by Jess Bentley
“Feel better yet?”
I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say. But strangely, I do have a little more energy like he said I would. I flex my leg muscles, cautiously working different parts of my body to see that they’re all still attached. Everything seems more or less normal, until I get to my left ankle. Trying to flex my toes sends shooting pain up my leg.
“You sprained your ankle pretty badly. You’re lucky that’s all you did.”
I don’t acknowledge his answer. After running through all my body parts again, I’m fairly certain he’s right, though. I’m sore everywhere, but that might be from skiing and falling down a hill. Only the left ankle seems to actually be injured.
Which makes escape temporarily impossible.
Finally I open my eyes, daring to stare back at him. His nostrils flare with every breath, and his eyes are steely, determined. Is this the kind of man who would assault me? You never know. You can’t just tell by looking. I don’t feel assaulted, but then again, I don’t know what happened exactly, now do I?
“So, you are feeling better,” he growls, mostly to himself. “I told you that you would. All I did was give you a mild sedative and some Tylenol so I could wrap your ankle. You’ve got a fever. You probably just have a cold.”
“I don’t have a cold,” I retort before I think about it too long. It just seems so dismissive, so insulting. I practically fell off a cliff!
“Well, you definitely have a fever,” he shoots back as he stands up and walks away, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floorboards. “Could be from the sprain, I guess. Or maybe you have internal bleeding and you’re about to die. Maybe you have shock. Do you think you have shock?”
“How would I know what I have? You seem to be the expert,” I snarl, surprising myself. Why am I even talking to this crazy person?
“Well, you found me, so you must know something,” he challenges me, turning back around. He really is almost as wide as a door. Truly huge. He could probably break me in half, and yet I suddenly have the urge to do battle with this guy. Who does he think he is, insulting me like this?
While I’m practically naked?
“Found you… I didn’t find you,” I object. “You just said that you found me, didn’t you? Want to try to get your story straight?”
“Oh, are you going to act like this is all some kind of a big mistake? Like you just happened to fall off a cliff and land in the middle of my property? Is that what you’re telling me?” he barks out, his voice quaking.
Shifting, I manage to sit up a little bit. The room threatens to tilt sideways but then settles down and lets me look at it. It really is a cabin, but well lit and clean. Along one wall there are an array of monitors, like security screens. They’re all dark, for now.
“Actually, that’s exactly what happened. We were just skiing. I just sort of… wandered off the trail. If you could just get me back to—”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
I feel my eyebrows go up despite the fact that my head is pulsing like a cartoon character.
“What is that supposed to mean? I’m not going anywhere?”
“Your left ankle is sprained. We just got five feet of snow, with three more coming. If you head out the door, you will make it about twenty feet in any direction before getting buried alive.”
“Oh,” I sigh, wiggling my ankle again and feeling that he is, in fact, totally correct. About that part at least.
“Which is the only thing that makes your story halfway believable,” he adds, running his hand over his beard thoughtfully. “Because if you had actually been looking for me, I can’t believe you’d be so stupid as to sashay out in a blizzard wearing this stupid thing.”
He picks my pink nylon jacket up off the clothesline with his fingertips, shaking it gently. Compared to the howling of the wind outside, it does seem comically lightweight.
“So… my ski jacket makes you believe that I’m really… a skier?” I croak out, trying to sound sarcastic but sounding sort of pathetic instead.
“Not exactly,” he smirks, his voice softening slightly. “Your ski jacket makes me think you are legitimately stupid.”
I want to object, but the way he’s talking, being stupid is his best-case scenario. He’s actually rooting for that outcome, and so I guess I should let him think that’s exactly what I am.
Something about all of this sets off my journalistic instincts. Obviously, he is surprised I’m here. He’s cautious and suspicious, but apparently not one hundred percent maniac. He could have done anything to me while I was sleeping, but instead he wrapped my sprained ankle and gave me Tylenol. It certainly doesn’t feel like I’ve been beaten or taken advantage of, or anything like that.
Moving in front of the window, he stretches his arms over his head, arching his back. I can’t help but notice the massive size of his frame, the way those work pants hang off his narrow hips, the bulk of his thighs. This is someone who’s accustomed to hard work, and a lot of it. A real mountain man? Wood-chopping and hunting and everything?
Apparently scooping damsels out of distress, at the very least.
But the comparison to that of Grizzly Adams’s physique with this array of security technology on one of the walls is striking to me. I guess he really did want to be alone. That doesn’t seem to be an act.
“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to intrude,” I mumble, relaxing against the blanket again. The heat of the fireplace seeps through, warming my sore muscles.
He doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window for a few minutes. I can see the ripples of his muscles underneath the tight, cotton knit shirt that covers his broad shoulders. He seems so sturdy, so totally unlike the other men I’ve been running into. I bet he could push Chad right off the mountain without even trying.
“You should get some rest,” he finally growls, then stomps out of the room to some other part of the cabin. I want to object, but my body has already decided that he is right and I find myself slipping, slipping, into a dark and dreamless place.
Chapter 7
Jake
For the fifteenth time, I pick the blanket up off the floorboards and drape it back over her sleeping body. Is she doing this to me on purpose? Every few minutes, she kicks at it, supposedly in her sleep, revealing her soft, white, pale skin. Nearly all of it.
I would dress her again in her ski clothes if I thought she would sleep through it.
But she’s just barely dozing. Her body has gone into a protective mode, forcing itself to heal by shutting down everything else. I can just imagine that ligament in her ankle with the swelling around it as a small army reinforcing its battlements. The inflammation keeps the tender parts safe while her body seeks to repair itself. It’s really an amazing process, I think.
The sedative has long worn off, so her sleep now is just a protective response. The last time that I dared press my palm against her forehead, she wasn’t even hot anymore. I reached out slowly, so as not to startle her, crouching beside the cot. Strangely nervous, I listened to her breathing for a while to make sure she really was dozing before holding my hand over her face. It seemed as though I could feel her before I even touched her. Like there was an electric current running between us, connecting us. When my skin brushed against hers, I felt something almost like relief, like two magnets finally snapping together.
She shifted slightly, almost nuzzling against my hand, making soft animal mewling noises. But she didn’t wake up. And I was happy to note that she wasn’t feverish.
That’s good.
But now what am I supposed to do? The snow seems to be tapering off. All through the night the winds howled. I could hear the tree branches crashing against each other high above us. Periodically one of the security monitors would flicker on, displaying nothing more than infrared pictures of underbrush tossed in the wind, with the occasional darting form of wildlife.
Which means that she really did come alone.
At first I thought someone would come
looking for her. If she had sought me out on her own, she probably would have been more of the outdoorsy type. She looks like one of those Sacramento girls who just comes up to Tahoe to swim in the lake or ski among the other beautiful people. She’s not suited for really hiking up and down the mountains, looking for me.
In that way, her story about a skiing mishap holds water. But why here? A dilettante skier wouldn’t come all the way out to the side of the lake, certainly not to this trail. It would take somebody who really knew their way around to even get close.
Was she with someone else? Maybe she broke off from a group?
But with the storm, if anybody came looking for her they would have been turned back within hours. The squall came up suddenly, though the weather service had been warning us about it all morning.
Like so many other times the question is: stupid or ingenious? Evil plot or simple twist of fate?
I guess I’ll have to wait until she wakes up to try asking her again.
I’m barely settled again in my easy chair when she twists, shifting to turn over and then wincing against her ankle in her sleep again, finally kicking the blanket to the floor. It falls in a heap with a soft whooshing noise and she lets her knees fall open in her sleep, her body completely relaxed, unaware of my presence.
I swallow, hard.
I need to get her dressed.
Throwing one arm up over her head, she sighs again and stretches. The tiny triangles of fabric that cover her swelling breasts are dislodged, revealing candy-pink areolas. The skin is so soft, not taut as it would be under my fingers if I were teasing her, stimulating her with my touch. Instead, her nipples are smooth, like a rose petal. Utterly relaxed.
My mouth begins to water as I imagine the way her skin would change, the way the color would darken. I bet she’s very sensitive. With her auburn hair and fair skin, she looks like she would be trembling under my hands, delicate as a porcelain doll. Begging me to handle every bit of her.
And I really would like to. It’s been so long—years, in fact—since I held a woman in my arms. Generally I try not to even think about it. There’s just so much danger that comes along with any kind of entanglement, it doesn’t seem worth it.
Right?
Yeah, I should definitely keep telling myself that.
But here she is, right in front of me. Diabolical plot or stroke of luck? Auburn… My favorite. Green-eyed, if I’m remembering right. Freckled. I’ll bet she’s a knockout in an evening dress. And mouthy, too. I know I was gruff with her, and I sort of like that smart mouth that talked back to me with such attitude. I’ll take a sassy broad over some shrinking violet any day of the week…
Who am I kidding? I’m not taking her anywhere.
“Jesus, this is stupid.”
“What did you say?”
Startled, I look up to see that she’s propped herself up on her elbows and is staring at me. There’s a neat line between her eyebrows where she’s scowling. Her bra is still askew, with her nipples still peeking out at me. I force myself not to look at them.
“You’re awake.”
“I feel like shit. Did you drug me?”
“No, I told you. You sprained your ankle. Your body just wants to sleep and heal.”
“Tell me the truth,” she insists.
“Why wouldn’t I tell you the truth?” I answer immediately. “As far as I know, you’re not worth lying to.”
She tips her head back as though surprised by my answer. “Okay, that’s a new one.”
Standing, I try to keep my eyes averted and pluck the blanket up off the floor, ready to throw it over her again. But she swings her legs to the side, gingerly setting her right toes on the floor, then her left heel.
“You got a bathroom in this place?”
“Yeah… Let me help you.”
She lets me wrap my arm under her arms, and I practically can carry her entire rib cage in just the crook of my right arm. She such a tiny thing. Tentatively she tries out walking but I end up just carrying her most of the way to the small bathroom in the corner of the cabin.
“The pipes are heated,” I explain. “There’s water even when the weather is at its worst. You can even take a shower if you want, I guess. We’re probably going to be here for a while yet.”
She glances up at me, blinking. Though I can see the veneer of cagey mistrust, there’s something tender and trusting just below that. She’s not naturally bitchy. She’s just a little wounded, like an animal that’s been mistreated but is still worth saving.
“A while?” she repeats. “How long is a while?”
Pulling a towel from the small closet, I make a mental calculation.
“Well, the snow is done, at least for now. But your ankle will probably take a couple of weeks to heal. Unless I carry you, or someone comes to get you, you’re looking at... weeks.”
Her eyes are wide with disbelief. A flush creeps up her cheeks, illuminating her freckles.
“Weeks? Are you kidding me? I can’t be here for weeks! You can’t keep me here!”
What was I expecting, gratitude? Shit. I just offered to take care of her stupid gimpy ass, and this is the attitude I’m getting?
“Keep you here? I didn’t even invite you here! You’re lucky I don’t toss your ass back out in the snow!”
Her mouth opens and closes helplessly as she tries to think of something to say, but I don’t want to hear it. I just close the door and leave her there, hoping maybe a shower will settle her thoughts.
I don’t know what she’s doing in there, but I hope it’s getting a better attitude. I find myself pacing the floor, though it’s only four steps from corner to corner. I spent last night sleeping in a chair for this woman. Does she even realize that? I watched her body, making sure she didn’t go into shock from some kind of internal injury or something. I brought her into my cabin… For all intents and purposes my secret lair… And she’s going to complain?
But then again, she’s got a point. I can’t just abduct her. Even though she’s legally trespassing, I can’t keep her against her will. I’m sure the outside world hasn’t changed so much that they look past kidnapping if the woman was asking for it, more or less.
I need to get her back to wherever she came from, without letting her know who I am, where she was, or how to get back here. I need to get her to promise, maybe legally agree?
The sound of the shower is faint but steady, and I suppose she’s probably still trying to figure out how to stand there on her good foot and get clean. Checking over my shoulder to make sure the door is still closed, I retrieve a cell phone from the desk and press the power button to turn it back on. It’s been nice spending a few days incommunicado, but I suppose this qualifies as an emergency.
“Oh, look who’s calling, it’s the old man on the mountain,” comes Carty’s sarcastic voice when the call connects. “Are you done playing Paul Bunyan yet?”
“Oh, give it a rest,” I sigh, instantly irritated. Looks like I didn’t get to spend quite enough time away from him after all.
“We didn’t figure we’d be hearing from you for another couple of days,” he continues. “With the storm and everything, we figured you’d be recreating the Donner party experience, maybe go all the way to cannibalism. You giving up so soon?”
“Yeah, listen…”
“I know how you love authentic experiences,” Carty continues, sneering. I wish I could reach through the phone and punch him in the ear.
“Carty, would you just listen to me? We have a problem. We have… What do I call it? A situation.”
I hear a hiccup on the other side of the line, and imagine him sitting up straight and running his fingers through his beard to organize it. Carty still has some sense of corporate propriety about him, after all.
“All right. Explain, please.”
“There’s been a breach.”
“I see,” he says slowly. “Animal or human?”
“Do you think I would call you if it was an animal?”<
br />
“No, I guess not,” he chuckles. “If it was an animal, you’d probably have already mounted the head and turned the rest into sausage, right? Steaks for everybody!”
“Exactly.”
“So what have we got here, brother?”
I shrug, trying to piece it back together. If I just tell him I’ve got a beautiful redhead naked in the cabin, he’s going to be distracted. I need to explain this very cautiously.
“It’s probably nothing,” I begin. “A lost skier. Injured. I wrapped her ankle, just a sprain. She’ll be fine, but…”
“Jesus, Jake,” Carty says softly. “She can’t know we’re here. Who is she?”
“I don’t know. Skier, like I said.”
“Yeah, hold on,” he mumbles, distracted. His voice recedes, then comes back. “Does she look like a Lola to you?”
“Um, I guess?” I shrug. Lola is as good a name as any for a tall, leggy redhead, I suppose.
“Well, fuck, Jake… she’s a journalist. Reported missing by her friends…. Says here they’re sending out a search party tomorrow. You gotta get out of there.”
“A journalist? Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think she—”
“How the hell would I know?” he grunts. “Do you mean you didn’t even find out what she’s doing there? Did you bother to ask or have you been—”
“—you know I haven’t!”
“Damn right you haven’t!” he roars. I can see him in my mind’s eye, pacing across the study in front of the huge windows. We can see everything from that view, practically half the lake. But apparently he didn’t see this.
“All right, we just need to get this sorted,” he finally growls. “Still a good chance she’s just a bimbo who got lost. It’s up to you, I guess. You’re in charge. So, what the hell are you gonna do with her?”
“Well, I can’t just let her go…”
“Why the hell not?” comes a sharp voice behind me.
