She eased out. Pulled up the hood on her jacket against the misty rain. Walked at a rapid pace when she wanted to bolt. But better not to draw attention to herself.
Head down, she moved on. Step after step. Her shoulders braced for an attack.
She reached the bus stop. Turned away from the street. Studied both directions.
Alone. Alone on the quiet Portland neighborhood street. Cars passing. None with a loud muffler like Layne’s.
Please keep him at bay. Please.
Her future stood before her.
If she made it onto the next bus when it arrived.
If she survived the night.
Micha Nichols rarely liked the first day of their weeklong intensive survival skills training. But today? Today was different.
Thanks to the petite blonde doing her best to start the fire they needed for tonight’s dinner.
Kari Curtis appeared nothing like the pictures he’d located when doing her background check. She’d had coal-black hair in those photos, but was now blonde. And thinner.
Which coloring was natural? He couldn’t be sure, but her fair skin said blonde to him.
What none of it explained was this zing he got in his belly every time he looked at her. But it was there. Like now. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, take her petite hands into his, and help her start the fire she was struggling with so badly.
Totally unprofessional behavior. He shoved his hands into his pockets instead.
She was nibbling on her lower lip as she rubbed her hands on the spindle to create a hand drill fire. Basically a slim branch they’d scavenged from the woods and processed after creating a sharp edge by striking two rocks together. The Shadow Lake Survival team believed their clients needed to be prepared all the way. Not to have a single item in their possession to use in most situations. Scavenging in the place they found themselves was the only sure way to survive every situation they faced in the wilderness or off-grid living.
Her spindle jumped out of the divot on her hearth board.
“Argh!” She tossed it down to sit back, brushing her hand over the perspiration on her face from the hard work.
“You won’t want that to hit the ground,” he said.
She frowned and grabbed up the spindle. “Sorry. I forgot it can’t get wet. Is it ruined?”
“Could be, but it wasn’t on the ground long. You could be okay.” He smiled, but it did nothing to change her frustration. “Only one way to find out. Try again once you’re rested.”
She scowled at him. “Ihavetried. How many times? Five? Six? Everyone else did it in three or less. Why can’t I get this?”
“Because it’s not as simple as it seems. Sure the concept of rubbing wood against wood to cause dust and friction is simple, but in reality?” He shrugged. “Not so much.”
She glanced at her fellow participants. Five men, ages twenty-five to seventy-three. “Everyone else has gotten it. Even Ernie.”
“Hey, now.” Ernie scratched his silvery gray goatee. “Is that an old age joke?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. You look to be in great shape, but this is surprisingly physically taxing.”
“I get it, hon.” Ernie smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes narrowing. “My wife, who’s only a year younger than me, loves to say I’m a vintage model, and I’m proud of it.”
The others laughed, and Kari joined in, but she didn’t look up from her work.
“Maybe you could try using your foot to hold the hearth board.” Micha dropped down beside her and took off his boot and sock, then placed the side of his foot on her hearth board. “Like this. Holds it tighter. Keeps the spindle from jumping as much.”
She removed her boot and sock to reveal a delicate foot with nails painted an equally delicate pink. Okay, not the style of their typical preppers or survivalists, but utterly captivating.
He scooted back and put on his sock and boot before he did something more to help. She seemed so fragile. Not only physically, but he caught worried—maybe fearful—expressions on her face when she didn’t know he was watching. Problem for her was he was always watching.
