Ellie ended up managing to down almost half of her so-called chicken teriyaki before she gave up and handed the remaining food to George. He finished it quickly, and then tucked the empty pouches into a plastic bag and sealed it shut. He put that into a stuff sack, along with all the trail mix and other food he’d pulled from his pack. Once he emptied his pack of everything edible, he stripped hers of any food, as well.
He closed the stuff sack and attached it to the drooping center of the line stretched between the two trees. After he pulled the end attached to the second tree, tautening the rope and drawing the stuff sack full of food a good fifteen feet off the ground, she finally couldn’t stand not knowing any longer.
“What are you doing?”
“Bears.”
His one-word answer made her suck in a quick breath and look around, frantically peering through the gathering darkness. “Bears? Here?”
Pausing in the middle of securing the line, keeping the food dangling high above them, George looked at her. “Not many out yet, but no reason to take any chances.”
“Yes, I think that’s smart. I approve of not taking chances with bears.” She couldn’t stop swiveling her head side to side, though, and the growing shadows were sparking the scaredy-cat side of her imagination. “So, should we head back to the tent now?” Not that she thought the soft-sided shelter would offer any protection from a bear’s claws and teeth if it really wanted to eat them.
George did not look appropriately worried about the possibility of becoming a bear’s midnight snack. In fact, although it was hard to tell under his beard, she was pretty sure he was amused by the squeaky pitch to her voice. He definitely didn’t rush through packing up the stove. After giving the sporks a rudimentary cleaning with a handful of snow and then rinsing them with the remains of their quickly cooling water in the pan, he stowed them in his pack.
Quickly sliding her arms into her own backpack, she waited impatiently as he did a final check of the area. Before he put his own pack over his shoulder, he pulled out a flashlight. Once he turned on the light, Ellie realized how dark it was getting, and her desire to hide in the semi-safety of their tent doubled. At least then they wouldn’t be standing by the yummy-smelling bag of food.
“Is that why we ate over here? To keep all the smells away from the tent?” she asked as George finally, finally, started walking back toward their main campsite.
He dipped his head. “No food in the tent.” His sideways glance was almost accusatory, as if he thought she was smuggling a candy bar in her coat pocket or something. Overcome with a sudden burst of bear-induced paranoia, she quickly checked her pockets for possible forgotten tidbits. To her relief, the only things she found were the avalanche beacon and the folded map that Callum had printed out the day before.
“I’m clean,” she said, earning another look from George, this one amused.
Ellie shivered. With the sunlight gone, the temperature was quickly dropping, and a cold breeze had picked up. The area outside the yellow beam of the flashlight seemed deeply dark and endless, filled with unfriendly things with fangs and claws. She stepped a little closer to George. He was just so reassuringly large. If an angry bear did happen to attack, George would have a pretty good chance of winning that fight.
When the tent reflected the light, she let out a silent exhale of relief. “Should we bring the packs inside?” she asked, looking back at him as she scurried toward the entrance. Thanks to the flashlight he carried, all she could see was a blinding circle of light. Her hand whipped up to shield her eyes.
“In the vestibule.”
Ellie held in a snort. “Vestibule” was a pretty fancy word for the tiny porch area draping the entrance of the tent. With white spots still plastered across her vision, she fumbled for the zipper. Before she could climb through the opening, George tugged at her pack, and she shrugged out of the shoulder straps. After setting her pack aside, he caught her again, this time by the arm, before she could dive into the tent.
“Don’t you need to”—he jerked his head to the area outside the tent—“first?”
After a second of staring at him blankly, she realized what he was asking and made a face. “Yes. Good idea.” She reversed out of the vestibule and stood, accepting the flashlight and a few thin squares of camping toilet paper that George offered. The flashlight’s beam seemed so puny compared to the yawning darkness that surrounded them. “Um…did you need to go, too?”
“After you’re done.”
There was no way to tactfully ask a near stranger if he would pee in the woods with her because she was scared of bears and whatever else lurked out there, so she just vowed to stay close to the tent. Privacy became a nonissue when carnivorous—or at least omnivorous—wild animals were about.
She ducked through the trees sheltering their tent, just twenty feet or so from the entrance. It was both easier that time, since she didn’t have her pack, and more miserable, thanks to her worries and the dark and the biting wind. She’d always imagined that being in the wilderness would feel peaceful and solitary, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Telling herself that she was being an idiot, Ellie focused on finishing what she needed to do so she could escape the phantom gaze and return to the safety of the tent and George.
Ellie hurried back, almost crashing into George halfway to the tent entrance. She wondered if he’d been watching out for her. Knowing that he’d been so close while she’d answered the call of nature was both reassuring and slightly creepy. When she tried to hand off the flashlight to him, he held up his own. She was secretly relieved not to have to spend any time in the complete darkness.
Crawling into the tent alone was eerie, the bouncing light of her flashlight creating odd shadows on the fabric walls, and she felt like she held her breath until George joined her. The sleeping bag on the left looked slightly smaller, so she scooted over to that side, attempting to keep her boots off the bed. It was difficult, though, since there wasn’t much tent floor showing around the edges of the pads.
Her hand rose to her mouth, but her glove kept her teeth off her fingers. While setting up the tent earlier, she hadn’t noticed how close the sleeping bags were to each other. Even though they’d both be wrapped with multiple layers of fabric, it would be a little disconcerting to sleep that close to a man she’d just met the day before.
The stranger in question cleared his throat, and she looked up to see him holding out two stuff sacks, one empty and one full. Although she accepted them, she gave him a questioning look.
He pointed at the full sack. “Water bottles.” And then at the empty one. “Boots.”
“Okay.” That was strange. It wasn’t like there were any snakes around in the cold weather to crawl into her boots or anything. With a shrug, she removed her gloves and unlaced her boots. When she pulled them off, her socks tried to follow, pulling loose from her blisters, and she yanked them back into place, hissing at the sting.
George made a wordless, unhappy sound as he looked at her socked feet. In the oddly shadowed illumination of the flashlight, the dried blood next to her baby toes looked black against the tan socks. From the throb at the backs of her heels, there’d be more blood there if she turned her feet to see. Instead, she focused on tucking her boots into the sack.
Once that was done, she looked at George, but he was still scowling at her feet. When she put the stuff sack in the corner, however, he finally pulled his attention away. “In your sleeping bag.”
“Really?” Once she thought about it, though, it made sense. It would be much better to stick her feet into warm boots in the morning instead of frozen ones. The thought of having to get up in eight or so hours and repeat the day of hiking was overwhelming, and she shut down that train of thought before she started whimpering. She slid the stuff sack into the bottom of her sleeping bag. “Should I put all my clothes in there with me?”
Shaking his head, he began to remove his own boots. “Just the water bottles and your gloves. Keep on your socks, long underwear, and hat.”
She tucked her gloves next to the stuff sack holding her boots and added the one full of water bottles. “I thought I read somewhere that it was warmer to be naked in a down sleeping bag.”
Even in the light of two flashlights, she had no idea how to interpret the look he directed at her for just a second before refocusing on his boots. He cleared his throat. “Myth.”
“Oh.” That was good. It was going to be uncomfortable enough sleeping right next to George without being naked. Besides, the idea of stripping to the buff in the cold air was not appealing. He put his boots in a stuff sack and then crawled to the entrance, unzipping the door so he could get something out of the packs. He reversed, zipping them in again, handing her a pair of her socks. He also had a white plastic box in his hand, which he placed next to him on his sleeping bag.
Her hand went to her coat zipper, but George reached out and covered her hand with his, stilling it. She looked at him in surprise.
“Feet.”
Making a face, she scooted back and pulled one foot onto her other thigh. Once again, George’s hand stopped her. This time, he closed his fingers around her foot and gently tugged, turning her until she sat perpendicular to him with her feet on his lap.
He opened the white box, and Ellie leaned closer to see the contents. It looked like a first-aid kit. Taking out a few wrapped packets that she guessed were alcohol wipes, George tucked them into his waistband, momentarily revealing an inch of his hard stomach in the process. Ellie realized he was warming the wipes for her, and she felt a rush of appreciation for his thoughtfulness.
He removed her socks, and the air instantly chilled her bare skin. Her toes curled in protest.
“I’ll be quick,” he promised, and he was. Quick and brutal. After cleaning the blistered areas with the alcohol wipes, leaving her breathless from the burn, he dabbed on antibiotic ointment and covered all four spots with Band-Aids. He took the socks he’d just retrieved from her and slid them over her doctored feet.
“Thank you,” she said as he folded her feet into his huge hands, enveloping them completely in luscious warmth. For a minute, neither of them moved. Ellie had never felt so cared for, so protected. At the same time, his gentle hold made her stomach dip and swoop with nervous excitement. It seemed as if every nerve ending in her body was based in her feet, and George’s touch was setting all of them on fire. Her breath audibly caught, and self-consciousness slid over Ellie at the sound. When she shifted uncomfortably, George immediately moved her feet back onto her sleeping bag, rotating her body in the process. This time, when she went to remove her coat, he didn’t stop her. As she tucked it by the head of her sleeping mats, the rustle of paper reminded her of the map.
Pulling it from her jacket pocket, she unfolded it and held it toward George. “Could you show me where we are on here?”
“Get in your sleeping bag and finish undressing.” He peeled off his coat and the layer beneath. “And then I will.”
That was easier said than done. It took a lot of wiggling and some grunting before she was down to her single long-underwear layer, socks, and her stocking hat. “Okay.”
He frowned. “Arms in.”
When she obeyed, he zipped her sleeping bag all the way to the top and then tugged the hood up over her head. Once he tightened the drawstring, only her eyes, nose, and mouth were exposed. She’d expected it to be claustrophobia-inducing, but it felt cozy instead. Thanks to the body heat produced by her undressing calisthenics, the bag was already starting to warm.
“Don’t breathe into the bag,” he warned. “It’ll hold in the moisture and get cold.”
“Okay.” The idea of tucking her face into the sleeping bag wasn’t appealing anyway. That would make her claustrophobic.
“I have a bandana we can put over your nose and mouth if your face is cold.” He was watching her closely, as if she were going to start defiantly breathing inside her bag as soon as his back was turned.
“I’m fine. Map?” She wiggled onto her side so she could get a better view.
With a final stern glower, he picked up the map and directed the beam of a flashlight on it. After studying it for a minute, he tilted the paper and the light so she could see.
“We parked here.” He pointed to a spot very close to where Callum had marked. “Followed this road.” The tip of his finger traced one of the dotted lines. “Now we’re here.” He stopped at a point heartbreakingly close to where they’d started walking.
“The cabin is that X.” Since her arms were bundled into her sleeping bag, she couldn’t point, so she just tilted her head toward the map. “Which way do you think Dad’s going? The deputy saw him at the Burnt Canyon Road trailhead.”
The pause after his small shrug lasted a long time. Ellie opened her mouth to speak, figuring George was done, when he spoke, moving his fingertip along an area on the map that didn’t follow any of the lines. “This way, maybe.”
She resisted the urge to pull her arm out of her sleeping bag so she could trace her father’s route on the map. Instead, she asked, “How long do you think it’ll take us to get there?”
George studied the map for a moment before answering. “Two and a half days, if we push it.”
That was longer than she’d expected and would total more days than she’d told Chelsea. She sighed. It wasn’t like she could call Chels and let her know, either, since she didn’t even have to turn on her phone to know that there was absolutely no cell coverage. Trying to shift her thoughts away from Chelsea’s annoyance—since there was nothing Ellie could do about that anyway—she asked, “Will we just keep following the same road?” The dotted line appeared to travel in a semi-straight line before it passed close to the cabin’s X.
“No.” His finger left the road and made a loop, creating a half circle before ending up at the cabin.
She frowned. Although the map symbols confused her, the route he’d just indicated didn’t make any sense. “Why that way? It seems a lot longer.”
He tapped the map at a point between their current location and the cabin. “Avalanche area.”
Her lungs compressed. After she’d tucked away the beacon in her coat pocket, she’d forgotten about that particular danger. “Avalanche? We could get buried in an avalanche?”
“Possibly. Not as likely if we go this way.” He pointed at the roundabout route.
“Not as likely? That means there’s still a chance?”
He offered another one of his affirmative shrugs, not looking all that concerned about the thought of being buried under tons of snow. With a sigh, she closed her eyes.
“If Dad’s not at the cabin, I’m going to kill him. Or I will if I’m not buried under a hundred feet of snow or eaten by a bear first.”
Something tickled her cheek, and she opened her eyes to see George’s hand moving away from her face. She gave him a slightly startled look.
“Hair,” he explained, brushing his fingers against his thumb as if flicking away a stray strand.
“Oh.” She felt warmth and awkwardness cover her like a heavy blanket as she looked at him, stretched out next to her, so close she could easily touch him if her arms hadn’t been bound to her sides. Closing her eyes again, she pretended he was a little farther away from her to reduce the temptation to close that tiny space separating them. “Good night.”
There was no response except for the rustling of fabric. She assumed that he was removing his outer layers, and her imagination supplied a full-color movie of what he probably looked like while stripping. She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed and tried to think about other things—anything except a half-naked George lying right next to her. Eventually, the sounds stopped, replaced by the clicking burr of his sleeping-bag zipper. The red glow behind her eyelids faded to black as he turned off the flashlights.
When it was quiet, drowsiness quickly overcame her. Her last thought before she slept was not of bears or avalanches or even her father. It was that tiny glimpse of George’s bare stomach as he sweetly warmed her alcohol wipes.
She was flushed but smiling as she fell asleep.
* * *
Anderson could hear them breathing. Silly sheep, fast asleep.
As he circled the tent, close enough to stroke his hand across the outer surface, he thought of how easy it would be. George Holloway, the smug, self-righteous bastard, the great search and rescue tracker, wouldn’t even see it coming. Anderson could take them both out before Holloway could even unzip his sleeping bag. Better yet, he’d do Baxter Price’s daughter and make Holloway watch.
Anderson paused next to the tent entrance, sorely tempted. They’d followed the two all day, and the high-and-mighty Holloway hadn’t had a clue. He’d been so focused on the hot piece of city tail that he wouldn’t have even seen a mountain lion if it had jumped on him and started chewing on his head. Everyone thought Holloway was so great, but he didn’t know shit.
His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for that tent flap. It wasn’t time yet, though. The two had to serve their purpose, and then Anderson could have his fun.
“Anderson?” The wind quieted for a moment, allowing Wilson’s distant whisper to echo through the night. Holloway’s sleeping breaths stopped, alert stillness taking their place, and Anderson backed away soundlessly. Exasperation drew his brows together. Once again, his brother had ruined a perfectly good hunt.
Anderson slipped away as silently as he’d arrived, covering his tracks as he went. The obliging wind would erase the last hints of his presence.
It was okay. Anderson knew how to be patient. He’d get another chance at both Holloway and his city girl—maybe not tonight, but soon.
* * *
Her sleep was restless. The restriction of the mummy bag and the cold on her face kept nudging her into partial wakefulness. The sounds from outside the tent were both too quiet and too loud, giving her strange, half-alert dreams. At some point in the early morning hours, she wiggled over like an inchworm and curled against George’s massive form. Tucking her face into the warm nook created by his shoulder and neck, she sighed with relief. With that last part of her finally warm, she fell asleep again and stayed unconscious until pinkish, early morning light filled the tent.
Her nighttime, half-asleep self hadn’t felt self-conscious when she’d cuddled up to George. She’d just wanted to find a heat source. Her morning self, however, jolted awake at the realization that she’d taken over a slice of his sleeping pads and was plastered against him, their sleeping bags mashed together. Most embarrassing of all, though, was that her face was buried under his chin, her breath warming the skin of his neck.
By his stillness, she guessed he was already awake. Her plan to roll quietly away from her current position was therefore foiled. Instead, she inched far enough away so she could see his face.
“Good morning.”
She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. Although he’d started speaking more, he still didn’t bother with the nonessentials: pleases, thank-yous, hellos, good-byes, good nights, and good mornings. Studying his face, Ellie couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or indifferent.
“Sorry about getting so close.” She inched back again and slipped into the space between their sleeping pads. “My face was cold.”
His slight nod told her nothing. Since her bladder was becoming quite insistent, she decided to ignore her embarrassment and focus on getting through another day of hiking. She squirmed until her elbows were bent and her hands beneath her chin, so she could tug at the drawstring on her hood.
Before she managed to loosen it, George reached over and opened it. He then opened her zipper a small amount. “Get dressed in there.”
“Okay.” She slid one arm out of the sleeping bag to snatch her fleece layers and pull them in with her. Just that single contact with the outside air made her wince and wish she could stay in her cozy sleeping bag all day. Maybe George could pull her on a sled?
The mental image made her smile, which, in turn, made her realize how gummy and gross her teeth felt. “You wouldn’t happen to have packed a toothbrush, would you?”
Under his beard, the corner of his mouth quirked up.
“Is that a yes? Honestly?” Her voice lit with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought I’d have fuzzy teeth for the next week.”
Dressing in the sleeping bag was worse than undressing, and finally, annoyed and starting to sweat, she unzipped the bag and climbed out of it. When George gave her a reproving look, she just shrugged and pulled on her fleece pants over her long underwear.
She finished adding her layers as quickly as possible. Morning felt even colder than the night before, although it sounded like the wind had died. She remembered hearing it howling off and on during her frequent bouts of wakefulness. Digging out her gloves and the two stuff sacks, she hurried to pull out her boots. The cold was already seeping through the tarp and the tent floor into her socked feet, and she gratefully shoved her feet into the wonderfully warm boots.
Even when she was fully dressed, including gloves, she still felt chilled. The first thing she was going to do when she got home, she decided, was take a long, hot bath. The thought of it made her feel even colder, and she shivered.
George had been dressing right along with her, although he was much more efficient, especially when it came to putting things on in the confines of his sleeping bag. Not only was he dressed, but he’d rolled his sleeping bag and was working it into the compression sack.
“Leave that,” Ellie said, unzipping the entrance. “Right after I…uh, visit a tree, I’ll get everything packed in here while you cook breakfast.” She hesitated. “It’s not going to be reconstituted eggs and bacon, is it?”
That got an actual smile. “Oatmeal.”
“Good.” She sighed with relief. One gross meal in a pouch a day was plenty.
* * *
It was easier, Ellie found, to get the sleeping bag out of the compression sack than it was to get it back in. Growling, she fought the slick fabric.
“I’m cooking breakfast tomorrow morning,” she muttered. “George can pack.”
By the time she’d wrestled her sleeping bag into submission and rolled the mats, she knew George was probably waiting breakfast on her. Their tracks from the night before had filled in with blown snow, leaving just the faintest of trails for her to follow.
As she approached George, he held out a spork. His eyebrow was lifted quizzically, and she sighed as she accepted the utensil.
“Sorry.” Since he held the pan of oatmeal between them, she assumed they weren’t getting separate bowls, so she just dug in. “That sleeping bag took forever to get into the tiny sack. It’s a tricky devil.”
He snorted. Whether it was in agreement or in amusement at her incompetence, she wasn’t sure. They ate in silence for a while, taking turns reaching into the pot for a sporkful. The oatmeal wasn’t bad. She would’ve preferred it with milk, but he’d sweetened it with something and added pecans, so it was pretty tasty. It was a definite improvement over the previous meal.
As usual, she withdrew her spork before it was halfway gone, and George finished the oatmeal. Afterward, he cleaned the pan and sporks with melted snow, scrubbing at them with his fingers. He dried the few dishes with a small towel before stowing everything in their packs.
Eyeing the place where the food had hung overnight, she asked, “Any sign of bears?”
Although he kept his gaze on the cookstove he was packing, Ellie could tell he was trying not to smile as he shook his head. With a huff, she hoisted her pack onto her back and headed back to the tent.
While he amused himself by thinking about her fear of mauling and dismemberment, she’d get some more packing done.