Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
B rock dove for Ophelia, landing on his stomach and sliding across the icy ground. He reached the river just as she tried to shove up and then went down again, yelping and swallowing freezing water. If the current caught her and dragged her under the ice, he’d never get her. “Damn it.” He rolled his legs around and went in feet first, plunging down and grabbing her. The freezing cold caught him, stealing his breath. He snagged her shoulder and yanked her toward the bank, but her jacket twisted on a branch trapped beneath a rock under an overhang of ice. The combined force twisted her around and pulled down.
He dove beneath the ice and ripped the coat apart, splitting the zipper as he held his breath. Something fell against his foot. Her gun?
He shoved the coat away and freed her, kicking off a rock, his foot sliding off. His radio dropped, smacking his ankle. Damn it.
Keeping his eyes closed, he propelled them up and broke the surface, his lungs screaming in pain. He struggled against the current and caught sight of an icy overhang. Wincing, he tried to grab it with his glove, curving his fingers beneath the sharp edge. Grunting and fighting the cold, he yanked his body out with one hand, keeping hold of Ophelia even when the ice gave away. He scooted out of the water, trying to stay low.
Wind chilled him, and snow blasted into his eyes. He twisted around, grabbed her shoulder, and forced her out and onto the ground, fighting the heaviness of his water-logged snow clothes.
She lay on her back, struggling, gasping, and coughing out water, her lips already turning blue.
“Stay down.” He planted a hand on her wet torso and levered up to his knees, partially protected by a snowbank. His vision swam, but he drew his gun from the back of his waist. Hopefully, the weapon still worked. No movement showed through the snowy day, but somebody waited there. He aimed for a cottonwood and fired, hitting it dead center. The sound split the hush with an ominous threat.
Silence echoed back. His arm ached, and his hand shook, but he fired again, missing the tree but making his point. His vision blurred, and he blinked several times to focus.
A flashback tried to return him to the desert, to heat and pain, but he shoved it away for the moment. He’d deal with the past later.
Ophelia partially rolled to her side on the icy ground, coughing out more water, her body shuddering.
“Hold on, baby. Just a couple more minutes,” he whispered, trying desperately to see movement in the trees. The wind threw snow at him, and his damaged left leg went numb. He had to get Ophelia out of the elements and into warmth, but the shooter remained present. Armed. Waiting and dangerous.
He lifted his arm and fired two more shots, and branches cracked loudly, crashing down.
Several seconds later, an engine ignited. It sounded like a four-wheeler. Birds squawked from the forest interior, protesting the disturbance.
Everything in him wanted to hunt and pursue the shooter, but he didn’t have enough time. He tucked his gun into his pocket and stood, lifting a shuddering Ophelia up with him.
Her face turned as white as wax, and her blue lips barely formed words. Her body sagged, her knees giving out, her arms flopping by her sides.
He shook her, leaning in. “You have to stay awake. Just stay awake.” He’d lost his radio. They needed warmth, and they were at least thirty minutes away from shelter, through the icy storm. If he didn’t get them somewhere safe, they’d both die. Hypothermia would take them. He dragged her to the sled and shoved her on, straddling the seat behind her, planting her hands on the heated grips, and pushing her feet up the runner. Water poured from their clothes, icing over almost instantly. Shit. This was bad.
She slumped against him, and he drove with one hand, wrapping his free arm around her waist and yanking her against his body. “Fucking stay awake,” he yelled.
She jerked and then nodded, her icy hair sticking to his chin.
His limbs dragged with weight, and his feet felt like hot pokers slicing ice beneath his toes. He sped up, taking a turn too fast but managing to stay on the river trail. He drove past two more fishing holes and turned toward the jagged mountains to the west. Snow billowed around, hampering visibility, but he knew their location.
His arm started to go numb, and he shook it, still driving. They didn’t have time to stop. There was no more time. Period.
Ophelia had gone quiet and unmoving, but he didn’t have the energy to shake her. Hopefully the engine and hand heaters at least kept her conscious.
Finally, he drove out of another grove of spruce and spotted the warming hut built against mountain rocks, shielded by a rock cliff. He reached the front and cut the engine, hauling Ophelia with him like a sopping wet and frozen doll. He dragged her to the door and kicked it open and then closed, shutting the storm out. “Take off your clothes.” He moved toward the fireplace where the Miller boys had already left logs stacked with kindling ready to light. God bless those kids. He dropped to his knees. His hands shook, and his arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, but he opened the box of long matches and struck one, instantly lighting the kindling.
The fire caught quickly, expertly structured.
Still on his knees, he forced his coat zipper down with freezing fingers and shoved the wet garment off. Much lighter, he stood, turning to face Ophelia, who hovered in front of the long bench that ran the length of the far wall. It was the only furniture in the room besides the several provision boxes piled against the adjacent wall.
Her hair hung in a frozen mass around her pale face, and she stared at the fire as if not seeing it. Ice coated her hair and sweater. She’d stopped shaking, which was a bad sign.
He reached her, unzipping her sweater. “Olly? You’re in shock. Stay with me.” He removed her frozen wool. Her badge hung from a chain around her neck, and he gingerly lifted it over her head to place by the jugs of frozen water. Then he unzipped the snow pants, dropping them and gently nudging her to sit on the bench.
She fell like a log, and ice cracked from her pants. He pulled off her boots and socks, bending to check her toes. He couldn’t tell if she had frostbite or not. Lifting, he removed the rest of her clothing. Even her undergarments were wet, so they had to go.
She blinked, her gaze unfocused.
He flipped open the lids of the two nearest boxes and drew out sleeping bags and blankets, wishing he hadn’t lost his radio.
He threw several heavy blankets onto the floor in front of the fire and clumsily zipped two sleeping bags together before reaching for her and lifting her, nearly dropping them both from the effort. Murmuring something reassuring to her, he wasn’t sure what, he zipped her into the bag, sitting her to face the fire and lean against the heavy bench. “Don’t fall.”
Move. Just move . A mantra he’d learned a long time ago. All he wanted to do was climb into the bag with her and fall asleep. He flipped open another bin lid, found a can of broth, and struggled to pull up the tab. Grunting, his fumbling fingers finally worked, and he dug for a small pot to dump the contents into.
“Keep breathing, Ophelia,” he ordered, setting the pan right in front of the fire and tugging a cup out of the bin. He shuddered, and dizziness attacked him. He rode the waves until the room cleared so he could remove the rest of his wet clothing. His pants had been waterproof, unlike hers, so he kept his boxers on and then reached for the sleeping bags, partially lifting her up so he could climb in behind her.
He pulled the bags up to their necks and wrapped his arms around her chilly waist, partially lifting her to sit on his lap. Her thighs were even colder than her butt, and he bit back a wave of pain. She felt ice-cold against him, and considering his core temperature had dropped dangerously low, they faced disaster.
His fingers tingled, which was good, but his feet still ached. He winced, his lips cracking. “This is gonna hurt you more than me.” He pinched her hip.
Her slow murmur didn’t reassure him.
He pinched harder.
“Hey,” she mumbled.
“There you are,” he said, gripping the tender area again. “Stare at the fire and let it warm your face and dry your hair. Don’t make me pinch you again.”
She elbowed him in the gut, glancing off. “Stop it.”
“Stay awake.” He eyed the fire as it crackled. “You need to talk to me, Ophelia. We can’t sleep until we warm up, so talk.” He brushed her wet hair out of his way, revealing her slender neck. A purple bruise was forming beneath her ear. “Talk.”
“Sleep,” she mumbled, starting to shiver again.
He pinched her.
“Brock,” she snapped, still facing the fire. “Geez. Stop pinching.”
Better. Her voice sounded clear. He rubbed her hip, which would no doubt have a bruise. “I need you to take inventory. How do your fingers and toes feel?”
“Like they’ve been frozen off,” she muttered. She remained quiet for several moments, her breath shaky but steady.
“Pull your legs up, feet pressed together for warmth.” He waited until she did so, wrapping around her from behind. “That’s good. You’ll warm faster.” For a tall woman, she didn’t take up much room in the bags. He reached around her, tipping the broth into the cup and bringing it toward them. He tested the metal. Warm but not too hot. “Take this and hold it.”
She grumbled but pulled her arms free of the bags and reached for the cup, her soft hum of pleasure shooting through him to uncomfortable places.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now, sip it slowly. The salt and warmth with the little bit of protein will get your blood moving to heat you up. Drink just a little bit for me.” He kept a hand on hers since she shook so fiercely. “I’ll help you.” He let her take several sips before he relaxed. “Okay. You’ll be all right.”
She slipped her arms back into the bag, leaning against his bare chest, her body feeling fragile and soft. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He wanted to close his eyes and rest, but now wasn’t the time. They both had to be warmer before he could let his guard down to sleep, and there was no guarantee they’d found true safety. With her trusting him, defenseless and naked in the bag, every protective instinct he’d ever had surged through him, the responsibility heating him as nothing else could. “I’ll keep you safe, Ophelia.”
She murmured something, no doubt not truly understanding the vow he’d just made. While she might be an FBI agent and a strong woman, right now she was naked and vulnerable, and he’d always been a fighter and protector. Nothing would harm her on his watch, and the depth that vow reached in him caught him by surprise.
The gun sat next to him on the bench, just in case. The storm increased in strength outside, battering against the doorway. That could only help them right now.
“You drink some,” she murmured.
He took the cup and drank a swallow, letting the broth heat him throughout. Her body remained cold against his, but her shivering had stopped.
Finally, she stiffened just a little, coming out of her stupor. “Am I naked?”