“Shouldn’t we be doing something?” she asked.
“What did you have in mind?”
Her eyes looked scared, but her chin stuck out like she was ready to take on the world. He’d always admired her backbone. Never more than now.
“Is there another way out at the other end of the cave?” she asked, turning her head—and the light—in that direction.
“Not that I saw.”
“I want to look for myself.”
He realized he’d spent more time thinking and worrying than searching and said, “Sure. Let’s go.”
He was grateful that, even at six foot four, the cave ceiling was high enough for him to stand upright. Tag, who’d sprouted like a weed in high school, was a mere six inches shorter, which reminded him how well their bodies fit together in all the right places. He forced his mind away from physical pleasure and focused on survival. Once they were out of here, he could pursue a relationship with her, if she was still willing.
Except the chances of them getting together—for anything—if they were ever rescued, were nil to nothing. Grayhawks and Flynns were like oranges and jelly. They just didn’t mix.
Or rather, that had been the case in the past. Things had changed—were changing—faster than he could have imagined a year ago when he was still a happily married man.
His younger brother Connor had recently married Tag’s youngest sister, Eve. He’d thought Connor was out of his mind, even if it had been a marriage of convenience on both their parts. Connor, who was a widower, had needed someone to take care of his two-year-old son and four-year-old daughter. Eve had needed a ranch where she could keep her rescued herd of wild mustangs.
He sneered inwardly. A true marriage made in heaven. He supposed he’d gotten soured on the institution by his own experience with lifelong commitment. As far as he was concerned, enduring, lifelong love didn’t exist. Connor should have hired a babysitter. And Eve should have taken her horses somewhere out of expensive Teton County, where she could afford to support them.
“Watch your head,” Tag said as she made a left-hand turn at the far end of the cave where the ceiling was lower.
As he bent to avoid hitting his head, Brian searched the sides of the cave, this time focusing his attention on where it should have been all along, looking for any crack that might be a way in or out. He saw nothing encouraging, just a few roots growing out of the wall about shoulder height, before the ceiling tapered, over another dozen feet, all the way to the ground. He followed Tag as she dropped to her knees and kept crawling forward, until she came to the end of the cave.
She sat on her butt and turned to face him. “It ends here. There’s no way out.”
IN HER HEART of hearts, Taylor had been sure there was another way out of the cave. It was crushing to realize she’d been wrong. She clenched her hands into frustrated fists.
We’re stuck in here with no way out.
She dropped her chin to her chest. When she did, the light fell on the torn leg of Brian’s jeans and the ragged flesh beneath it.
“You’re bleeding!”
“It’s nothing.”
“It won’t be nothing when it gets infected,” Taylor retorted. Getting angry was good. Anger pushed back her debilitating fear. “I noticed a first-aid kit in your PG bag. Is there any Neosporin?” She’d used the antibacterial ointment on minor abrasions with good results.
“Should be.”
“Then let’s go.”
She followed Brian as he began crawling back in the other direction. When they reached the other end of the cave, she said, “Take off your pants.”
He shot her a sideways look, and she felt her heart flutter.
“I need to treat your leg,” she said in a voice made breathless by the suggestive gleam in his blue eyes.
“If you say so.”
“I do.” She put both hands on top of his shoulders and said, “You might as well sit down and take off your boots.”
He shrugged and sat.
As she watched him unlace and remove his steel-toed logger’s boots, Taylor realized how much broader Brian’s shoulders were than they’d been in high school. His biceps and forearms were visions of corded muscle and sinew. The back-breaking work of fighting forest fires required that sort of physical fitness, but to Taylor, Brian looked invincible. She felt her stomach sink. If someone didn’t find them, this beautiful, powerful man was going to starve to death right along with her.
Brian unbuttoned his jeans, lifted his hips, and began sliding them down. The denim got stuck at the site of the wound on his calf. He flinched and made a guttural sound. “What the hell?”
He awkwardly rearranged his rear end on the bundled-up sleeping bag and extended both legs, which were caught in his jeans, in her direction. He grunted when a piece of tattered material that must have been stuck in his wound came loose.
Taylor noticed—not that she cared—that he’d switched from the sexy, formfitting underwear that outlined his masculinity, which he’d worn in high school, to boxers. She barely restrained a gasp when she finally aimed the headlamp at Brian’s injury.
Taylor saw four distinct, surprisingly deep lines where the grizzly’s claws had raked his flesh along the side of his calf. Blood had streamed from the wounds and been soaked up by his wool sock.
She turned the lamp toward Brian, searching for the pain that should be reflected on his face. There was a hint of something amiss in his eyes, but she saw no twitch in the muscles of his jaw that suggested his teeth were clenched. “This must be hurting you. Why didn’t you say something, so this could be treated sooner?”
“When it happened, it just stung a little. I didn’t think it was that bad. I guess adrenaline kept me from feeling anything.”
“And now?”
“My leg is pounding like an Oglala drum.”
“These wounds are deep, Brian. Deep enough to need stitches.”
“Lucky me, there’s no needle in that pack,” he quipped. “My hands got callused enough to stop getting blisters, so I stopped carrying a needle to pop them.”
“You need more than a little Neosporin.” Besides the antibacterial salve, the first-aid kit contained alcohol swabs, along with gauze and tape, and a few Band-Aids. She didn’t have enough supplies to change the bandage more than once or twice. Keeping the injury clean was going to be a problem.
Taylor stared at the ugly wound. Her stomach curled in on itself at the thought of the pain she would have to cause to clean up those claw marks. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“Try rinsing it out with some bottled water. I guess it’s a good thing we don’t have to ration it.”
Taylor retrieved one of the plastic bottles and used a piece of gauze as a sterile rag, rinsing the wound as thoroughly as she could, pointedly ignoring Brian’s hisses and gasps.
“Ow!” he said, as she eased the sides of the deepest cut apart to make sure she was getting out all the dirt and debris. “That hurts!”
“I’m sorry. I need to be able to see what’s there.” To her dismay, the deepest of the four claw marks was still seeping blood. “I’m going to need to tape the skin together to get this to stop bleeding.”
“Do what you have to do,” Brian said, his hands knotted on his thighs.
Taylor cleaned her forefinger with one of the alcohol swabs, then squeezed out a line of Neosporin on her finger. She fought back nausea as she forced the edges of the deepest wound apart and daubed the Neosporin into the crevice. Then she pulled the skin together and put tape across it to hold it closed.
The other three slashes were already scabbed, but she added a layer of Neosporin on top of them as well.
“Where did you learn to play doctor?” Brian asked.
“In high school, of course.”
“I wasn’t talking about that kind of pla
ying doctor.”
She shook her head in disbelief. How could he still be joking at a time like this? She gave him a pointed look and said, “I took a basic first-aid class.”
“And you remember it all these years later?”
“I remember everything from high school.”
Too late, Taylor realized what she’d said. She refocused her gaze on the wounds she was treating and waited for Brian to make another smart remark.
When he spoke, his voice sounded gruff and surprisingly tender. “I remember everything, too.”
She lifted her head to look at him, but he squinted and turned away when the bright light hit his eyes. She lowered her gaze again and said, “I’m not sure this is the right time to dig up the past.”
“Why not? What else do we have to do?”
“High school was a long time ago. We’ve barely exchanged two words in a row in all the years since.”
“To my regret.”
She stared at him in shocked surprise, causing him to put up a hand to keep the light out of his eyes. She lowered her head again, alarmed by his confession. Her only defense against the sudden rush of regret she felt herself was denial. “Moments we shared in the past have nothing to do with our lives now.”
“Our lives now.” He hesitated, then said, “Our time together in this cave may very well be all the life we have left. Have you considered that?”
“I’d rather not.”
She raised her eyes to Brian’s face without lifting her head, so the light would stay focused on his leg. “What are we going to do, Brian? There must be some way to get a message out of here. Maybe we can dig ourselves out through the walls or the ceiling, where all those roots are hanging down. Or chop our way past that tree blocking the exit.”
“You do realize how far-fetched those options are.”
“Then what are we supposed to do? Sit here and wait to die?” Taylor heard the panic in her voice and bit her lip to keep from whimpering with despair.
Brian reached out and took her hand, threading their fingers together.
She felt the rough calluses and the comforting warmth as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
He waited until she looked at him and said, “I’m betting our families will find us.”
“Our families? You think they’ll be working together?”
He shrugged. “Why not? None of them, not your sisters or my brothers, will give up until they find us. They’ll pool their efforts because that’ll be the most efficient way to search. Not to mention the fact that, knowing our fathers, they’ll have all the resources money can buy. Don’t give up hope, Tag. I expect everyone to keep looking until they find us.”
Or our bodies, Taylor thought with a cynical twist of her mouth. “That’s all very well. But isn’t there something we can do to help ourselves?”
“We can conserve our energy, make our food last as long as we can, and be sparing with the headlamp and flashlight batteries. I have my Swiss army knife. Once I get rid of all those intruding limbs, I can chip away at the top of that charred stump and make an opening wide enough to let a little light in here.”
“Big enough so that searchers can hear us yelling for help?”
“That, too.”
Taylor pulled her hand free and reached for a piece of gauze. She laid it along the side of Brian’s leg to cover the entire wound, then taped it in place. “That’s the best I can do.”
“Feels better already.”
“You’re lying.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, I’m lying. I’m pretty sure I have ibuprofen in that bag of mine. Can you get me a couple?”
Taylor brought him the pills and handed him a bottle of water, then watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed the pills. His face was shadowed with dark beard, and she realized she hadn’t seen a razor in his pack. She supposed there wasn’t time—or the need—to shave when he was fighting fires.
She settled beside him and noticed he was folding his jeans rather than putting them back on. “You’re not going to dress?”
“I’d just have to take everything off again when we hit the sack. And I’m a little worried how that denim is going to feel against my leg.”
“What now?”
“Supper.”
The potato had been in the fire for a while, and he set the pan on the coals and added the steak, which looked like it had already been liberally sprinkled with salt and pepper.
“How do you like your steak?” he asked.
“Medium rare.”
“Works for me. I’ve only got one set of utensils, so we’ll have to share.”
“Works for me.” Taylor was surprised, when Brian forked the potato out of the fire and removed the foil, to discover that it had been pre-coated with salt and butter. He dumped it in the skillet with the steak and cut it into smaller chunks they could eat with a fork.
When the steak was done, Brian said, “I’m going to let it sit for a few minutes, so the juices will stay in the meat when I cut it.”
Taylor smiled. She supposed with all the men in the Flynn house they spent a lot of time grilling meat—and letting the juices settle. She found it charming—and heartening—to receive cooking tips from Brian. It presumed they were going to have a life outside this cave where she might need to use them in the future.
While they were waiting, Brian said, “Scoot over here. There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for you.”
She shot him a quizzical look but inched over so they were side by side.
He picked up the bottle of water she’d used to clean his wound and poured some of it onto the extra T-shirt he’d carried in his bag, then took her chin in his hand and used the cloth to dab at her face. “You look like a raccoon,” he said, smiling to temper the unflattering description. “It can’t hurt to get some of this soot off your skin.”
She hissed when he cleaned the burn on her cheek, and again, when he touched a raw spot on her forehead.
“Hand me that Neosporin,” he said.
She handed it over and sat still as he carefully dabbed some on each injury.
“There. That should do it.” He recapped the Neosporin and gave it back to her, then surveyed his work. “Oops. Missed a little soot on your chin.”
Her headlamp lit his face, so she saw the softness in his blue eyes that matched his gentle touch as he finished washing her face. She’d enjoyed too little of this sort of male attention. It felt good.
When he was done, she took the T-shirt from him and said, “Might as well clean you up, too.” She found an unsoiled spot on the shirt, poured more water, and wiped away the soot on his forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin. When she was done, she said, “Your face is full of bristles.”
He put his hands up to his cheeks. “Guess I’ll forgo the shave, since I don’t have anyone to impress.”
“And no razor to shave with,” she added wryly.
He laughed. “Ready for some steak?”
“I’m ravenous.”
“Remind me to keep my body parts away from your mouth until you’re fed.”
It took Taylor a moment to realize he was teasing her, and that his words were filled with sexual innuendo. One of the things they’d both enjoyed as teenagers was pleasuring each other with their mouths and tongues. She fought a blush and lost. Her only comfort was the realization that he probably couldn’t see her reaction in the dark. She arched a brow and said, “You can’t say you weren’t warned.”
He laughed and held out a bite of steak on the fork. “Eat, woman.”
Taylor ate.
When half the steak and half the potato were left Brian said, “I think we better save this for tomorrow.”
Taylor was still hungry, but she realized the wisdom of having something to fill her empty belly on another day.
Brian took the foil that had been on the potato and used it to cover the skillet, which contained the leftovers. He set the pan aside, then rose and said, “I’ll dig a latrine at the back of the cave.”
“Oh.” Taylor realized Brian was used to managing without facilities and was grateful that he’d made the suggestion. “I’ll go when you get back.”
When Taylor returned from her trip to the back of the cave, she saw Brian had unzipped his sleeping bag and opened it to make a double-wide bed. He’d wadded up his T-shirt and laid it on one side for a pillow, and used the PG bag as a pillow for the other side.
“You going to wear your clothes to bed?” he asked.
“I suppose not.” She leaned down to untie her hiking boots, then toed them off, setting them carefully beside the sleeping bag where she could find them in the dark, if necessary.
Then she unsnapped and unzipped her jeans. She pushed her Levi’s down and off, leaving her perfectly decent, since her chambray shirt had tails long enough to cover her bikini underwear. She didn’t want to sleep in her bra, so she began unbuttoning her shirt.
“Give me a break, Tag,” Brian said in a harsh voice. “Do that where I can’t see you.”
She glanced up and saw his gaze focused on the narrow strip of skin she’d bared, which was lit by the headlamp she was wearing. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” She buttoned the shirt back up, but unbuttoned the sleeves. Then she reached up under the back of the shirt to release the clasp on her bra and pulled the straps down through her sleeves one at a time. A moment later, the bra fell into her hand.
“How did you do that?”
“Magic,” she said with a grin. She folded the bra inside her jeans and set them beside her boots.
Brian had gathered up the parachute and said, “Lie down and I’ll cover you.”
Taylor eased herself onto the ground, lying flat so the headlamp faced the ceiling. She noticed the roots again and wondered if the fact that she could see them meant that the layer of dirt over their heads wasn’t very deep. Maybe they could claw their way out.
What if you start digging, and the whole cave collapses on top of you?
Surrender: A Bitter Creek Novel Page 5
