Fan the Flames (46 page)

“I don't mind. I'd take trail mix over that nasty food-in-a-pouch any day.”

He just smiled at that, something that seemed to be happening more and more. She wondered if she'd caused his increased happiness and was unable to hold back a grin of her own at the thought. It was strange how connected she felt with this large, taciturn man whom she'd only known for a few days. Ellie wondered if it was just because she was depending on him to stay warm and fed and safe. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she dismissed it, knowing that she would've felt the same way about George if they'd met in the safety of a Chicago smoothie shop.

“Ready?”

Before she could ask him what she should be ready for, he uncovered her feet. The cold air wrapped around them, making her shiver. Instead of the sickly white from earlier, they were now a bright pink. He pulled off the bloodied Band-Aids and examined the blistered spots and her toes carefully.

“Am I frostbitten?” she asked, leaning closer so she could see.

“No.” George still turned a glower on her. “Tell me next time your feet get cold.” He gave them a little shake for emphasis.

“I will.” She sat back, leaning on her hands, as he pulled out an alcohol wipe and tore open the package. “I just don't want to be whiny.”

“Tell me once. If you tell me over and over again, then you're whiny.”

She laughed and then sucked in a breath as he cleaned her blisters with the alcohol wipe. He was just as quick—and just as merciless—as the previous night. When he pulled on her socks, warm from his body, he was frowning.

“The blisters are worse.” Instead of returning her feet to her, he kept them in his lap, rubbing them absently. It felt wonderful, so she didn't complain.

“Sorry?” She held in a groan of delight when he massaged the arch of her foot.

“Not your fault.”

“There isn't much to do about it, though, is there?”

“You have any thin socks?”

“Mmm…” The foot rub was stealing all her attention, and she had to force herself to focus on his question. “Think so. I'll have to check my pack.”

“Wear those under the wool ones.”

“Mm-kay.” Seriously, his hands were magical. When he returned her feet to her, she swallowed a disappointed sigh. Without his warm touch, they quickly grew cold, and she started stripping down to her long underwear. After her struggle undressing the night before, she decided to just do it fast and then hop into her sleeping bag.

It wasn't until she was zipping herself in that she caught sight of the look on George's face and realized she'd just given him a strip show. It was a show that ended with her in her long underwear, but still. Her face reddened as she concentrated on her sleeping-bag zipper. She pulled it most of the way up, but left the hood down and drew the top around her shoulders. When she fished the avalanche transceiver out of her bra, she heard George suck in a breath.

He stayed frozen for another long moment before he shook himself and headed for the packs.

It felt almost decadent to huddle in her sleeping bag as George made them tea and fed them trail mix, a granola bar, and venison jerky. He also stowed her water bottles and boots in their stuff sacks and handed them to her to tuck into the bottom of her sleeping bag. There was indeed a pair of thinner socks in her pack, which joined her gloves inside her bedroll, as well.

Only after all their gear was stowed, and she was fed and sipping tea, did George crawl into his own sleeping bag.

“Do you have a pack of cards?” she asked, pretending not to watch as he stripped off his outer layers. He shook his head. “Monopoly? Checkers?” Both received another head shake and the beginnings of a smile. “I'd suggest charades, but that would involve leaving the sleeping bag, and that's not going to happen.”

He zipped himself into his own bag, and she stifled a sigh. The show was over.

“We could play ‘Never Have I Ever…'”

His quizzical eyebrows made it clear he didn't know what that was.

“That's okay. It's a drinking game, and I don't think it'd be the same with tea.” Shooting him a teasing smile over the top of her cup, she added, “Since you refused to bring vodka, we'll have to wait for the Saint Bernard with the flask around his neck to arrive.” Taking a sip of her hot drink, she thought for a moment. “I know! Thumb wars!”

His eyebrows were knitted in confusion again.

“I'll show you.” She pushed herself into a seated position, taking care not to spill any of her tea as she shifted the mug to her left hand. Even without being spiked with something alcoholic, the warmth felt really good going down. She reached out her right hand, fingers curled loosely and thumb pointing to the tent ceiling.

Instead of meeting her hand with his, George just looked at her face, then at her hand, and back at her face again.

Ellie rolled her eyes. It was like trying to play games with an alien. “Hold your hand like this.”

After a long hesitation, he held out his arm, mimicking her hand position. She curled her fingers into his, marveling at how small hers looked next to his mammoth hand. She shivered at the contact , but not because her arm was out of the warmth of her sleeping bag. The way he was watching her, with his eyes narrowed and focused, made her blush and drop her eyes to their locked hands.

“Okay.” Her voice was a little higher than normal, and she hoped he didn't notice. “The goal is to hold the other person's thumb down for four seconds. No using your other hand to help.” Not that he was going to need any help to obliterate her in a thumb war. She eyed their hands again. This was going to be a David and Goliath kind of battle. “We start out by saying one, two, three, four”—she moved her thumb from side to side with each word—“I declare a thumb war!”

Her thumb pounced, latching around his and pressing it down as she counted to four. He allowed it, still watching her with an unreadable expression.

She frowned at him. “Okay, no pacifists allowed. You need to go after my thumb, or at least do some evasive maneuvers. Got it?” Ellie waited until he eventually nodded. “Let's go again.”

After chanting the preliminary words, she pinned his thumb again.

“George.” Her hands would've been on her hips if that had been possible while wrapped in a mummy bag with one hand trapped in the grip of a quiet lumberjack and the other one clutching a cup of tea. “You need to put some effort into it.”

This time, she eyed him militantly as she counted off the numbers. When she stretched her thumb toward his, he moved it to the side.

“Yes! Now we're playing!”

Although he dodged, he still let her win too easily.

“Try to hold my thumb down this time,” she said as they launched another war. Hers darted forward, but he mashed his giant thumb on top of hers and flattened it.

“One…”

Laughing, Ellie tried to free her thumb, to no avail.

“Two…”

Holding out her mug so it didn't slosh tea over her lap, she twisted her arm from the shoulder, trying to escape his hold.

“Three…”

If her left hand was free, she could've cheated and used it to pry up George's thumb, rules be damned. Ellie wasn't about to sacrifice her tea, though, so she impulsively went for one of the other avenues open to her.

Without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth.

Her giggles stopped as soon as their lips touched. What had started as a teasing move instantly turned serious. They both froze in place, thumbs still overlapped, mouths barely pressed together. Despite the light contact, her lips tingled and burned, as if he'd brought them back from the edge of frostbite. Heat rushed through her, making her flush and swallow the urge to press her mouth harder against his. It felt like forever before Ellie, eyes wide, managed to sit back, breaking the contact. George stared at her.

“Uh…sorry.” She wasn't really sorry, though. As brief and light as it was, it had been nice. Really nice. Want-to-repeat-it-very-soon nice. “I was trying to cheat.”

He continued to stare until she dropped her gaze to study their still-locked thumbs.

“Four.”

The low-spoken word brought up her head, and it was her turn to watch him. His thumb stroked hers a single time before he released her hand. It felt instantly cold, and she withdrew it, wrapping it around her rapidly cooling mug.

Taking a sip just for something to do besides stew in the awkwardness she'd created, Ellie made a face. Lukewarm tea wasn't very tasty. Knowing that she needed the liquid, however, she knocked the rest back, finishing it in three swallows. Lowering the empty mug, she saw that George was still eyeing her, and she racked her mind for ways to keep them occupied. Unfortunately, her brain was not cooperating. It just wanted to kiss George again.

Blushing as if he could read her thoughts, she carefully set her mug between the sleeping pads and the side of the tent. With her hands empty, she had to concentrate on not reaching for George. Her eyes darted around, looking anywhere except for where she really wanted to look. Her gaze fell on her coat, and an idea popped into her head.

“Can you show me where we are on the map again?” She risked a glance at him in time to catch his nod. Moving like a caterpillar, she wiggled her way to the top of her sleeping mats and dug the folded paper out of her pocket. Inching her way back to the center of the pads, she unfolded the map and placed it between them.

He examined it and then pointed. “We camped around there last night.” His finger moved a disappointingly short distance. “Now we're about here.”

Shifting so she had a better view, Ellie made a face. “Sorry I was so slow today. How long do you think it'll take to get to the cabin?”

The wind picked that second to howl, the gust shoving at the tent as if intent on blowing them off the mountain. Ellie leaned closer to George.

“Depends,” he said after the wind died down enough that she could hear him. “This storm might last a couple of days.”

Huddling deeper in her sleeping bag, she asked, “Do you think he's out in this?”

“Baxter? Could be. When did he leave?”

“The deputy, Chris, saw him Sunday morning at the Blue Hook trailhead.”

“Your dad experienced?”

“With hiking and camping, you mean? Yes. He took me with him a few times when I was little, before… I'm just worried because he seemed so confused and scared the last time we talked on the phone.”

“He's most likely already there.” His finger brushed the spot on the map where the cabin was located. “If not, he'll have supplies.”

“That's true.” Giving in to the need for contact, even if it was with two sleeping bags between them, Ellie leaned against George's side. She ignored it when he went rigid, and soon she felt some of the tension leave him. “Thanks for agreeing to be my guide. If Joseph had been the one to bring me out here, I'd probably be running out into the storm just to get away from his wandering hands.”

The stiffness returned to George's body at the mention of Joseph.

“Do you not like him?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him. His face was canted away from her, though, so she couldn't see his expression. “Is that why you decided to take me?”

There was a long pause before he spoke. “He's good at what he does. You would've been safe…in that way.” He put an odd emphasis on the last three words.

“So, he wouldn't have led me into an avalanche, but I might have woken up in the night with him trying to squeeze into my sleeping bag?” Her voice was teasing, her discomfort with Joseph diluted by distance and George's reassuring presence. When he turned his head to meet her eyes, though, his expression was completely serious.

“The other search and rescue people, they talk.”

Unlike you
, she wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut instead. George was saying more than he ever had before in her presence, and she didn't want to make him shut down again by cracking jokes.

“I didn't want him to take you.”

There was an entire story in his two sentences, and Ellie's stomach churned a little at the thought of being trapped in the tiny tent in a snowstorm with Joseph rather than George. She wanted to think it would never have been an option, but then she remembered her desperation at the fire station two nights before.

Leaning her head against his shoulder, she said, “I'm glad it was you.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the wind shrieking outside the tent, until Ellie sighed and sat up straight.

When George looked at her in question, she admitted, “I need to pee, but I really don't want to go outside.”

He reached over to grab her coat. She let the sleeping bag fall to her waist, and he held her jacket for her so she could slide her arms into the sleeves. Taking a bracing breath, she shoved the sleeping bag off her legs and yanked on her windproof pants, skipping the fleece middle layer.

As she fished the stuff sack containing her boots out of the bottom of the mummy bag, she noticed that George was pulling on his own outer layers.

“You don't have to come,” she protested, pulling on her boots and wincing as they instantly pressed on her blistered spots. Dipping her head to hide her grimace, she pulled on her bootlaces.

He frowned and covered her hands with his. “Not so tight. No wonder your feet were cold.” Pushing her hands aside, he loosened the laces and then tied them before repeating the process on her other boot.

“I thought they wouldn't rub as much if they were tight.”

Shaking his head, he tugged on his own boots. “Not worth it. It takes away the cushion of insulating air, plus it cuts off your circulation.”

“Besides, they gave me blisters anyway,” she said wryly, unzipping the door. “And, seriously, I'll be okay by myself. You don't have to supervise.” She dug a couple squares of camping toilet paper and a flashlight out of her pack.

“I won't watch you,” he huffed, and she turned to give him an appalled look.

“I didn't think you would—at least not until you said that.” His cheeks had flushed above his beard, and Ellie had to bite back a smile. “I just meant that there's no reason for both of us to get cold.”

He grunted, his face still red. “I have to go, too. Move. You're letting in the cold air.”

Losing the battle against her grin, she faced forward to hide it. “Yes, sir.”

Once she crawled out of the vestibule, the wind smacked the smile right off her face.

“Don't go far!” George bellowed over the wail of the wind.

It was cold, windy, and she just wanted to get back into her sleeping bag, so Ellie didn't take the time to point out the ridiculousness of his warning. She barely stepped to the side of the tent before yanking down her pants. Biting back a shriek as the cold wind slapped her bare parts, she hurried as fast as she could. Her pants were scarcely back in place before she dove for the tent entrance. George followed her in just seconds later.

“Do you have any wet wipes?” she asked through chattering teeth. “I'm filthy.” That morning, she'd brushed her teeth and washed her hands and face with some melted snow, but it would be nice to clean up more than once a day. She added “washing her hands” to the list of things she'd never take for granted again once she returned to civilization.

He pulled out an alcohol wipe from the first-aid kit and offered it to her, but Ellie shook her head.

“Better to keep those in case of emergencies.” Her boot rubbed against her heel as she removed it, making her wince. “Or blisters.”

With a nod, he returned it to the kit and started stripping off his coat.

Once they were tucked back into their sleeping bags, Ellie turned onto her side facing George and propped herself up on an elbow. “How about Truth or Dare?”

His eyes widened with a look of sheer terror.

“That's a no, huh?” When his look of panic didn't change, she waved her hand, dismissing the idea. “It would've been hard to think of dares we could complete without leaving our sleeping bags, anyway. Okay, what about Tic-Tac-Toe?”

* * *

George couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop looking at her, and sleeping required closing his eyes. Therefore, sleep was not an option. He didn't mind. Once she'd collected her father and returned to the city, he'd have plenty of dull, empty nights he could fill with sleep.

After several rounds of Tic-Tac-Toe and Hangman, she'd fallen asleep while the flashlights were still lit. Despite the nagging voice in his head telling him that he was wasting batteries, he left them on so he could see her. His conscience lectured him, said that he was as bad as Acconcio, leering at her as she slept.

A dark strand of hair had escaped her hood and lay against her cheek. His hand twitched, needing to brush it away from her face, but he didn't touch her. That would be crossing the line, a line he already straddled by watching her without her knowing.

She was just so pretty. When he'd first seen her sprawled in the coffee shop parking lot, with her perfectly smooth and glossy sheet of hair and impractical city clothes, he'd assumed she'd be snobbish. Then she'd met his gaze, her eyes warm and round, shining with bits of green and gold and brown, and he'd changed his mind. She wasn't a snob, but a china doll, beautiful but fragile. When he'd picked her up and carried her to the door, her lips had rounded so they'd matched the shape of her eyes, making her look even more doll-like.

He hadn't wanted to lead her into the wilderness. Something that delicate shouldn't be exposed to cold and danger and exertion. When Acconcio had pushed himself against her, though, grabbing her with that look on his face, the one that reminded George of a well-fed house cat playing with a mouse, he couldn't let it happen. He couldn't let the coyote lead the bunny into the wild.

The fragile doll had surprised him, though. Although slow and unfamiliar with things that were second nature to George, she'd listened and helped and kept on walking, no matter what.

It worried him how much he liked taking care of her, feeding her and doctoring her feet and making her tea. It gave him ideas he shouldn't be considering, like keeping her. The thought of having someone else living in his house for the first time since his father died was as seductive as the feel of her breath against his neck when she'd rolled into him the night before.

And she'd kissed him.

His breath left his lungs in a harsh exhale as he focused on her lips, the lips that had touched his, leaving him frozen while every part of him burned. As much as he reminded himself that it had been a joke, a tease, a way to win the silly game she'd insisted they play, he still couldn't shrink it down to the right size in his own mind. It was huge, and important, and he'd always remember those few, earth-shaking seconds.

How could he forget his first kiss?