“I went to school to learn about the outdoors,” she said. “I have certifications in wilderness first aid, search and rescue, and field emergency response. I’ve been leading groups into potentially hostile terrain for years. I live this life.” She watched his face. “Don’t tell me what I’m trained for.”
“Potentially hostile terrain is not the same as armed men who will kill to keep their secret.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
Something shifted in his expression. He didn’t back down, but the certainty in his face changed quality, the way it does when someone is revising their argument without admitting it.
“We need to keep moving,” she said, turning away from him.
They needed to grab the sleds and get out of there. Taking the road wasn’t an option. It’d be far too easy for the snowmobiles to chase them.
And Jack had to be miserable with his feet exposed. Maybe he had an extra pair of shoes in his sled. She kept an additional pair of trail shoes in her sled but hadn’t thought of asking if he had a second pair.
“I didn’t mean you were incompetent,” he said.
“I know exactly what you meant.”
“Steph—”
“You told me to hide.” She kept walking. “I did exactly what you asked of me until I heard the shooting.” She pushed through a light crust of snow and kept her footing.
Jack slowed to step behind her and used the prints she’d made.
“At what point was I supposed to keep waiting?”
He didn’t answer.
“I made a choice.Mychoice. I don’t answer to you for it.”
“I know you don’t.”
“Then why are we talking about it?”
“Because I watched you walk into a situation that could’ve gotten you killed. And I can’t—” He stopped midsentence.
She kept moving and waited, but he didn’t finish.
“You can’t what?” She turned around.
He was standing six feet back, the rifle cradled in his damaged hands, blood showing at his wrists and the cut sling from the rifle still hanging free.
She’d seen that look before. Not on him, specifically. But she recognized it. She’d worn it herself often enough in recent years, standing at the edge of something and calculating whether the crossing was worth the cost.
Steph didn’t want to recognize it. She wanted to stay angry. Up until now, she’d been doing a good job of it, but he was making that harder.
“The other two are still out here,” she said. “We need to keep moving and hope the rescue team shows up before the poachers do.”
She turned forward and walked, and he followed without argument.
The tree line dropped away to the left, the open ground of the meadow beyond it. Relief flowed at the sight, and she picked up her pace.
“You were right.” He touched her shoulder. “About staying together. I was wrong.”
She kept walking toward the sleds, moving faster so his hand fell from her shoulder.
“Splitting up was my idea,” he said louder. “My idea and it was wrong, and you told me it was wrong.”
“I know I told you it was wrong. I was there.”
