Fan the Flames (45 page)

And yet… Maybe it was the animal's huge size or its proximity, but the moose
was
scary. Very, very scary.

“George.” The word came out in a wheezy rasp that probably didn't carry five feet. The moose didn't look happy. The hair rose between its shoulders like a pissed-off cat, and it pinned its ears against its skull. She didn't know moose-speak, but that couldn't be good. She took a step back, and it jerked up its head, making it look even taller and more threatening.

What were you supposed to do when facing a charging moose? Run? Climb a tree? Play dead? She had no idea, and that helplessness was as terrifying as the wild animal itself. “George!” That time, her voice rose in a yelp, which probably didn't make the moose any happier.

A hand closed over her upper arm, and she almost jumped out of her skin. George moved in front of her, creating a barrier between her and the moose, and she swallowed a relieved sob. He stepped back, nudging her so she had no choice but to retreat with him.

As the moose watched, hackles still raised and ears pinned, they slowly moved away one step at a time. Once they were parallel with a larger tree, George shifted sideways, moving Ellie with him.

When the tree was between them and the moose, he turned and quietly said, “Run.”

Pivoting around, she almost tripped on her snowshoes again, but George grabbed her pack and steadied her so she didn't fall. There was a sound behind her, and she looked over her shoulder in a horror-film-cliché move she knew she'd beat herself up over later.

The moose was charging after them. Ellie yelped and faced forward, her feet moving faster than she thought they could go. Tree branches whipped across her face, but she couldn't feel the sting, couldn't feel anything except sheer terror that she and George were going to be trampled.

She ran until the air felt like a rusty blade sawing in and out of her lungs, until bile rose up in the back of her throat, and she knew that, if she didn't stop, she'd die anyway, charging moose or no. Slowing in a few faltering steps, she stopped and immediately bent over, her hands on her thighs right above her knees, and sucked in air. Oxygen was the most critical thing at the moment. Not even her safety had priority.

When she managed to straighten, she reluctantly turned, half expecting to be face-to-face with the moose. Instead, only George stood there. There was no sign of the charging animal. She looked around frantically, her panic making her illogically worried that the moose might leap out from behind a tree.

George laid his hands on her heaving shoulders. “Its charge was just a bluff. It ran at us for about ten feet and then stopped.”

“It's…gone?” she gasped, her breathing still uneven.

When he nodded, Ellie burst into tears. She felt silly for crying over a
moose
but was unable to stop her sobs. Now George looked like
he
was about to panic, so she buried her face against his chest, not wanting him to see her meltdown. The outer layer of his coat was rough against her cheek, but he felt reassuringly solid underneath it. With their packs, the embrace was awkward, made even more so by George's obvious discomfort. He patted her lightly on the upper arms, but then seemed to settle. One hand wrapped around her head, holding her face against him, while the other rested on her hip.

Her arms were tucked between them, and she realized, as her sobs turned to sniffles and hiccupping gasps, that she was squeezing two handfuls of his coat. Once the worst of the hysterics were over, she also realized how cold her wet face was.

“Sorry,” she muttered, releasing her grip on his coat. “I'm being stupid. It was just so
big
, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do.”

“It's not stupid to be scared of a moose. I'd rather encounter a bear than a moose.”

“Really?” She peered suspiciously at him, trying to see if he was pandering to her wimpiness or if he really meant it. He looked sincere, although it was hard to tell with George.

“Yeah. Bears are predictable. They don't want to be around us any more than we want to be around them. I get that. Nothing wrong with needing a little personal space. If you ever do run into a black bear, just back away slowly the way you came. Don't run, and don't climb a tree. They can outrun and outclimb you. You can talk to it in a calm voice, too. Let it know you're a person.”

George's deep-voiced monologue was soothing, easing the last of her tears. Now that she'd calmed, she puzzled at his uncharacteristic outpouring of words. He
hated
talking; why had he turned into an infomercial now? The idea that he'd done that for her, to comfort her, made her heart squeeze with gratitude.

Despite her warm and fuzzy feelings for George, though, the thought of bears still made her nervous. “What if we run into a grizzly?”

“You won't. No grizzlies around here.”

That was reassuring. She took a step back, and his hands dropped away from her. She swiped at her face with her fingers, but the nylon outer shell of her gloves didn't provide much absorption. When something soft rubbed over her cheeks, she looked up in surprise. George had pulled off his stocking hat and was using it as a handkerchief.

“I'm good.” She took another step back so she was out of reach. “Sorry. Don't get your hat all wet just because I'm being a baby.”

He actually rolled his eyes at that and followed her, getting another swipe in before she ducked.

“Really.” She sniffed and forced a smile. “I'm fine now. Put on your hat and let's go.” Glancing around, she realized that everywhere they'd been looked pretty much the same to her. She hoped nothing happened to George, or she'd be wandering the mountain until the snow melted—or she was eaten by a moose. “Did we at least run in the direction we're headed?”

As he pulled on his hat, he raised a shoulder in a gesture that Ellie interpreted as, “kind of, but not really.”

She sighed. “Well, lead on. You know where we are, though, right?” Her voice was still nasally from residual tears. When he gave her a look, she raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. “Sorry! Didn't mean to question your mountaineering skills. Just checking.”

As they started walking, George in the lead, Ellie couldn't help but look around for more potentially hungry wildlife that might jump out at them. When a rustling noise came from a tree above them, she gave a little shriek and jumped sideways, tangling her snowshoes and falling into a heap.

While George helped her back to her feet—which basically involved him lifting her off the ground—he looked like he was fighting a smile.

“What is it?” Ellie peered at the spot on the tree where the noise had originated.

“A squirrel.” He coughed into the back of his glove.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you just laugh?”

He shook his head, looking suspiciously serious.

“Liar.” She brushed off snow that still clung to her hip. “If it had been a bear, you'd have been thanking me for the warning.”

This time, his laugh boomed out before he bit off the sound.

Unable to hold her irritation, she grinned back at him. “Just turn around and keep walking, buster,” she said.

Before he did, he brushed at her pants, his hand moving over her hip and across her thigh.

“Did I miss some snow?” She twisted to look, trying to keep her pack from overbalancing her. George shot her a glance so full of joyful wickedness that she froze for a few seconds before swatting at him. “Quit copping a feel and get back to leading.”

He dodged out of reach and started walking. As she followed him, Ellie found she was wearing an enormous grin.

* * *

The smile didn't last long. When the wind picked up, it carried hard granules of snow along with it, whipping them against Ellie's face like a sandblaster.

“Ow, ow, ow,” she chanted under her breath, twisting her head to protect her face from the icy pellets. George stopped and turned her around so he could get something from her pack. Not really caring what he was digging out of there, Ellie was just happy to have her back to the stinging wind.

He pulled a fleece ring of fabric over her head, tucking it into her coat collar so it encircled her neck. Making a happy sound, she buried her chin into the fuzzy fabric and pulled it all the way over her nose. Her breath reflected off the fleece and spread over her cheeks, warming them.

Next, George fitted ski goggles over her eyes, adjusting the wide elastic band over her hat. With all her skin covered, she hardly felt the impact of the wind, and her shoulders lowered with relief.

“Want me to get yours?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the howling wind.

He shook his head and slipped off his own pack, pulling a face mask and goggles from one of the many zippered sections. When they set off again, it felt much easier, even when her breath fogged the bottom of the goggles. Although it was still early afternoon, the clouds made it feel like twilight, especially when the snow started to fall.

It took Ellie a while to realize that there were fresh snowflakes joining the existing ones the wind was whipping around her. Soon, though, her visibility was reduced so much that she could hardly see George's back five feet in front of her. A swirl of wind-driven snow hid him completely for a few seconds, and her heart thudded in panic. Hurrying forward, she grabbed a handful of his coat.

He turned his head to look at her.

“I couldn't see you,” she yelled over the wind.

“We need to make camp.”

“Okay,” she agreed, relieved. They walked another twenty minutes, though, before finding a place sheltered enough to satisfy George. By that point, Ellie was pretty sure she would've been happy just curling up in the snow. Since her face was protected from the wind, she'd been able to concentrate on just how cold her feet were. They felt like numb blocks of ice hanging off her legs, and just sheer will and the promise of stopping soon allowed her to keep moving them.

They finally stopped at a spot where a boulder and a few scrubby pines made a partial windbreak. They shed their packs and snowshoes, tucking them against the boulder. When George pulled out the shovel and started to dig, Ellie wanted to cry. Instead, she retrieved the other shovel and joined him. She decided that she'd already exceeded her quota of tears for the day.

They worked fast, not digging as deeply or as precisely as they had the previous day. The wind blew fresh snow into the spot almost as quickly as they could remove it. Finally, George grabbed the tarp, and they stretched it across the shallow indentation they'd managed.

While he worked to set up the tent, she filled the snow anchors, although she eyed them in concern. The wind was blowing so hard, she hoped they'd be enough to keep the tent secured. George gave a shout, and she moved to help him erect the tent.

He must have had the same doubts about the anchors, since he dug holes in the snow and buried them, stomping the snow down on top of them. Once Ellie saw what he was doing, she started digging holes for the other anchors, and they finished quickly.

The snow was thickening, making it hard for Ellie to see even a few feet in front of her. When they pulled the packs into the vestibule of the tent, they had to first knock off the snow that had piled on them. The shelter of the tent was welcome, but Ellie knew it was only a temporary break.

“Do we need to go hang up the food?” Her words shook along with her quivering jaw. Even with all her layers of clothing, the wind cut through to her skin.

“No. We'll take our chances.”

“Good.” Ellie pulled off her fogged goggles, catching her hat as it came off with it. After shaking off the snow, she shoved the hat back on her head. “If I walked five feet away from the tent, I don't think I could find my way back. It's like those stories of the olden days, when ranchers would tie a rope from the house to the barn during a blizzard, so they didn't get lost and freeze to death.”

“Get in your sleeping bag.”

Although a “please” would have been nice, the thought of being warm was even nicer, so she started unlacing her boots. Her blisters didn't hurt so much when her boots came off that time, mainly because she couldn't feel her feet. Her right sock pulled free with her boot, exposing her waxy white skin.

George made an unhappy sound and caught her by the ankles, rotating her like he'd done the night before. This time, though, he pulled her left sock off and then tucked both of her feet under his coat and top layers, so they were directly against his bare stomach.

They both hissed at the contact. The heat of George's skin burned against Ellie's, and she tried to withdraw her feet, but he held her firmly in place.

“Too hot,” she whimpered, although she didn't fight his hold after that first attempt.

“I know,” he said. His hands wrapped around the tops of her feet—not rubbing, but just holding—while his stomach pressed against the soles, surrounding her feet with painful fire. The burn eased to a pins-and-needles tingling, and she wiggled her toes against his belly to ease the sting.

“That must be like holding a block of ice to your stomach,” she said.

He gave an affirmative grunt, but he didn't move her feet away from his skin. “Why didn't you tell me your feet were cold?”

With a shrug, she said, “All of me was pretty cold by the end. I didn't want to whine.”

“I need to know.” He gave her a stern look. “The blisters, the cold feet, dehydration. These are serious things out here.”

“Sorry.” Ducking her head, she studied a seam on her glove. “I might be a little bit dehydrated, too.”

Keeping her feet against his belly, he rose to his knees and shuffled toward the entrance. His movement tipped Ellie onto her back and turned her ninety degrees, making her giggle.

“I feel like an upended turtle.”

He looked down at her and smiled, his eyes as warm as melted chocolate, before reaching into the vestibule to dig through his pack. His body was twisted oddly so he didn't dislodge her feet. He handed her a water bottle, a dry hat, and then a couple of stuff sacks. Tossing the same things onto his own side of the tent, along with the first-aid kit, he closed the entrance and returned to his spot across from her.

Ellie pushed back to a sitting position. Sensation had returned to her frozen feet, and the pain had faded to a radiating heat. She could feel the ridges of his ab muscles under her soles, and she had to resist the urge to explore more of his torso with her toes. Ducking her head to hide her flush, she gave herself a stern lecture on not being a perv.

“Drink.”

She opened the water bottle and took a drink. This time, when she winced, it was because of the temperature and not the nasty taste.

“Cold?” George guessed. It was, but she took another drink anyway. “I'll make tea. We won't make hot food tonight, though.”

“Bears?”

Nodding, he plucked her socks from where they'd dropped and tucked them next to her feet. The chilly knit quickly warmed. Pulling a few alcohol wipes out of the first-aid kit, he slipped them against his belly, as well. “Doubt they'll be out in this, but no reason to ask for trouble.”