“No. No, no no. Son of a bitch!” The snowmobile came to a slow, lurching stop in the middle of nowhere. Out of gas.
For several mind-numbing seconds, Angel could only press her hand to her mouth and wait for the wave of hopelessness to pass. No. Not hopelessness. She needed that anger back. Only anger.
There. She held it in so tightly that it shook her body.
It wasn’t enough to leave five corpses on the ice. To cross miles and miles of nothing, practically freezing to death every night in a sleeping bag for two. To blow out her knee, with no way in hell to get it fixed down here. And then to watch the man she’d unwisely fallen in love with get shot and beaten.
No. Now, they had tobreak downwithin miles of their destination.
Goddammit, she’d had enough.
If Ford hadn’t been plastered to her back, she’d have—what? Stomped around swearing? She couldn’t even do that with her stupid knee.
And now they had to walk.
“Ford.” She turned just her head. “Come on. Got to walk.” Or crawl, if that was what it took.
“Mm-hm.” And it just might.
“Uh-huh. Yes. Up. Let’s go.”
Shit. They had nothing. Just the water in her coat and a couple bars in her pocket. She hadn’t thought…
Tears pricked at her sinuses.
No. Hell no.First, buck up, get our asses to safety. Then cry like a damn baby.
With one hand gripping Ford’s coat to keep him from slumping, she twisted off their ride and eyed him, hysteria bubbling up inside.
I am totally losing it.
“Okay, mister. We’re doing this. But I need your help.” A pull on his good arm produced no results. “Come on, Ford. Please.”
She yanked with every ounce of strength she had, and he slid too fast, his weight nearly crushing her. She caught the handlebar at the last minute, straightened her left leg, and held steady for a few long, agonized seconds.
“Let’s go. We need your two legs.” She propped him up on the snowmobile. “I’ll use the one that I’ve got.” Her next strangled laugh was high and frenzied. “A tripod.”
He muttered something.
“What?”
“Go…” He swallowed. “’thout me.”
“No.”
“Dammit.Go.”
“Fuck off, Ford.”
“I’m…slow.”
“And I can’t even walk on my own.” Every drop of humor left Angel’s body in a rush. She turned to put her head to his, cheek to cheek, her mouth against the opening to his hood. “We’ll go at your pace.”
“Sweetheart.” His words brushed against her ear. “Go. Get…help.”
“Remember when I told you to let me die if I weighed you down?” She shook her head, nuzzling him in the process. “Remember that? I didn’t want us both to die. Didn’t want to be responsible for killing you.”
“I remember,” he breathed.
