Reliable.
Which was more than I could say about the two of us this morning.
As we walked toward it, Sienna fumbled with her gloves and dropped one in the snow.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, bending to grab it. “I’m great. I’m amazing. I am a highly trained, competent wilderness professional who definitely did not panic-stretch her gloves onto the wrong hands.”
I glanced down.
She had.
I didn’t comment.
She noticed anyway and gasped. “Oh my God. They’re reversed. Don’t look at me.”
I turned away politely.
She fixed the gloves with unnecessary force. “I swear I’m not usually like this.”
“What are you usually like?”
“Graceful,” she said immediately. “Elegant. Poised. A gazelle among humans.”
I coughed. “A gazelle.”
“Yes. Or a deer. No. A ram. I’m tough like a ram, but still steady on my feet.”
“You did chase a zebra last week,” I pointed out. “That takes a lot.”
“I refuse to discuss it.”
I strapped my pack onto the cargo rack of the ATV while she climbed onto the driver’s seat.
“You’re driving?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, sounding offended. “Do you not trust me?”
I didn’t answer fast enough.
She gasped. “Oh my God. You don’t trust me.”
“I trust you,” I said.
“Then get on,” she challenged.
I did.
As soon as I sat behind her, her shoulders went tense.
It wasn’t from fear but awareness.
Of me.
The realization hit deeper than I wanted it to.
She cleared her throat sharply. “Okay. Starting engine.”
