Page 15
Too tall to be a man. Too broad to be a bear. My relief turns to ice.
“Sophie.” I lower the scope. “Don’t move.”
She steps toward the sound of my voice. A low grunt rolls through the trees behind her.
She freezes. “What was that?”
“Don’t turn around.”
Naturally, she turns around.
The flashlight shakes in her hand as its beam travels up four long legs, a massive chest, and a broad set of antlers.
The bull moose stands at the edge of the clearing. Sophie makes a tiny sound. The moose lowers its head.
“Sophie, come to me.”
She backs away from it.
“Slowly,” I say. “Do. Not. Run.”
Her boot snaps a branch. The bull charges. Sophie screams. I run. There isn’t time to aim. Firing could make things worse anyway, and a wounded bull is more dangerous than an angry one.
I reach Sophie a second before the moose does. My arm locks around her waist. I lift her off the ground and throw both of us behind the thick trunk of an old oak.
The bull thunders past. Its shoulder clips mine. Pain explodes down my arm, but I keep Sophie pinned between my body and the tree. The moose crashes through the underbrush before wheeling around.
“Samuel,” she gasps.
“Climb.”
“What?”
I lace my hands together and lower them. “Tree. Now.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.”
The moose paws at the ground.
Sophie puts her boot in my hands. I throw her upward. She grabs a low branch, but her wet fingers slip. I catch her by the hips before she falls and lift her again. For one dangerous moment, the shape of her fills my hands. Soft curves. Wet denim. Warmth even through the cold rain. My body notices. I hate myself for it.
A bull moose is preparing to trample us, Sophie is terrified, and touching her still feels like the answer to every lonely night I’ve endured since leaving.
She hooks one knee over the branch.
“Pull,” I order.
She scrambles up as the moose charges again.
I turn, drawing the pistol as I move behind another tree. The bull veers away, passing close enough that mud sprays across my jeans.
“Samuel!”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not in the tree!”
