Chapter 7
Carla
My head throbbed. Not enough to suggest a concussion, but enough to remind me I’d been thrown from an enormous creature.
Snow melted on my skin as Becken carried me through the forest, his pace steady despite the uneven terrain.
His breathing remained even, his chest expanding and contracting against my side.
The world blurred into a canvas of white and green. Towering pines swayed under the weight of new-fallen snow, their branches bowing toward the trail. The storm intensified with each passing minute, the visibility dropping as the wind drove icy flakes horizontally through the trees.
“You don’t need to carry me the whole way,” I said, though my ankle throbbed with pain at the thought of walking. “I can try to—”
“We’re almost there.” His voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my side.
Heat crept up my neck despite the freezing temperature. Being carried like a child was humiliating enough without the realization that he probably thought I was incompetent now. First, my disastrous introduction at the saloon, then my first attempt at riding ending with me sprawled in the snow.
So much for professional credibility.
Yet beneath the embarrassment lurked a different feeling, one I was less willing to name. Being held against his solid chest created an unfamiliar sense of security. His arms encircled me with a protective strength that made me feel safe. That feeling was as disorienting as the fall itself.
I never felt safe with people. I’d learned early that depending on others led to disappointment.
Two small structures emerged from the whiteness, cabins nestled among the pines, their roofs already blanketed in snow. One appeared complete, while scaffolding surrounded the second, tarps flapping wildly in the wind.
“Here are the tourist cabins.” Becken approached the finished building, his voice barely rising above the howling wind. “My cousins built the first cabin over the summer. The second isn’t ready yet.”
He walked up onto the tiny, covered porch and lowered me into an Adirondack chair only lightly dusted with snow.
While I shivered, he leaped off the porch and hurried to a shed I could only vaguely make out in the falling snow along one side of the open meadow, returning with a sack, rolled-up sleeping bags, and a key.
Opening the door, he nudged the panel inward with his boot, entering to drop off the things he’d collected.
I rose to my feet and started hobbling after him, only to have him appear in the open doorway. He tutted and strode over to me, sweeping me up into his arms again, carrying me inside.
“Some might call this a threshold,” I said dryly, wishing I could take back the words.
“You’re right. It’s a threshold.” He booted the door shut and carried me over to the solitary bed, setting me down on it beside the things he’d collected from the shed.
The interior was dark and cold, but blessedly free from the driving snow and wind.
When my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw we were in a single room with minimal furnishings.
A large bed dominated the middle, with a small table on both sides, and two chairs.
A chest sat along the wall beside the door, placed below one of two windows.
“These cabins have no electricity or heat,” he said, his breath visible. “But there are plenty of blankets, plus the sleeping bags, and we’re out of the wind and snow.”
He lit a small battery-operated lamp that sat on one of the tables, the light reaching out to the corners of the room. The glow revealed plank walls and our breath forming small clouds with each exhale. A gust of wind hit the wall to my left, but the building held true, without even a shudder.
“We’re stranded, aren’t we?” I removed my gloves and rubbed my hands together, trying to bring circulation back to my frozen fingers.
Becken glanced out the window, where snow accumulated on the glass, obscuring the view outside. “The storm’s getting worse. Even if our sorhoxes return to town without us, no one would attempt a rescue in these conditions.”
“No cell service up here, I assume?” I pulled my phone from my pocket, confirming the lack of bars.
“No.” He straightened from the fireplace. “The valley has limited coverage. The hotel has a landline and satellite internet, as do most of the other buildings in town and my cousin’s homes, but out here…” He spread his hands wide.
The reality of our situation settled in my stomach like a bad meal. Alone, in a remote cabin, with a male I barely knew, during a blizzard. My ankle throbbed, a reminder of my helplessness.
“Let me check that injury.” Becken sat on the bed by my feet. “Do you mind if I remove your boot?”
“Sure.” It was going to have to come off sometime.
I braced myself as he carefully undid the ties. His touch remained professional, but the intimacy of his large hands cradling my foot, his dark eyes focused with concern, sent warmth through me.
The boot came off, revealing a swollen ankle.
Becken frowned, his fingers probing gently along the joint, me wincing through it. “Not broken as far as I can tell. Sprained, probably. You’re lucky.”
“Lucky would’ve been not falling off in the first place.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. “True. But considering the height of the fall and the terrain, a sprain is fortunate.”
“Professional experience talking?”
“I’ve seen worse injuries from smaller falls.” He stood. “There should be a first aid kit in the supply shed. I should’ve grabbed it while I was there. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared into the storm again. The wind howled through the cracks in the door frame, reminding me how severe the weather had become. My stomach clenched at the thought of him navigating the worsening conditions.
The cabin felt different without him. Emptier, less secure. I hobbled to the window, using the wall for support, and peered out at the whiteout conditions. The snow fell so heavily now that I could barely see beyond a few feet.
The door burst open, sending a blast of frigid air through the room. Becken stepped inside, white coating his shoulders and hair, carrying a plastic container and a canvas bag.
“I found the first aid kit and some emergency supplies.” He set them on one of the tables. “Sit before you make that ankle worse. We need to elevate it. Keep you off it to give it a chance for the swelling to go down.”
Hopefully we wouldn’t be here that long.
I complied, more because standing had become painful than because he’d ordered it. He sat on the bed by my feet again, opening the first aid kit and removing bandages and a cold pack.
“This will help with the swelling.” He activated the chemical pack and after elevating my foot on one of the sleeping bags, he placed the ice pack on my ankle, his touch gentle. “Hold this here while I prepare the wrap.”
He unwrapped the plastic around the elastic bandage while I held the cold pack in place. The lamp cast long shadows across the small space, barely fighting back the darkness that pressed in from outside.
“You’ve done this before,” I said.
“Orcs heal quickly, but we’re not immune to injury.” He removed the cold pack and began wrapping my ankle. “Where I come from, everyone learns basic medical care.”
Same here. Mostly. “Is it part of your regular education?”
He nodded, focused on creating even pressure with the bandage. “Young orcs learn what they need to survive. Everything from healing, hunting, to crafting weapons.”
The wrap complete, he secured it with metal clips, glancing up at my face with an assessing eye. “Too tight?”
I flexed my foot. “No, it’s perfect.”
“Good.” He placed the cold pack back on the injury, then returned the supplies to the kit and stood.
One swift move, and he’d slid me up higher on the bed, placed pillows behind me, and lifted my foot up onto the sleeping bag—all without dislodging the ice pack.
“Stay here for a bit. Please.” The latter came out with the scowl I’d come to associate with Becken. “Stop moving around.”
“I can’t stay in one position forever.”
His scowl deepened. “Keep it elevated when possible.”
His matter-of-fact competence eroded more of my professional facade. I was used to being the capable one, the person with all the answers. Being cared for felt foreign and unsettling.
Becken dragged one of the tables closer and opened the canvas bag, removing items and placing them on the table. “Bread, though it’s frozen, meat, also frozen, and cheese.”
“Frozen cheese?”
“The cheese wasn’t frozen. We have solar here. Batteries. A freezer. Refrigerator. People enjoy trial rides, but they prefer more than meat on sticks, cooked over an open fire.”
“Can’t beat hot dogs when you’re hungry.”
He frowned. “They also prefer more than a sleeping bag beside an open fire.”
I waved to the cabin in general, the shed that must hold the freezer. “We call this glamping.”
“I see.”
“A cozy cabin.” I reached for the bread and meat and tucked them against my thighs, covering them with a blanket. My body heat would thaw them quickly.
“Will the storm last long?” I asked, trying to focus on practical matters rather than the way his presence filled the small cabin.
“Hard to say. I never expected it to get this bad. Mountain weather is unpredictable.” He glanced at the window. “We should prepare to be here overnight, possibly longer.”
I took in the orc-sized bed, large by human standards, but still just one bed. Becken followed my look, his expression unreadable. A tic appeared in his brow.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s freezing in here.” I could see my breath with every word, and the temperature outside may continue to drop. “The bed’s big enough for both of us.”
The words came out more confident than I felt. Sharing a bed with him meant vulnerability, proximity. Things I carefully avoided with everyone.
“Orcs run hotter than humans. I’ll be fine on the floor.”