She gave a moan of protest. “Snow was not in my plan, not today.”
“You still want a kiss on that upper ledge, let’s go.”
“Don’t get bossy, mister. I’m running this show.”
He gave her his best look of infinite patience. “The upper ledge? Or not?”
“The upper ledge. Definitely.”
It took only a minute to get up there. He went first and she gave him her hand. He pulled her onto the ledge. She eased her pack off her shoulders and set it away from the edge.
He took his off, too, and put it down next to hers.
Then he took her into his arms.
* * *
Rory gazed up at him, watched the snowflakes catching on his eyebrows. They caught on her eyelashes, too, sharply cold. And on her lips. She licked one off. Delicious.
What a great moment. They stood right next to the frozen falls, so close that there were fat icicles hanging from the jut of rock above them and ice, like a froth of lace, on the cliff face to either side.
She confessed happily, “I never thought this would happen, you and me, here again together—only this time, really together.”
His fine mouth quirked in the start of a smile. And then he grew more serious. “God. You are beautiful. And yeah. It’s good, to be here like this with you.”
The wind came up then, icy cold, whistling as it swirled against the rocky cliffside. The thickening snowflakes spun around them. His straight, manly nose was red and his eyes were so blue.
And like an echo on the whistling wind, she heard her mother’s voice.
“I’m so happy, my darling, to see you finally getting your heart’s desire...”
And it was like a switch tripping, snapping her out of self-imposed darkness and into the blinding light of pure truth. She couldn’t stop herself from knowing, couldn’t deny the basic longing in her heart for one second more.
She loved him. She was in love with Walker.
He must have caught some hint of the sudden chaos within her. He frowned. “Rory, what? What’s the matter?”
Oh, she did long to tell him. But how would he take it? After the debacle of Denise, the L word was the scariest one of all for him.
What if he freaked?
“Rory.” He searched her face, looking for clues to what was happening inside her. “What...?”
And she pulled it together, sliding her arms up to encircle his neck. “There’s nothing.” She gave a little laugh, just to show him that this was not the least serious, just more lovely fun and games between two very good friends-become-lovers. “Kiss me.”
And right then, as she let her eyes drift closed and he lowered his mouth to hers, there was the strangest crack of sound, like a pistol shot.
She opened her eyes and glanced up just in time to see a large chunk of ice as it hurtled downward onto her head.
Chapter Eleven
Everything happened in a blur.
She ducked back to try to avoid getting hit on the top of her head, but only succeeded in taking the blow on the forehead instead. That hurt. And the tipping backward? Maybe not so smart. She lost her balance and toppled off the ledge.
Or she would have, if Walker hadn’t grabbed her and pulled her back just in time. There was this stunned, numb moment. She gaped up at him, whispered, “Oops.”
About then, shock kind of took over. She felt herself crumpling and closed her eyes with a groan.
A second or two later, when she opened them again, she was still on the ledge, but out from under the overhang. Walker had come down with her. She had her head on his knees and he was bending over her, taking off his heavy gloves. “Rory. Can you hear me?”
She blinked up at him. “Wha...?” Her head stung and throbbed simultaneously. She reached up to touch it.
He caught her gloved hand before she could. “There’s blood. It’s messy. Plus, we want to avoid contaminating the wound.” He guided her hand back down and she let him do it. “I’ve got a first aid kit in my pack,” he said, his voice so calm and slow. “But before that, I need to know, do you know what happened to you?”
She blinked up at him. Now that he’d mentioned it, she could feel the warmth of the blood, dripping down her temples into her cap and her hair. The snow was getting thicker, the flakes churning out of the cloud-darkened sky.
“Rory? You with me?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. And I get it. You want to know if I know what happened because you’re checking for signs of a concussion.”
He almost smiled then. The white lines of strain around his mouth eased a little. He reached for his pack, pulled it next to them and unzipped a compartment. “So. You remember?”
“You were just about to kiss me. I heard a loud crack. And I saw this giant icicle coming down.”
“Got you right on the forehead.”
“I noticed. Believe me.” And not only was she on her back and bleeding, she hadn’t got her kiss. She’d really, really wanted that kiss.
And no pictures, either. What a bust.
He eased off her wool cap and carefully brushed her hair away from her face. Then he took out the kit and unzipped it. He cleaned his hands with an antiseptic towelette. Then he went to work cleaning her. His touch was swift and gentle as he began dressing the wound, using those little strips to close the edges. He kept up with the questions as he opened the bandages. “Do you feel sick to your stomach, or nauseated?”
“No. Really. I’m okay—I mean, my head hurts. But isn’t that to be expected?”
“Foggy thoughts?”
“None. All my thoughts are crystal clear.”
“Woozy?”
“I swear, Walker. I’m fine—well, other than the gash on my head and the blood in my hair and the kiss and the pictures I’m unlikely to get now. All that’s not so great.”
“There.” He slipped the bloody wipes and gauze into a baggie, stuffed it in his pack and closed up the kit.
“Done, then?”
“Bandaging you? Yes.”
“Help me up.”
“Wait. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
“You know that you’re beginning to sound like somebody’s psychiatrist, right?”
He actually grinned then. “Sense of humor. Excellent sign.”
She shivered a little. The snow swirled around them. “Give me my hat back. My ears are getting cold.”
“It’s a little bloody.”
“Better than nothing.”
“Hold still, then.” Carefully, cradling her head in his big, soothing hand, he eased the hat on. “There. Now look directly up at me.” She blew out a slow breath, blinked away a random snowflake and stared into his eyes. He leaned in closer. “Your pupils seem fine.” Reaching in the pack again, he pulled out his sat phone.
She caught his hand before he could use it. “You’re overreacting.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“I’m okay, Walker. And I’m the one in the best position to know that.”
“You’re flat on your back with a gash on your head.”
“Gash, yes. Flat on my back...” She popped to a sitting position. “No.”
“Whoa.” He tried to ease her back down.
She slapped his hands away. “See?” She gestured dramatically with a wide sweep of both arms. “Not dizzy. Clearheaded. A-okay.”
“Head trauma is nothing to fool with.” He pulled out the phone’s antenna.
She caught his hand again. “I can climb down this waterfall and I can hike to wherever we need to go. It’s an easy walk back to the ranch. There’s no big danger here. And if you call for help, then what? We wait here until they mobilize? How long will that take? How much will it cost?”
“Why a
re you worried about the cost?”
“Because I’m not some idiot who gets in trouble in the forest and just whips out a phone to summon the troops. It’s wasteful and irresponsible and I will not do it if it’s not needed.”
He had that look, as if he really wouldn’t mind strangling her. “Yes, Your Highness,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“Thank you.” The snow just kept coming down harder. “Let’s get started before the storm gets any worse.”
He clasped her shoulder through her thick down jacket. “Rory. Seriously? You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, Walker. I honestly do know how I feel. And I’m okay. Plus, what do you know, I have the captain of the Justice Creek search-and-rescue team right here beside me—to patch me up and help me through any rough spots.”
He scowled at her. “You do seem in complete control of your faculties—and as bossy as ever.”
“So, then. May we go?”
He grumbled about her princess voice and then made her promise that if she felt the least bit dizzy, disoriented or sick to her stomach, she would cop to it immediately. Then he put his gloves back on, put the phone in a pocket of his jacket and helped her to her feet.
More solicitous questioning. Was she dizzy now? Did she feel the least bit unsteady? What about her stomach? Did she think she might vomit?
As the snow began to collect on the trees and the cliff ledges, she reassured him yet again. Yes, the cut on her forehead stung a little and there was a slight ache from the icicle blow, but she felt strong and capable. “Now, let’s go.”
They shouldered their packs. He descended to the lower ledge first and then waited as she came down, ready to catch her if she fell.
She did not.
They proceeded to the base of the falls without incident and then began climbing back down the ravine.
When they got to the trail, he insisted on yet another discussion of her mental state and level of pain. She knew he was worried and just being careful, so she suppressed her impatience and honestly answered every one of his questions.
They set out again, with her in the lead. That way he could watch her for any sign she wasn’t as fit as she kept insisting she was. Both times, he called a halt when they reached the creek crossings and took the lead, then waited on the other side as she came to him. Then he put her in the lead again.
She kept a lid on her irritation at all his coddling. After all, he was just trying to watch out for her. But she really did know her own body and mind. Yeah, the cut on her forehead throbbed a little, but it was definitely bearable.
The real problem was the snow. It was piling up fast on the trail, the wind getting stronger, actually approaching blizzard conditions. How could the weather services have got it so wrong?
They forged on, heads bent to the wind.
It wasn’t too long before they entered the aspen grove. The storm had reached pretty close to whiteout level by then. She wasn’t surprised when he stopped her and pointed to the west, into the pines, off the trail.
“The cabin?” she shouted against the wind.
He nodded. “I’ll lead! It’s not far! Put a hand on my shoulder. Follow close!”
She moved in behind him and did as he instructed. Now he would know that she remained upright and moving—and they wouldn’t get separated, even if they couldn’t see three feet in front of their faces.
He led her off the trail, where the new snow formed a thickening blanket over the old. It was a hard slog, every step an effort, with the blowing snow in their faces and the foot and a half of it already piled up on the ground.
The going got a little easier when they reached the pines. The thick layers of branches overhead slowed the wind and trapped the snow. He came to a trail and they followed it—not far. A couple hundred feet. And then, at last, the cabin loomed before them, a red-roofed shadow, rising out of the storm.
It was small, probably only one room inside, with shutters blocking the two windows flanking the door. No porch to speak of, just an overhang of tin roof above the entrance. Two rough steps led up to the door. He took her right to the door and up the steps, then turned and clasped her shoulders, guiding her in under the overhang, where she was somewhat protected from the storm. About then she noticed the padlock on the door.
Snow crusted his eyelashes beneath the fur trim of his trapper hat. His eyes were bluer than ever beneath the rim of white and full of concern for her. “Okay?”
“Doing great.”
“We used to leave the place open, but it was vandalized twice. So we lock it up. There’s a key hidden around back. Wait here.” He left her.
She huddled in the doorway, shivering a little, hoping he would come back fast and leave her no time to stand there and worry that he might somehow get lost while he was out of her sight—a ridiculous fear, and she knew it. The man was a wilderness expert and these woods were his home.
Two minutes—three, max—and he appeared from around the side of the building, forging through the thickening blanket of snow. He came up the stairs. She scooted over a little so he could get to the padlock and open the door.
She went in first. He hooked the padlock back on the hasp, came in behind her and shut the door.
It was just as cold in there as it had been outside, but minus the wind and the snow. Also, with the windows covered, she couldn’t see a thing.
He came and slid her pack off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor. “Come on. Sit down here...” He guided her backward to a rocking chair.
She wanted to argue that she could help with whatever needed doing. But then she kept remembering that worried look on his face when he left her for the key. This was his cabin. He would know what to do. Better if she just sat down and let him do it, let him get a fire going in that woodstove she’d spotted briefly before he shut the door.
The rocking chair creaked as Rory eased herself down onto the button-tucked pillow.
He came down with her, putting his big hands on the chair arms. She felt his warm breath across her cold face. “Okay?”
“Absolutely.”
His mouth brushed hers, so sweetly. Too briefly.
I love you, Walker. The words like a promise inside her head. You are my heart’s desire.
“You’re being much too agreeable,” he said.
She actually chuckled, holding her love gleefully inside herself, so precious, brand-new. “Don’t expect that to last.”
* * *
A half an hour later, they had a fire in the stove and Walker had taken down the shutters. From the spring out back, he’d filled a big pan and a heavy teapot and put them on the stovetop to boil. He even had a pair of kerosene lanterns stored there at the cabin and several bottles of fuel, so if they had to stay the night, there would be light.
They sat in the two ladder-back chairs at the battered gateleg table together eating some of the lunch they’d brought. There were three sandwiches, apples, granola bars, bottled water and a big plastic bag of trail mix. Right now, they were sharing a chicken sandwich and munching on the apples. The rest, they were saving. Just in case they were stuck at the cabin for a day or two more.
“Definitely basic,” she said, glancing around at the stove and the ancient horsehair sofa, the rocker, the little section of counter, the sink with a drain but no faucet. Rows of open shelves were stacked with a few mismatched dishes, bowls and scratched glassware.
On a side wall, stairs climbed to a sleeping loft. And a second door at the back led directly into an attached woodshed and storage area, with a second door to the outside beyond that.
He glanced at his watch, which was the same cheap and trusty Timex Expedition he’d been wearing the day she first met him, more than seven years ago now. “It’s a little past two. Looks like we’re going to be staying the night. I�
��m hoping the storm will blow over by tomorrow. Guessing we’ll get a couple feet of snow, at least. I can call Bud and he’ll bring us some snowshoes when the storm ends.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Her forehead throbbed, a minor ache, but irritating. Instinctively, she lifted a hand to touch the bandage—but stopped herself in time.
Twin lines formed between his straight brows. “Is it hurting?”
“A little—but I swear to you, Walker. No dizziness, foggy thinking or urge to vomit.”
“I have acetaminophen you can take.”
“Later. I’m fine.” There was a mirror on one of the shelves over the sink. She’d dared to look in it once he got the shutters off the windows. Not pretty. A white bandage with now-dried blood seeping through it covered most of her forehead. Purple bruises had inched into her eyebrows below the bandage, and she had a definite suspicion that by tomorrow, she would be sporting a matched pair of black eyes.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “It’s my damn fault.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I should have paid attention to that ice on the ledge above us.” His wonderful mouth twisted. “We shouldn’t have been standing right under it. But I was too wrapped up in kissing you...”
“And I was all wrapped up in kissing you. And that is exactly what we should have been doing. Because when you kiss someone, the kiss is all you should be thinking about. Otherwise, why even bother?”
“I should have been looking out for you.”
“Walker, stop it. I mean it.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Oh, please. It was one of those things that happen, that’s all. Like locking your keys in the house or a sudden, unexpected snowstorm. Crap happens. You deal with it. Which is exactly what we are doing now.” She glanced around again, at the funky sofa and the stairs leading up to the sleeping loft. “Besides, it’s kind of romantic. Stranded together in a snowstorm, just the two of us.” She put on her best sex-kitten purr. “You can change my bandage for me. And when the water gets hot, I’ll give you a sponge bath.”
A Bravo Christmas Wedding Page 15
