Chapter 12 #3
He was soggy and frozen and unsteady. Even put a hand out as she nearly knocked him over. She grabbed his arms, pulled him back. “Are you okay?”
He leaned forward, put his hand down, and grunted. “Yeah, but I don’t think my knee . . . I think I left it back in the river.”
She hadn’t a clue what he meant. But she got her arm around him, and he leaned hard on her as they struggled up, then to the porch, up the stairs, into the house.
He sank into a nearby chair. “Bolt the door.”
She obeyed, and when she turned, he was trying to pull off sodden mittens. Failing.
“Why are you wet?” She yanked off his mittens. Oh, his hands were icebergs.
“I went in the river.”
“What? How?” She knelt and untied his boots and eased those off. Ice clung to his wool socks, stiff, not a hint of warmth remaining. He attempted to unzip his jacket, but she got there first and dragged the wet parka off him.
His Carhartts were stiff with ice.
She unzipped them, all the way down. A flannel shirt and jeans underneath, less cold, but still, he shivered.
“I’ll draw you a bath. I cleaned it out.”
“They have hot water?”
“And there’s soup on the stove.”
He looked at her, fatigue in his eyes. “I think I love you.”
She smiled and laughed, a stupid giggle, because he didn’t mean it.
But it still felt good.
She stood up, put her hands on his whiskered face. “You’re so cold.”
He caught her hands, met her eyes. “I’ll be okay.”
“What happened out there?”
“I think I was shot at.” He let go of her hands.
“I fell in the river but managed to hang on to my gun. I fired a couple shots in return . . . and then nothing. And then I was freezing to death, so I ditched the skis and just got here as fast as I could. I tripped in the yard, and I don’t know .
. . I guess I just laid there, trying to find the energy for the last fifty yards. ”
“And then Caspian showed up like your guardian angel. I would have never seen you.” She grabbed a blanket from the sofa, brought it to drape around his shoulders. “I can’t believe you fell in the river.”
He nodded, but leaned back, arms over himself. “But I beat it, Keely. I beat it.”
She frowned even as she went over to stir the soup.
“For years, the river . . . I had nightmares of it swallowing Aven, then grabbing me. I’d wake up fighting, and angry, and all I could think was that I somehow let her down. Like I was supposed to be there. She was my little sister.”
She walked over, sat in the chair next to him.
He looked up, swallowed. “She was fearless. She’d get herself in all sorts of trouble. Stuck in trees, or in a kayak—and every time I was there to help her. Because that’s what I did. And she had this nickname for me—the Eagle Scout.”
“I can see that.”
“Yeah, well, I was always there. Always prepared . . .”
“And then you weren’t there.”
“Yeah.” He looked away, closed his eyes. “And I blamed the river, and I blamed my parents, and I blamed God . . .”
“And you blamed yourself.”
He opened his eyes.
Aw. They’d filled, and she couldn’t stop herself from touching his hand. “But it wasn’t your fault.”
He said nothing.
“Dawson.”
“I realized that, today. When I fell in. The current—I’d forgotten how strong it was. It took a minute for me to get out. And then it hit me that . . . even if I had been there, maybe I couldn’t have rescued her . . .”
“And maybe you need to stop blaming yourself for stuff you have no control over.”
He finally made a sound. “Stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“I had stuff. Anger, and frustration, and guilt, and . . . stuff.”
“We all have stuff.”
“My stuff kept me trapped. I’m tired of being trapped.”
Stuff. “God, if you get me out of this, I’ll pay attention. I’ll listen. And I’ll trust you.”
He frowned at her.
“I started asking God for help when the plane went down. And then you showed up. I prayed again right before the barn fire that, well, if he got us out of this, then I’d pay attention.
” She swallowed, nodded. “I think it’s time for me to listen.
To trust. To believe that God has something good for me and to stop trying so hard to make it happen on my own. ”
He nodded. “Me too. I’m tired of always trying to stop everything from blowing up.”
“Oh, no, you need to stop stuff from blowing up. But if it does, you stop blaming yourself.”
He smiled. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
“Your brain is just frozen.”
His gaze ran over her, and in his eyes she saw a desire, something deeper than simply physical, but a longing, maybe. “Could the warmth we found in the cold be ours to keep?”
She met his gaze. Yes, Dawson.
Then, “You really made soup?”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, but you’re shivering. Bath first, Iceman.”
She headed to the bathroom and opened the faucet to the claw-foot tub. Water cascaded out, and she kept it lukewarm so as not to shock his body.
River’s advice when they’d been drawing a bath for Wren, after the fall in the woods.
He came into the bathroom and stood in the doorframe, holding on. He’d taken off his socks.
“My mom used to do this after I went ice skating,” he said. “My feet would be so cold. She’d draw a bath, and I’d soak my feet in it until the feeling came back.”
“Where’d you go ice skating?”
“On a pond near our house. My cousins and I would play hockey for hours.”
“Of course you did. I bet you wanted to go pro.”
“On no, that was Moose. Still addicted to the sport.”
“Yeah. I get that. Something that gets in your blood, you can’t escape it. Oh, by the way. I fixed the ham radio and got ahold of Moose.”
Silence, and she tested the water. Warm. “You can add more hot water when your body adjusts.”
She got up, but he was staring at her, frowning.
“What?”
“You got ahold of Moose?”
“Yeah. He said he knew about Wren. And that he was on his way to get us.”
He looked at her, then sat on the edge of the tub. “When was this?”
“Just before—hey, where’s Caspian?”
He blinked and seemed to come back to himself, looking around. “Caspian?”
“I’ll find him. Don’t worry. Take a bath. I’ll see if I can steal some clothes for you.”
She went out into the bedroom, rooted through the standing closet, and found a pair of flannel-lined jeans and a thermal shirt.
Then she knocked on the door. “I’ll put them on the floor in the hallway.”
Barking sounded outside.
“Thanks,” he said through the door. “Keely, um—are you sure you talked to Moo—”
“Just a second. I think I hear Caspian.”
She headed for the door and opened it.
Her mouth gaped in a scream that didn’t emerge as Thornwood reached out and grabbed her by the scruff of her jacket and pulled her into the night.