“Then I un-apologize and I’m not sorry for making you drive that road and get your truck stuck,” I say, because Gideon is being difficult and I canalsobe difficult, dammit. “I’m proud of my actions and I’d do it again.”
That, at least, gets a snort and the tiniest smile out of him.
“At least don’t do it on my watch,” he says. “I can only lose so many years of my life to the stress.”
“Noted,” I tell him.
* * *
After a hair-raisingtwenty-point turn in the snow on the side of a mountain that involves a lot of shouting and more than a little bickering, we head back to the cabin, because what are our other options? Gideon claims it’s got enough supplies to last out the winter, and while I’m not sure I completely believe him, even I can tell the pantry has enough cans for a pretty long time.
“Home sweet home,” I declare when we step through the front door. “Cabin, I missed you.”
“Keep moving, you’re in the way,” Gideon grumbles. He’s holding the frame pack he wouldn’t let me carry and trying not to look amused.
“Do you want me to track snow into the house or do you want me to move?” I ask, untying my laces. “It’s up to you.”
“How much longer do I have to put up with this?”
“I think you mean to sayhow much longer do I get to luxuriate in the pleasure of your company,” I correct, standing up again in my sock feet. “Go ahead.”
Gideon’s faintly pink, probably from the excitement of the drive and the sudden warmth of the cabin. “I’m not saying that,” he tells me, shifting the frame pack as he toes off his own boots.
“C’mon,” I say, blocking the path to the rest of the cabin. “How much longer will I have the pleasure—"
“Is that tent still in here?” he asks. “Can I go live in that?”
“I can’t believe you’d rather move out than admit my company is kind of okay.”
He’s pinker now, and trying not to smile.
“Fine,” he says. “Your company is kind of okay. Can I come past the doorway now, please?”
* * *
Gideon ison the phone for a million years, so I take his sweater again and try not to start worrying. All the same, I have visions of the snow piling up over the door frame, the two of us completely stuck in the cabin for god knows how long. At worst we’ll hike out in a few more days, once Gideon’s ankle is healed enough, and someone will come collect the truck at a later date.
Meanwhile, I’ve got nothing to do—like, trulynothing, which feels bizarre—so I grabTender is the Stormagain. I didn’t get very far last night, but there’s a naked man on the cover, which seems promising.
I’m on page six when Gideon marches into the room and holds his phone out at me.
“For you,” he says, which turns out to mean a phone call from a number that looks vaguely familiar.
“Andi!” my aunt Lucia says as soon as I answer. “Good, you don’t sound like you’re freezing to death.”
“You talked to Rick and Dad?” I say as Gideon nods once, then retreats to the kitchen.
“I just got done answering twenty questions about what kind of insulation I thought a remote Forest Service cabin might have,” she says. “I told them I had to go before they could start asking how well I thought the floors might be sealed.”
I look down at the floor. It’s a hardwood floor that’s seen better days.
“Fine, I think,” I tell Lucia, who laughs.
“More interestingly, I got to answer a lot of questions about Steve Wheeler,” she goes on.
There’s a brief silence. I make a face into it.
“Yeah?” I say, determined not to give anything away.
