He kissed her, his mouth tender. This big, rough man had been nothing but tender with her from the moment he’d found her crawling down the mountainside in a torrential rain. He’d laid himself on the line for her, in more ways than one. Angie could have lain there with his softening penis nestled inside her for the rest of the night, loving that link, the mingling of their bodies, but with a sigh of repletion he gently disengaged their bodies and sat up. There were practical matters to attend to, but once they’d cleaned up Dare turned out the lantern and once more they snuggled close together under the sleeping bag. This time, however, they were both naked, and Angie’s head was nestled on his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest.
She smiled in the darkness. “It
is
a magic dick,” she teased, hoping she could get a laugh out of him.
“No magic involved. It’s just angles and self-control, honey, angles and self-control. But you can think I have a magic dick as long as you want to.”
The morning dawned bright and cold. Angie woke to sunshine filtering around the edges of the curtain, feeling warm and relaxed, her bones like butter. They had slept, woke to make love again, then slept some more. Sometime during the night she had turned on her side and he had curled around her the way they’d slept before, as if he could cocoon her in warmth and safety. Despite being naked, despite the colder temperatures, she’d either been completely comfortable or so relaxed and tired from truly wonderful sex that she’d slept like a baby anyway.
In the strange way that Dare was so attuned to her, she could feel him wake up, even though she hadn’t moved a muscle to disturb him. His breathing changed, and the subtle tension of awareness changed the way his arm felt, draped around her. This time, though, his hand cupped her breast, instead of resting on her stomach. His thumb moved, lightly flicking over her nipple and sending sparks of sensation cascading down her nerve endings.
“I like waking up with you,” he rasped sleepily, his morning voice rough and strained, as if he had a case of laryngitis. His
morning erection prodded at her, and he tightened his arm. “Want to satisfy one of my fantasies?”
“No, I want to pee and have a cup of coffee.” She turned her head to give him a narrow-eyed gimlet look. “Your fantasy can wait.”
He surveyed her don’t-mess-with-me face. “You’re not a morning person, are you?” The question was obviously rhetorical. “If peeing and coffee always take precedence over sex, I won’t ever get to satisfy that particular fantasy.”
“If it involves sex before we do anything else, no.” But she found herself smiling, because the way he’d phrased his complaint made it plain he was expecting to wake up beside her for
… always
? That was the word he’d used: always.
“Always” was kind of a definite thing, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. They were together, in a way she’d never imagined was even remotely likely, and that was enough for now. When they were back in the real world and this situation had been dealt with, that would be the time to start thinking about what might be in the future.
She had more immediate things on her plate, one of which was the fact that she was stark naked, and regardless of what they’d done during the night or that he’d made love to her with the lantern on, she still felt awkward about getting out from under the protection of the sleeping bag and getting dressed in front of him.
She was mulling over the different ways she might handle this when he simply tossed the sleeping bag aside and got up. She yelped, grabbed the edge of the sleeping bag and pulled it up to her shoulders, but not entirely from modesty. The temperature had dropped a lot during the night; when the cold air hit her bare skin, she began to think about getting dressed completely under the cover. “Aren’t you cold?”
“It’s chilly,” he agreed as he stepped into a pair of underwear, then grabbed his jeans and pulled them on. When he had a T-shirt on and a flannel shirt over that, he stopped to turn on the heater.
“Just get your clothes on as fast as possible, and get it over with, so you can get the coffee started. The faster you move, the sooner we’ll have coffee.”
“Where’s my shirt?” She looked around for the flannel shirt she’d been wearing the night before, and found it stuffed halfway under the privacy curtain. Quickly she pulled it on, and only then did she emerge from beneath the sleeping bag to finish dressing. He opened three bottles of water and poured them into the percolator, then Angie quickly measured the coffee into the basket. With coffee brewing and water heating for more hot oatmeal, he carried her down the ladder, because that was faster than waiting to see if she could get a sock and boot on her right foot, and outside.
There was a heavy frost coating everything, sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight, and ice edged every hollow and dip in the ground where water remained. Her breath fogged in front of her face, even when she was inside the portable toilet, which made it imperative that she be as fast as possible. Her bare foot was freezing. But the sky was clear, not a cloud anywhere, so the temperatures would probably be moderate; the last weather report she’d listened to seemed so long ago, she couldn’t remember if the cold front coming in behind the thunderstorms was supposed to be really cold or more moderate. By himself, Dare could probably push on all the way back to Lattimore’s, but her ankle would force them to a slower pace and they might have to find shelter for the night. They’d need heat, food, water, the sleeping bag … Long accustomed to making supply lists, her brain automatically settled into preparation mode.
After they were finished and Dare had lugged her back up the ladder, for what she hoped was the last time, Angie sat on the mattress and unwrapped her ankle. The coffee hadn’t finished perking, damn it; while she waited for that was as good a time as any to see where they stood for the day.
Critically she examined her foot. The bruising was still there,
beginning to morph into green and yellow shades, but most of the swelling was gone. Her toes were normal. While there was still some puffiness on the outside of her ankle, she thought she’d be able to get a sock on, at least. Whether or not she’d be able to flex her foot enough to get her boot on was the big question.
Silently she picked up the thick sock and began working it onto her foot. It went up and over her ankle without a problem. Step number one, accomplished.
Dare sat down across from her and gently lifted her foot onto his lap, then picked up the elastic bandage. “You’ll need this for extra support, but I’ll wrap it so it isn’t as thick around your ankle.” He swiftly rolled the bandage up, then began wrapping it around her foot and ankle, unrolling as he went. Once it was secured, he stretched out to snag her boot, and silently offered it to her.
Carefully she worked the boot on, wiggling it back and forth instead of moving her foot; when it wouldn’t go any further without flexing her foot, she set her jaw, moved the joint as little as necessary, and her foot slid the rest of the way into the boot.
“Success!” she said, and heaved a sigh of relief. “For part of it, anyway.” She was pretty sure she could walk, even though she’d definitely need a thick, sturdy stick for support. The next question was if she could walk well enough to try trekking down a mountain, complicated by slippery footing.
“You want to try walking now, or have some coffee?”
“Coffee,” she said fervently.
“So even walking can wait until after you’ve had coffee?”
“Damn straight, cowboy, and don’t you forget it.”
After she’d been fortified by two cups of coffee and a bowl of hot oatmeal, she felt jazzed and ready to go. “Okay, let’s see how it goes.”
He got to his feet and held his hands down to her. Without hesitation, Angie placed her hands in his and he effortlessly pulled her to her feet. She balanced on her left foot until she was
fully upright, then shifted her weight until she was centered on both feet. He released her hands, and she took a step, then another. Her ankle ached, and she limped, but she could walk much better than yesterday’s hobble. She took a few more steps and felt the joint loosening even more. “It feels better than I thought it would,” she commented.
“Hiking is going to make it hurt, you know that.”
“I know. But the alternative is waiting another day, and I don’t want to do that.” There was nothing they could have done before, but now that the weather had cleared, and she could walk, if they delayed any longer and Chad escaped because of that, she’d feel guilty. She didn’t want Dare to go on by himself and he didn’t want to leave her here, so she would walk. As long as her ankle would bear her weight, she’d keep going.
With the decision made, there was no point in delay, so they set about getting ready. Dare stowed the lantern and camp stove in the storage bin, secured their trash to be taken care of on a return trip, packed away his dried food supplies. “You’ll need a walking stick,” he said, taking a small hatchet from the storage bin. “I’ll take care of that while you pack what we’ll need in case we have to spend the night on the trail.”
While he was gone, Angie completely emptied her saddlebags, then looked over their supplies and set about packing the necessities: food and water, fire steel for making a fire, trash bags they could use as tarps if needed, the sleeping bag, which she folded and rolled as tightly as possible, and tied with the attached cords.
She opened the new box of shells she’d grabbed from her tent the night of the storm and reloaded her rifle, then put the rest of the shells in the saddlebags. Her heavy coat was dry, thank goodness; with that and her sweats, she should have enough clothes to stay warm even if they did have to stop for the night. They would also have a fire, the sleeping bag, and each other for warmth—they’d be okay, not comfortable, but okay.
Dare came back up the ladder, carrying a limb that was about
five feet long and two inches thick. He’d trimmed off all the smaller branches to even the limb, except for one he’d left sticking out an inch or so, as a natural stop for her hand. “See how this fits you,” he said. She took the limb and walked up and down with it, using it for support; it was sturdy without being too heavy, and he’d cut the length with a good eye for her height. Satisfied, he dug some black electrician’s tape out of the storage bin and wrapped it around the limb where her hand fit, so the bark wouldn’t abrade the skin from her palm and fingers.
Out of curiosity, she said, “Why do you have electrician’s tape here, when there’s no electricity?”
“Because the shit sticks to everything—and you never know when you’ll need it. I’ve made a splint for a broken leg using tree limbs and electrician’s tape, I’ve repaired radiator hoses, fuel lines—you name it. It isn’t perfect, but it’ll usually get me by.” While he was talking, he was expertly loading his own rifle. “We don’t know what’s happened to Krugman or where he is. He could be ahead of us, if he didn’t drown trying to cross one of the rivers, but you never know. Someone inexperienced would probably head straight down, though. We aren’t likely to run into him, but we’ll keep an eye out, anyway. You have everything?”
“Except for what’s downstairs.”
He didn’t start naming off items, double-checking to make sure she’d packed them, simply nodded and swung the heavy saddlebags over his own shoulder before heading down. He trusted her to know what she was doing, she realized, a lump forming in her throat. Of course,
she
knew that she knew what she was doing, but it meant something that Dare took her expertise for granted.
She pulled on her coat, dropped the walking stick and sleeping bag down to him, then slung the rifle over her shoulder and went down the ladder under her own steam, which felt damn good. Her ankle was stiff, and she was careful about how she placed her foot, securing her balance and keeping a firm hold on the ladder rung just in case, but she made it down without incident.
They finished loading up: her sweats, their slickers, then they left the cabin that had been their sanctuary for the past two days and stepped out into the cold, clear morning.
Chad poked his head out of his tent, blinking at the bright sunshine. Yesterday the damn rain had finally let up, but it was too late in the day to start out, so he’d had to spend another night in this godforsaken tent. If he’d had to spend much longer listening to the rain pounding against the heavy canvas, he’d have gone fucking crazy. Some people actually liked hunting and camping, but they were idiots. The only reason he’d done it last year was because one of his clients had made such a big deal about going on a hunt, so Chad had thought he’d impress the stupid bastard and earn some brownie points, but he’d hated every minute of it.
On the other hand, he’d been smart enough to see the potential for ridding himself of a problem, and he’d been prepared. Davis had been a little quicker on the scent than he’d expected, which annoyed him, but still, if it hadn’t been for elements beyond his control, namely Angie finding that body on the mountain and deciding she had to notify the backwater cops right away, everything would have gone just the way he’d planned.
After pushing himself so hard that first day, trying and failing to get down the mountain, Chad had stopped trying to deny himself much-needed sleep. No bear had come lumbering through the camp, Angie was nowhere around—he’d been terrified, and for nothing. That was a lot of energy wasted. So he’d slept when he was tired, ate when he was hungry, drank when he was thirsty. He’d been almost bored to death, but that was all.
He was warm, dry, and fed—not
well
fed, but not starving, either. The crap he’d been eating was sustenance, but that was about all he could say for it. He’d thought a time or two about the food tied high at the cook site, out of reach of bears and other animals, but he figured if the bear was still anywhere around it would
be there, closer to what was left of Davis, so that had been enough to dissuade him from trying to get the food supply. Not only that, he didn’t want to wade through what was left of Davis; once was enough.