clung to his wool socks, stiff, not a hint of warmth remaining. He attempted to unzip his jacket, but she got there first and dragged the wet parka off him.
His Carhartts were stiff with ice.
She unzipped them, all the way down. A flannel shirt and jeans underneath, less cold, but still, he shivered.
“I’ll draw you a bath. I cleaned it out.”
“They have hot water?”
“And there’s soup on the stove.”
He looked at her, fatigue in his eyes. “I think I love you.”
She smiled and laughed, a stupid giggle, because he didn’t mean it.
But it still felt good.
She stood up, put her hands on his whiskered face. “You’re so cold.”
He caught her hands, met her eyes. “I’ll be okay.”
“What happened out there?”
“I think I was shot at.” He let go of her hands. “I fell in the river but managed to hang on to my gun. I fired a couple shots in return ... and then nothing. And then I was freezing to death, so I ditched the skis and just got here as fast as I could. I tripped in the yard, and I don’t know ... I guess I just laid there, trying to find the energy for the last fifty yards.”
“And then Caspian showed up like your guardian angel. I would have never seen you.” She grabbed a blanket from the sofa, brought it to drape around his shoulders. “I can’t believe you fell in the river.”
He nodded, but leaned back, arms over himself. “But I beat it, Keely. I beat it.”
She frowned even as she went over to stir the soup.
“For years, the river ... I had nightmares of it swallowing Aven, then grabbing me. I’d wake up fighting, and angry, andall I could think was that I somehow let her down. Like I was supposed to be there. She was my little sister.”
She walked over, sat in the chair next to him.
He looked up, swallowed. “She was fearless. She’d get herself in all sorts of trouble. Stuck in trees, or in a kayak—and every time I was there to help her. Because that’s what I did. And she had this nickname for me—the Eagle Scout.”
“I can see that.”
“Yeah, well, I was always there. Always prepared...”
