14. Toren
Toren
The quick sidestep of hooves was my first clue to what was just out of view. A moment later, a bull moose trotted around the opening to our shelter. His head jerked right as he smelled us, and one foot slid in the snow as he came to a halt.
My grip tightened on the rifle. I did not want to shoot him, but if he charged us, I might not have a choice. We had nowhere to go inside this alcove.
But after staring at us for several tense moments, he turned away and ran off into the forest. In seconds, the trees swallowed him up, and he disappeared from view.
I lowered the rifle and blew out a breath of relief, trying to calm my heart now hammering away in my chest.
Behind me, Lana let out half laugh, half sob and sank to her butt in the dirt. “Holy crap. That could have been so bad.”
“Yeah.” I hobbled over to the wall and set the rifle against it.
She got to her feet. “I’ll run out and reset that sapling trigger.” Turning, she reached for her jacket, hanging on a stick near the fire.
“I’ll come with you.” I picked up the rifle again to sling it over my shoulder and across my chest.
“You don’t need to. It won’t take long.”
I sent her a quick, annoyed look. “I’m not that crippled. I can help.”
She smiled. “I didn’t say you were. But we both know rest is good for you right now.”
“Maybe so, but I’m still not letting you wander out there without me. You need someone to watch your back while you work. Moose aren’t the only dangerous thing roaming through these woods.”
Her expression sobered at the reminder of what we were up against.
Leaning heavily on my crutch, I followed her out of our shelter, being careful to place my makeshift crutch through the snow onto solid ground.
The last thing I needed was to have it slip off a rock and send me flying.
The injuries I had were enough. Thankfully, it wasn’t far to the trigger the moose tripped.
Despite telling her I was just along as protection, I helped her tie the sapling back down and re-stack the logs and rocks. Between the two of us, we made quick work of it and were finished in just a few minutes.
Lana straightened after placing the last rock on the pile and dusted off her hands. “There. That should do it.”
I grunted, my hand tightening around my crutch as pain radiated through my leg and hand. I probably should have stayed behind as she suggested.
“You can put the murder face away now, you know. We’re safe.”
My focus shifted at her words, and I frowned at her in confusion. “I don’t have a murder face. What are you talking about?”
She chuckled and stepped around the trap to head back to camp. “I hate to break it to you, but you most definitely have a murder face. There’s a vee between your eyebrows pulling them down into a dark frown. Couple that with your already dark eyes and you have a murder face.”
I couldn’t help it and frowned harder. “Well, I don’t feel murderous.”
Lana laughed. “If you were a woman, we’d call it resting bitch face.”
One side of my mouth crooked up. “Now that I’ve been accused of before.”
“But are you one, is the question.”
“A bitch?”
She nodded, falling into step beside me as I picked my way over the snowy forest floor.
“No. An asshole, yes, sometimes. But never a bitch.” Which was true. I didn’t suffer fools and had little patience for them. That made me curt, which meant sometimes, I could be a jerk.
“At least you’re honest. That’s more than a lot of people would admit to.”
“You don’t have much without your integrity. I might be a jerk sometimes, but I’m going to own up to it.” I set my crutch and hopped over a small rock.
“Same. I can’t stand two-faced people.”
After a few more careful feet of maneuvering, we made it back to our shelter.
Together, we made quick work of putting away our cooking and eating supplies.
Lana added more wood to the fire while I stowed everything back inside the tent, out of the way of any pests that might wander in while we were asleep.
I also took a couple of pain pills. I’d hoped not to, since I would just be sleeping, but the little bit of work to reset the sapling had my body aching.
I knew I’d never be able to relax enough to sleep if I didn’t.
Hopefully, we weren’t stuck here too much longer.
I only had a finite supply of medication.
The tent flap fluttered, and Lana slipped inside. “Do you have everything we need from out there?” She paused in the doorway.
“Yes.” I zipped my pack shut and pushed it into the corner.
“Awesome. I’m ready to go to sleep.” She zipped the tent flap shut.
So was I.
Fabric rustled and zippers ticked as we got into our sleeping bags.
With a wince, I straightened out on my back, my head propped on my pack. Closing my eyes, I willed my brain to fall asleep, but the pain pills hadn’t kicked in yet. Everything hurt. From the ends of my hair to the tips of my big toes, my body ached.
Trying not to focus on it, I let my mind wander. My first thoughts were about the weather. With the snow over with, hopefully, Walker would be able to get up in the air tomorrow to scout the area, and we could get out of here the next day.
Thoughts of the timeline led to thoughts of the faceless poacher or poachers lurking somewhere nearby. If the coals on their fire were still warm when the snow started, they didn’t make it out of the area before we got socked in.
That thought—being socked in—led me to my current situation. Which led to thoughts of the woman tossing and turning beside me. Again.
It was becoming a nightly thing for me to combat feelings about the wedding planner who hauled me out here.
Internally, I rolled my eyes at myself. Two days. It had been two days.
Well, three, if I counted the night at home after she showed up.
The amount of time didn’t really matter, though. I just didn’t want thoughts of her to take up space in my head. Not like that. I didn’t need a relationship. Been there. Done that. Never again. It hurt too much when it ended.
That didn’t stop my eyes from opening and turning toward her, though.
Her back was to me, and her breathing was even and slow. She’d fallen asleep.
Lucky.
I closed my eyes again and focused on shutting off my brain.
Gradually, my thoughts turned into just swirling bits and pieces as my pain ebbed and sleep took hold.
It came as no surprise that my jumbled thoughts turned into dreams. Vivid ones of memories I’d rather forget.
During one particular dream where metal crunched and tires squealed, a new sound intruded. A quiet thump of someone walking on a hard surface.
A frown marred my face as I came slowly awake, confused. Why did the dream that used to plague me every night—the exact same dream—suddenly change?
Through a couple of slow blinks, the tent interior came into focus.
Several hours had passed since we fell asleep. The light from outside had faded and only a glow from the fire penetrated the dark tent fabric.
I stayed still, listening. Had I heard a sound, and it registered in my dream? Was that why it changed?
I cast a quick look at Lana to see if she was awake. Her prone figure still faced away from me, her sleeping bag rising and falling in an even rhythm. She was still asleep.
A shift in the shadows caught my eye. I turned my attention back to the tent wall. Through the thin fabric, I could see the small flames from our fire dance.
Maybe that’s what woke me up. A log probably popped or something. I should probably go check on it and make sure all was well. We’d built it a decent distance from the tent, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for the fire to cast out an ember and potentially ignite the tent.
As I shifted, reaching for my sleeping bag zipper, the firelight disappeared.
I froze.
The fire didn’t go out. Something moved in front of it and blocked it from view.
All the breath stilled in my lungs, and my mind went to one thing: a bear.
We had everything it could want here. Shelter, heat, and food.
I pulled on the sleeping bag zipper, my eyes on my rifle just feet away.
The shadows shifted again, giving me vital information.
Our intruder only had two legs.
Yanking on the zipper, I gave up any pretense of stealth. We were in the middle of nowhere with no sound other than the fire and I was in a nylon sleeping bag. Whoever was out there knew I was awake.
As I dove for the rifle, a knife slashed through the tent flap. Hot on its heels was a hand holding a pistol, then a man’s head.
“Don’t move.”