She shrugged, her shoulders tugging at the sleeping bag. “I’ve had my own firm for almost five years and this is the first time I’ve been able to do more than hire seasonal help. It’s pretty exciting. And a little scary having someone depend on my success for their livelihood, to be honest.”
“I can only imagine.”
They fell into silence, and he drifted off with her in his thoughts. When he woke several hours later, a pale glow lit the inside of the tent. Next to him, Lindsey slept soundly, her deep breaths slightly raspy in the quiet air. She was a disheveled mess, but still beautiful and serene with her eyes closed, her face relaxed.
Snap.
Todd froze. Had JJ caught up with them?
Slowly lifting the covers, he grabbed his weapon and slid out of bed, tucking the edges of the sleeping bag around Lindsey. He sat up and peeked through the ventilation flap.
Just a pair of squirrels chasing each other up and down the trees.
As quietly as possible, he left the tent and relieved his bladder. That done, he grabbed two collapsible water containers, and walked up and over the deserted trail to a stream bubbling merrily on the other side. Ice framed the edges of the creek, reflecting the sun as it crested the mountains, painting the frosted forest in glitter. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with crisp, clean air, and basked in the sun’s faint radiant heat.
Maybe he should never go home.
As if that would change anything. It wouldn’t bring back his cousin Bethany or heal his friend Jason’s wounds. But he wouldn’t have to face his family or his best friend either.
Focus on Lindsey. He could help her.
Maybe.
And then he could get back to his purpose here. Locating Pete Lassiter wouldn’t turn back the clock, but it could give everyone closure. Justice.
Todd dipped each container in the running stream until full, and then added water purifying tablets. Back at the camp, he let the containers sit for thirty minutes while he gathered everything he needed for breakfast and a basic wipe-down.
After heating several cups of water over his tiny camp stove, he added a bit of fresh water to cool it down. Inside the vestibule, out of the cool breeze, he began a quick wipe-down routine. Normally, he wouldn’t bother, but they were heading into town today. And, if he were honest, Lindsey made him acutely aware of his dirt. He’d just pulled one arm out of his shirt when she unzipped the tent and peered through.
“Good morn—Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Sorry.” She dropped the flap.
He laughed. She acted like she’d never seen a man’s chest before. But he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. They’d slept together, but with several layers of clothing between them, and she was in a desperate situation. For all he knew, she was only putting up with him so he’d keep helping her.
Sobering thought.
He finished up, threw on a new shirt and his puffy jacket, and moved outside. “All clear.”
A few seconds later, she emerged slowly, blinking against the bright sun. “I don’t suppose you have a comb I can borrow?”
“I can do better than that.”
He doodled on a small drawing pad and sipped at his coffee until she reappeared twenty minutes later in one of his clean shirts, her long waves combed back into a neat ponytail. “Feel better?”
“Yes,” she said on a long sigh, plopping down next to him and offering him a grateful smile as he handed her a blanket and a cup of coffee.
He started making oatmeal.
“I almost feel human again,” she said, snuggling into the blanket with both hands wrapped around the mug.
“You look better.” Not just better, stunning. “You have color in your cheeks, and you can keep your eyes open. How’re your feet?”
“Still tender, but better. I should be able to keep up with you today.”
“Any other injuries that need tending? I really was trained as a paramedic.”
She shook her head. “My ribs are a little sore, and I’m scraped up, but nothing serious. Maybe dehydrated.” Reaching out, she stopped short of touching his face and winced, dropping her hand. “How’s your head? It looks painful.”
He gently pressed the tender spot where Harris had kicked him the night before. “Probably looks worse than it feels.”
