I appreciated her attempt at lightness despite our situation. Humans could be surprisingly resilient when they chose to be.
I assessed our situation quickly. The snow was falling heavily enough now that our tracks would be covered within minutes. I knew this area of the forest well, which meant I could get us back to town. But visibility was worsening by the moment, the forest beyond twenty paces fading into white haze. Carla couldn’t walk far on her injured ankle, and we were at least five cliksfrom town. Even an uninjured human would struggle in these conditions.
“There are cabins nearby.” I pointed deeper into the forest, away from town. “Ruugar uses them for overnight trail rides in the warmer months. They’re rustic, but they’ll provide shelter until this passes.”
She tried to take a step and winced again, her face paling. “How far are they?”
“Half a mile, maybe less.” I looked her over. Her coat might be warm enough for a winter’s day, but it wasn’t designed for prolonged exposure. It was already darkening with melted snow on the shoulders. Her injured ankle wouldn’t support weight for that distance, not through deepening snow. “You can’t walk on that ankle.”
“I have to.” Her chin lifted, and pride radiated from her rigid posture. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
I recognized that look, the same fierce independence I’d seen in her from the first day, when she walked into the saloon ready to overhaul our entire operation. The consultant who needed to prove herself constantly, to everyone, maybe even herself.
“You’re injured, and we’re in the middle of a blizzard. We need to be practical.”
Her eyes widened at my tone, but she nodded. “Alright. What’s the best solution?”
I swept her into my arms.
The decision was purely logical. This was the fastest way to reach shelter with an injured human. Yet as her body pressed against mine, I realized I hadn’t held anyone since Wexla. The unexpected intimacy of it caught me off guard.
Carla was light, and she fit against my chest as if she belonged there, something I was better off not recognizing.
Her gasp rang out, her hands grappling my shoulders for stability. The citrus scent of her shampoo mingled with the forest’s pine, a combination I found oddly comforting.
“Thisis the best solution.” I started toward the cabins, hyper-aware of her breath against my neck and the trust implied as she relaxed against me.
The snow crunched beneath my boots, and the wind picked up, driving icy flakes at us as I moved deeper into the forest.
Chapter 7
Carla
My head throbbed. Not enough to suggest a concussion, but enough to remind me I’d been thrown from an enormous creature. Snow melted on my skin as Becken carried me through the forest, his pace steady despite the uneven terrain. His breathing remained even, his chest expanding and contracting against my side.
The world blurred into a canvas of white and green. Towering pines swayed under the weight of new-fallen snow, their branches bowing toward the trail. The storm intensified with each passing minute, the visibility dropping as the wind drove icy flakes horizontally through the trees.
“You don’t need to carry me the whole way,” I said, though my ankle throbbed with pain at the thought of walking. “I can try to?—”
“We’re almost there.” His voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my side.
Heat crept up my neck despite the freezing temperature. Being carried like a child was humiliating enough without the realization that he probably thought I was incompetent now.First, my disastrous introduction at the saloon, then my first attempt at riding ending with me sprawled in the snow.
So much for professional credibility.
Yet beneath the embarrassment lurked a different feeling, one I was less willing to name. Being held against his solid chest created an unfamiliar sense of security. His arms encircled me with a protective strength that made me feel safe. That feeling was as disorienting as the fall itself.
I never felt safe with people. I’d learned early that depending on others led to disappointment.
Two small structures emerged from the whiteness, cabins nestled among the pines, their roofs already blanketed in snow. One appeared complete, while scaffolding surrounded the second, tarps flapping wildly in the wind.
“Here are the tourist cabins.” Becken approached the finished building, his voice barely rising above the howling wind. “My cousins built the first cabin over the summer. The second isn’t ready yet.”
He walked up onto the tiny, covered porch and lowered me into an Adirondack chair only lightly dusted with snow. While I shivered, he leaped off the porch and hurried to a shed I could only vaguely make out in the falling snow along one side of the open meadow, returning with a sack, rolled-up sleeping bags, and a key. Opening the door, he nudged the panel inward with his boot, entering to drop off the things he’d collected.
I rose to my feet and started hobbling after him, only to have him appear in the open doorway. He tutted and strode over to me, sweeping me up into his arms again, carrying me inside.
“Some might call this a threshold,” I said dryly, wishing I could take back the words.
