Pivoting around, she almost tripped on her snowshoes again, but George grabbed her pack and steadied her so she didn’t fall. There was a sound behind her, and she looked over her shoulder in a horror-film-cliché move she knew she’d beat herself up over later.
The moose was charging after them. Ellie yelped and faced forward, her feet moving faster than she thought they could go. Tree branches whipped across her face, but she couldn’t feel the sting, couldn’t feel anything except sheer terror that she and George were going to be trampled.
She ran until the air felt like a rusty blade sawing in and out of her lungs, until bile rose up in the back of her throat, and she knew that, if she didn’t stop, she’d die anyway, charging moose or no. Slowing in a few faltering steps, she stopped and immediately bent over, her hands on her thighs right above her knees, and sucked in air. Oxygen was the most critical thing at the moment. Not even her safety had priority.
When she managed to straighten, she reluctantly turned, half expecting to be face-to-face with the moose. Instead, only George stood there. There was no sign of the charging animal. She looked around frantically, her panic making her illogically worried that the moose might leap out from behind a tree.
George laid his hands on her heaving shoulders. “Its charge was just a bluff. It ran at us for about ten feet and then stopped.”
“It’s…gone?” she gasped, her breathing still uneven.
When he nodded, Ellie burst into tears. She felt silly for crying over a moose but was unable to stop her sobs. Now George looked like he was about to panic, so she buried her face against his chest, not wanting him to see her meltdown. The outer layer of his coat was rough against her cheek, but he felt reassuringly solid underneath it. With their packs, the embrace was awkward, made even more so by George’s obvious discomfort. He patted her lightly on the upper arms, but then seemed to settle. One hand wrapped around her head, holding her face against him, while the other rested on her hip.
Her arms were tucked between them, and she realized, as her sobs turned to sniffles and hiccupping gasps, that she was squeezing two handfuls of his coat. Once the worst of the hysterics were over, she also realized how cold her wet face was.
“Sorry,” she muttered, releasing her grip on his coat. “I’m being stupid. It was just so big, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do.”
“It’s not stupid to be scared of a moose. I’d rather encounter a bear than a moose.”
“Really?” She peered suspiciously at him, trying to see if he was pandering to her wimpiness or if he really meant it. He looked sincere, although it was hard to tell with George.
“Yeah. Bears are predictable. They don’t want to be around us any more than we want to be around them. I get that. Nothing wrong with needing a little personal space. If you ever do run into a black bear, just back away slowly the way you came. Don’t run, and don’t climb a tree. They can outrun and outclimb you. You can talk to it in a calm voice, too. Let it know you’re a person.”
George’s deep-voiced monologue was soothing, easing the last of her tears. Now that she’d calmed, she puzzled at his uncharacteristic outpouring of words. He hated talking; why had he turned into an infomercial now? The idea that he’d done that for her, to comfort her, made her heart squeeze with gratitude.
Despite her warm and fuzzy feelings for George, though, the thought of bears still made her nervous. “What if we run into a grizzly?”
“You won’t. No grizzlies around here.”
That was reassuring. She took a step back, and his hands dropped away from her. She swiped at her face with her fingers, but the nylon outer shell of her gloves didn’t provide much absorption. When something soft rubbed over her cheeks, she looked up in surprise. George had pulled off his stocking hat and was using it as a handkerchief.
“I’m good.” She took another step back so she was out of reach. “Sorry. Don’t get your hat all wet just because I’m being a baby.”
He actually rolled his eyes at that and followed her, getting another swipe in before she ducked.
“Really.” She sniffed and forced a smile. “I’m fine now. Put on your hat and let’s go.” Glancing around, she realized that everywhere they’d been looked pretty much the same to her. She hoped nothing happened to George, or she’d be wandering the mountain until the snow melted—or she was eaten by a moose. “Did we at least run in the direction we’re headed?”
As he pulled on his hat, he raised a shoulder in a gesture that Ellie interpreted as “kind of, but not really.”
She sighed. “Well, lead on. You know where we are, though, right?” Her voice was still nasally from residual tears. When he gave her a look, she raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to question your mountaineering skills. Just checking.”
As they started walking, George in the lead, Ellie couldn’t help but look around for more potentially hungry wildlife that might jump out at them. When a rustling noise came from a tree above them, she gave a little shriek and jumped sideways, tangling her snowshoes and falling into a heap.
While George helped her back to her feet—which basically involved him lifting her off the ground—he looked like he was fighting a smile.
“What is it?” Ellie peered at the spot on the tree where the noise had originated.
“A squirrel.” He coughed into the back of his glove.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you just laugh?”
He shook his head, looking suspiciously serious.
“Liar.” She brushed off snow that still clung to her hip. “If it had been a bear, you’d have been thanking me for the warning.”
This time, his laugh boomed out before he bit off the sound.
Unable to hold her irritation, she grinned back at him. “Just turn around and keep walking, buster,” she said.
Before he did, he brushed at her pants, his hand moving over her hip and across her thigh.
“Did I miss some snow?” She twisted to look, trying to keep her pack from overbalancing her. George shot her a glance so full of joyful wickedness that she froze for a few seconds before swatting at him. “Quit copping a feel and get back to leading.”
He dodged out of reach and started walking. As she followed him, Ellie found she was wearing an enormous grin.
* * *
The smile didn’t last long. When the wind picked up, it carried hard granules of snow along with it, whipping them against Ellie’s face like a sandblaster.
“Ow, ow, ow,” she chanted under her breath, twisting her head to protect her face from the icy pellets. George stopped and turned her around so he could get something from her pack. Not really caring what he was digging out of there, Ellie was just happy to have her back to the stinging wind.
He pulled a fleece ring of fabric over her head, tucking it into her coat collar so it encircled her neck. Making a happy sound, she buried her chin into the fuzzy fabric and pulled it all the way over her nose. Her breath reflected off the fleece and spread over her cheeks, warming them.
Next, George fitted ski goggles over her eyes, adjusting the wide elastic band over her hat. With all her skin covered, she hardly felt the impact of the wind, and her shoulders lowered with relief.
“Want me to get yours?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the howling wind.
He shook his head and slipped off his own pack, pulling a face mask and goggles from one of the many zippered sections. When they set off again, it felt much easier, even when her breath fogged the bottom of the goggles. Although it was still early afternoon, the clouds made it feel like twilight, especially when the snow started to fall.
It took Ellie a while to realize that there were fresh snowflakes joining the existing ones the wind was whipping around her. Soon, though, her visibility was reduced so much that she could hardly see George’s back five feet in front of her. A swirl of wind-driven snow hid him completely for a few seconds, and her heart thudded in panic. Hurrying forward, she grabbed a handful of his coat.
He turned his head to look at her.
“I couldn’t see you,” she yelled over the wind.
“We need to make camp.”
“Okay,” she agreed, relieved. They walked another twenty minutes, though, before finding a place sheltered enough to satisfy George. By that point, Ellie was pretty sure she would’ve been happy just curling up in the snow. Since her face was protected from the wind, she’d been able to concentrate on just how cold her feet were. They felt like numb blocks of ice hanging off her legs, and just sheer will and the promise of resting soon allowed her to keep moving them.
They finally stopped at a spot where a boulder and a few scrubby pines made a partial windbreak. They shed their packs and snowshoes, tucking them against the boulder. When George pulled out the shovel and started to dig, Ellie wanted to cry. Instead, she retrieved the other shovel and joined him. She decided that she’d already exceeded her quota of tears for the day.
They worked fast, not digging as deeply or as precisely as they had the previous day. The wind blew fresh snow into the spot almost as quickly as they could remove it. Finally, George grabbed the tarp, and they stretched it across the shallow indentation they’d managed.
While he worked to set up the tent, she filled the snow anchors, although she eyed them in concern. The wind was blowing so hard, she hoped they’d be enough to keep the tent secured. George gave a shout, and she moved to help him erect the tent.
He must have had the same doubts about the anchors, since he dug holes in the snow and buried them, stomping the snow down on top of them. Once Ellie saw what he was doing, she started digging holes for the other anchors, and they finished quickly.
The snow was thickening, making it hard for Ellie to see even a few feet in front of her. When they pulled the packs into the vestibule of the tent, they had to first knock off the snow that had piled on them. The shelter of the tent was welcome, but Ellie knew it was only a temporary break.
“Do we need to go hang up the food?” Her words shook along with her quivering jaw. Even with all her layers of clothing, the wind cut through to her skin.
“No. We’ll take our chances.”
“Good.” Ellie pulled off her fogged goggles, catching her hat as it came off with it. After shaking off the snow, she shoved the hat back on her head. “If I walked five feet away from the tent, I don’t think I could find my way back. It’s like those stories of the olden days, when ranchers would tie a rope from the house to the barn during a blizzard, so they didn’t get lost and freeze to death.”
“Get in your sleeping bag.”
Although a “please” would have been nice, the thought of being warm was even nicer, so she started unlacing her boots. Her blisters didn’t hurt so much when her boots came off that time, mainly because she couldn’t feel her feet. Her right sock pulled free with her boot, exposing her waxy, white skin.
George made an unhappy sound and caught her by the ankles, rotating her like he’d done the night before. This time, though, he pulled her left sock off and then tucked both of her feet under his coat and top layers, so they were directly against his bare stomach.
They both hissed at the contact. The heat of George’s skin burned against Ellie’s, and she tried to withdraw her feet, but he held her firmly in place.
“Too hot,” she whimpered, although she didn’t fight his hold after that first attempt.
“I know,” he said. His hands wrapped around the tops of her feet—not rubbing, but just holding—while his stomach pressed against the soles, surrounding her feet with painful fire. The burn eased to a pins-and-needles tingling, and she wiggled her toes against his belly to ease the sting.
“That must be like holding a block of ice to your stomach,” she said.
He gave an affirmative grunt, but he didn’t move her feet away from his skin. “Why didn’t you tell me your feet were cold?”
With a shrug, she said, “All of me was pretty cold by the end. I didn’t want to whine.”
“I need to know.” He gave her a stern look. “The blisters, the cold feet, dehydration. These are serious things out here.”
“Sorry.” Ducking her head, she studied a seam on her glove. “I might be a little bit dehydrated, too.”
Keeping her feet against his belly, he rose to his knees and shuffled toward the entrance. His movement tipped Ellie onto her back and turned her ninety degrees, making her giggle.
“I feel like an upended turtle.”
He looked down at her and smiled, his eyes as warm as melted chocolate, before reaching into the vestibule to dig through his pack. His body was twisted oddly so he wouldn’t dislodge her feet. He handed her a water bottle, a dry hat, and then a couple of stuff sacks. Tossing the same things onto his own side of the tent, along with the first-aid kit, he closed the entrance and returned to his spot across from her.
Ellie pushed back to a sitting position. Sensation had returned to her frozen feet, and the pain had faded to a radiating heat. She could feel the ridges of his ab muscles under her soles, and she had to resist the urge to explore more of his torso with her toes. Ducking her head to hide her flush, she gave herself a stern lecture on not being a perv.
“Drink.”
She opened the water bottle and took a drink. This time, when she winced, it was because of the temperature and not the nasty taste.
“Cold?” George guessed. It was, but she took another drink anyway. “I’ll make tea. We won’t make hot food tonight, though.”
“Bears?”
Nodding, he plucked her socks from where they’d dropped and tucked them next to her feet. The chilly knit quickly warmed. Pulling a few alcohol wipes out of the first-aid kit, he slipped them against his belly, as well. “Doubt they’ll be out in this, but no reason to ask for trouble.”
“I don’t mind. I’d take trail mix over that nasty food in a pouch any day.”
He just smiled at that, something that seemed to be happening more and more. She wondered if she’d caused his increased happiness and was unable to hold back a grin of her own at the thought. It was strange how connected she felt to this large, taciturn man whom she’d only known for a few days. Ellie wondered if it was just because she was depending on him to stay warm and fed and safe. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she dismissed it, knowing that she would’ve felt the same way about George if they’d met in the safety of a Chicago smoothie shop.
“Ready?”
Before she could ask him what she should be ready for, he uncovered her feet. The cold air wrapped around them, making her shiver. Instead of the sickly white from earlier, they were now a bright pink. He pulled off the bloodied Band-Aids and examined the blistered spots and her toes carefully.
“Am I frostbitten?” she asked, leaning closer so she could see.
“No.” George still turned a glower on her. “Tell me next time your feet get cold.” He gave them a little shake for emphasis.
“I will.” She sat back, leaning on her hands, as he pulled out an alcohol wipe and tore open the package. “I just don’t want to be whiny.”
“Tell me once. If you tell me over and over again, then you’re whiny.”
She laughed and then sucked in a breath as he cleaned her blisters with the alcohol wipe. He was just as quick—and just as merciless—as the previous night. When he pulled on her socks, warm from his body, he was frowning.
“The blisters are worse.” Instead of returning her feet to her, he kept them in his lap, rubbing them absently. It felt wonderful, so she didn’t complain.
“Sorry?” She held in a groan of delight when he massaged the arch of her foot.
“Not your fault.”
“There isn’t much to do about it, though, is there?”
“You have any thin socks?”
“Mmm…” The foot rub was stealing all her attention, and she had to force herself to focus on his question. “Think so. I’ll have to check my pack.”
“Wear those under the wool ones.”
“Mm-kay.” Seriously, his hands were magical. When he returned her feet to her, she swallowed a disappointed sigh. Without his warm touch, they quickly grew cold, and she started stripping down to her long underwear. After her struggle undressing the night before, she decided to just do it fast and then hop into her sleeping bag.
It wasn’t until she was zipping herself in that she caught sight of the look on George’s face and realized she’d just given him a strip show. It was a show that ended with her in her long underwear, but still. Her face reddened as she concentrated on her sleeping-bag zipper. She pulled it most of the way up, but left the hood down and drew the top around her shoulders. When she fished the avalanche transceiver out of her bra, she heard George suck in a breath.
He stayed frozen for another long moment before he shook himself and headed for the packs.
It felt almost decadent to huddle in her sleeping bag as George made them tea and fed them trail mix, a granola bar, and venison jerky. He also stowed her water bottles and boots in their stuff sacks and handed them to her to tuck into the bottom of her sleeping bag. There was indeed a pair of thinner socks in her pack, which joined her gloves inside her bedroll, as well.
Only after all their gear was stowed, and she was fed and sipping tea, did George crawl into his own sleeping bag.
“Do you have a pack of cards?” she asked, pretending not to watch as he stripped off his outer layers. He shook his head. “Monopoly? Checkers?” Both received another head shake and the beginnings of a smile. “I’d suggest charades, but that would involve leaving the sleeping bag, and that’s not going to happen.”
He zipped himself into his own bag, and she stifled a sigh. The show was over.
“We could play ‘Never Have I Ever…’”
His quizzical eyebrows made it clear he didn’t know what that was.
“That’s okay. It’s a drinking game, and I don’t think it’d be the same with tea.” Shooting him a teasing smile over the top of her cup, she added, “Since you refused to bring vodka, we’ll have to wait for the Saint Bernard with the flask around his neck to arrive.” Taking a sip of her hot drink, she thought for a moment. “I know! Thumb wars!”
His eyebrows were knitted in confusion again.
“I’ll show you.” She pushed herself into a seated position, taking care not to spill any of her tea as she shifted the mug to her left hand. Even without being spiked with something alcoholic, the warmth felt really good going down. She reached out her right hand, fingers curled loosely and thumb pointing to the tent ceiling.
Instead of meeting her hand with his, George just looked at her face, then at her hand, and back at her face again.
Ellie rolled her eyes. It was like trying to play games with an alien. “Hold your hand like this.”
After a long hesitation, he held out his arm, mimicking her hand position. She curled her fingers into his, marveling at how small hers looked next to his mammoth hand. She shivered at the contact , but not because her arm was out of the warmth of her sleeping bag. The way he was watching her, with his eyes narrowed and focused, made her blush and drop her eyes to their locked hands.
“Okay.” Her voice was a little higher than normal, and she hoped he didn’t notice. “The goal is to hold the other person’s thumb down for four seconds. No using your other hand to help.” Not that he was going to need any help to obliterate her in a thumb war. She eyed their hands again. This was going to be a David and Goliath kind of battle. “We start out by saying one, two, three, four”—she moved her thumb from side to side with each word—“I declare a thumb war!”
Her thumb pounced, latching around his and pressing it down as she counted to four. He allowed it, still watching her with an unreadable expression.
She frowned at him. “Okay, no pacifists allowed. You need to go after my thumb, or at least do some evasive maneuvers. Got it?” Ellie waited until he eventually nodded. “Let’s go again.”
After chanting the preliminary words, she pinned his thumb again.
“George.” Her hands would’ve been on her hips if that had been possible while wrapped in a mummy bag with one hand trapped in the grip of a quiet lumberjack and the other one clutching a cup of tea. “You need to put some effort into it.”
This time, she eyed him militantly as she counted off the numbers. When she stretched her thumb toward his, he moved it to the side.
“Yes! Now we’re playing!”
Although he dodged, he still let her win too easily.
“Try to hold my thumb down this time,” she said as they launched another war. Hers darted forward, but he mashed his giant thumb on top of hers and flattened it.
“One…”
Laughing, Ellie tried to free her thumb, to no avail.
“Two…”
Holding out her mug so it didn’t slosh tea over her lap, she twisted her arm from the shoulder, trying to escape his hold.
“Three…”
If her left hand was free, she could’ve cheated and used it to pry up George’s thumb, rules be damned. Ellie wasn’t about to sacrifice her tea, though, so she impulsively went for one of the other avenues open to her.
Without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth.