The Cowboy Rescues a Bride (Cowboys of Chance Creek) (16 page)

He’d have to accept her the way she was.

Ned listened to
the sounds of Fila on the roof chipping away at the snow. Over the course of the last hour her movements had gotten slower, the quiet spaces when she rested in between getting longer. He was worried about her, and truth be told, he was worried about the cabin, too. That load of snow and ice had to be putting a lot of stress on the old trusses that held up the roof. He hoped like hell it didn’t all come down on top of them.

When he wasn’t worried about the roof, he replayed that kiss in his mind. It hadn’t disappointed him. Far from it—he now burned with the desire to experience more with Fila. He had to be patient, though. No sense pushing things too far. He had to let her get used to him slowly. He could do that.

Even if it killed him.

When Fila finally came back in she took some time getting her outer gear off before making her way to the bunk room to check on him. Her hair was flecked with water and the collar of her shirt was wet.

“Is it raining?”

She nodded. “Freezing rain. It just started, but it got really slippery really fast.”

Ned tamped down a spurt of worry. That was all they needed—more ice on top of the layers already up on that roof.

“I’m almost done with this side of the roof. Almost but not quite.” She sat in the chair beside his bed. He could tell she was thoroughly worn out.

“I’m sure you’re doing great.” Ned glanced up at the ceiling. Above them lay the attic, the roof trusses and the roof itself. He was glad to know the snow was mostly off the side above them. The other side—over the living room and dining room—was still fully laden. It had to be an awfully heavy load.

“I’m working too slow.”

“It’ll get done. Don’t worry.” He was worried, though. She’d have to go back on the roof after lunch, even if it was still raining.

“I’ll get some of that soup.”

“Great,” Ned said absently. He half-listened to her move about the kitchen, the distant clang of pots and dishes forming a backdrop for his thoughts. Was there a better way to get the snow off the roof? A better tool to use to break through the ice?

“Do you want tea?” Fila appeared around the doorframe. “I found some in the—”

With a roar like a tidal wave, the cabin shook, nearly pitching Ned from his bed. He held onto its frame for dear life as Fila lurched forward, fell to her knees and clung to the chair by his bedside.

“What is it?” she shouted.

“The roof.” Ned reached for her. The part over the living room was caving in. Any minute the rest of it would come down. “Fila!”

She clawed closer, grabbing his hand as another crash shook the foundation. Ned leaned over the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around her, trying to shield her from falling debris, clenching his jaw against the pain in his thigh at every movement and shudder from the house.

“Fila!”

She reared up and caught the oil lamp just as it spun off the bedside table. Ned could barely see through the cloud of dust that swirled around them. The last thing he wanted was a trail of oil leading right to them. Luckily it was daylight and the lamp wasn’t lit. As the horrible sounds subsided, he held his breath, waiting for the next crash—the last one—as their haven disintegrated. He couldn’t see out the door to the hall anymore, but the bedroom remained intact.

So far.

Fila’s breath was coming in short pants. He wondered how much time they had left; would the rest of the building collapse in a minute? An hour?

They had to get out of here. Fast.

‡
Chapter 19

“A
re you okay?”
Ned asked.

Fila got to her feet shakily. “Yes.” Splintered lumber filled the hallway. Without him asking, she approached the doorway and shook her head. “It’s blocked.” Blocked under tons of wreckage. The hall gone, the living room gone. The kitchen, where she’d stood just moments ago—destroyed. She was shaking as she turned back to face him.

“We’ll have to go out the window.” Ned threw back the covers.

“Our coats—”

“Forget the coats. The rest of this place could go any second. Hand me my crutches.”

She set the lamp down and did so, hovering around him as he got up. As they made their way to the window, Fila scooped up their duffel bags. “It’ll only take a second to throw them out the window,” she said when he glared at her.

“That second could be our last.” But when they reached the generous window, he helped her open it, pushed out the screen and tossed the luggage out in a matter of moments. “You next.”

“What about you?” The beams above their head groaned, silencing them both.

“Get out the damn window.” Ned held back the curtain as best he could. Since the room was at ground level, it was nothing to Fila to climb up and over the sill. Ned was a different matter. He handed her the crutches, sat carefully on the sill and pulled his good leg up and over.

“I’m here,” Fila said, bracing herself under his shoulders. “Just pull back as carefully as you—”

The remainder of the roof gave way with an enormous groan. Fila shrieked and hauled back on Ned. He pitched out of the window backward, bowled her over and landed on top of her. “Sonofa—” Ned writhed in pain on the cold ground as Fila fought her way out from underneath him. Wasting no time, she gripped under his arms and pulled with all her might.

Even in his pain, Ned seemed to know what she was trying to do. He kicked with his good leg, pushing against the frozen ground, helping her move him clear of the remaining cabin walls, in case they should give, too.

When they were clear, Fila dropped him and Ned didn’t protest. They were both too busy gasping for breath. Ned was as pale as the snow soaking through the slippers she’d put on when she’d last taken off her boots. One look at the cabin told her they’d barely escaped with their lives.

“Now what do we do?” She peered around them frantically. The cold was already seeping through her clothes. She had to get Ned up before he was soaked to the bone. His torn sweatpants flapped in the freezing breeze, exposing his leg to the elements.

“We have to get to the Fitzgeralds. The neighbor’s place,” he went on, seeing her bafflement.

“Where is it?” She looked around her at the thick woods and the truck still upside down near the driveway.

“About seven miles up that lane.”

Seven miles.

How the hell was he going to walk seven miles through the snow, on crutches, with a broken leg—barefoot? Already his feet, hands and ass were going numb, a strange counterpart to the fire burning where the break had occurred. Waves of pain washed through him at uneven intervals, making his stomach uncertain. He pushed down his nausea as Fila rushed forward to drag their luggage farther away from the devastated cabin and quickly rummaged through the bags, bringing up handfuls of clothes.

“We have to stay warm and dry, no matter what we do. That’s the most important thing.” She pulled out several shirts and sweaters for him. Ned knew she was right and he quickly sat up to don them, grimacing at the pain, even as she found more layers for herself.

“You came prepared,” he grunted. He watched her swathe herself in several long-sleeved T-shirts, a couple of sweaters and a fleece.

“I was cold all the time back in the village.” She rummaged further in her bag and pulled out a pair of men’s house slippers. “I found these in the closet in my room. I was going to give you a lecture about not wearing them at home instead of your muddy boots.”

He took them from her. “My mom gave them to me last Christmas. I never wear these things.”

“You’ll wear them now.”

He shrugged. “Sure, but they’ll soak through in a couple of minutes.”

She shook her toiletries out of several plastic shopping bags. When she caught him looking, she blushed. “I don’t have your little pretty zipper bags,” she said defensively. “I didn’t even have a suitcase before Autumn gave me this one. Didn’t have anything to put in it before she bought me clothes.”

“I know. What are those for?”

She pulled out two brightly colored hair ties and brought everything over to him. “Put on two pairs of dry socks, the slippers, and then wrap the bags around your feet and fasten them with the hair ties. Hurry. You’re getting wet and it’s getting colder.”

She was right; the morning’s icy rain had turned to snow. It was past noon and darkness fell early this far north. He didn’t relish the idea of hiking that snowy, slippery track in the dark. He’d be lucky if he made it.

“What about your feet?” He pulled the socks onto his good foot first. He couldn’t reach the foot on his broken leg. The one that still ached like a wild thing from his fall. Thank goodness Fila had splinted it tightly, otherwise he’d probably have busted it all over again.

“I’m looking.” She searched through both bags and found his shaving kit. She dumped its contents into his duffel bag and held the small vinyl fabric case up to her foot. “That’s one.” A further search revealed nothing else of consequence. She shrugged. “I’ll have to use my extra shirts. If I keep switching them I’ll keep fairly dry. I have a few pairs of socks. It’ll have to do.”

“Take one of my bags.”

“No. You’re on crutches. You have to stay dry and warm. I’ll be fine.”

Before he could protest further, she grabbed up the extra socks, slipper and bag and did up his other foot, catching the ends of his torn sweat pant leg in the wrapping in an attempt to keep his leg as warm as possible. Ned wanted to argue, but he was too busy fighting back more oaths at the pain as she gently manipulated his leg.

After Fila rigged up her own feet, she quickly emptied the contents of her duffel bag into Ned’s, zipped it up and hooked the strap over her shoulder. “Let’s get you on your feet,” she said, handing him his crutches. It was harder this time than it had been back in the living room. The ground was slick with icy snow, his leg ached from the fall, and the cold air was quickly leeching away his strength. Once he was up, she helped him turn in the right direction. “Lead the way. If you slip I’ll try to catch you.”

Ned grimaced at the thought of falling on Fila again. He was surprised he hadn’t hurt her the first time. With one last look over his shoulder at the devastated cabin, he set off through the snow, choosing his way carefully through the drifts and ruts, setting down first the crutches, then swinging his feet, testing his footing and doing it all over again. They picked their way around the upside-down truck and up the driveway to the dirt lane. The climb nearly drained Ned of all his strength. The main track was little better than the driveway, but at least it wasn’t as steep. It was still knee deep in snow, however, and Ned had to lift the crutches up like wings between steps to place them down again ahead of him. It was slow going, and hard work. Soon he was sweating under his layers. When he thought he couldn’t go any farther, he looked back the way they’d come. He could still see the truck and the destroyed cabin. His heart was pounding from the exertion. His thigh was on fire with pain.

They’d made it a quarter of a mile.

Fila was all
too familiar with frostbite. She’d seen many cases during her winters in the Hindu Kush mountains. The white spots that indicated the first signs of damage. The blackened fingertips and noses. Its effects were devastating. Fila pressed her lips together and slogged on. She didn’t have frostbite. Yet. When the cold in her toes on her right foot got unbearable, she swapped out the current garment wrapped around it for a new one, using hair ties to secure it. As long as they kept moving, she’d be fine.

Her left foot was faring better in its nylon shaving kit bag. It too was secured with hair ties looped around her foot. She thanked goodness she’d packed a whole new package of them.

Ned’s crutch skidded, he wavered and she rushed to brace him up before he fell. His weight landed heavily against her shoulder and she strained to keep upright, barely staying on her own feet.

“Thanks,” he grunted, the pain all too evident in his voice.

“Do you need to stop?”

“No.” He kept moving, but slowly. Fila had begun to fear they’d never make it before the sun went down. When they’d set out she’d been sure they’d make it easily—they had hours before they had to worry about darkness, but as their progress slowed, the sun’s inexorable descent toward the horizon seemed to speed up.

As they trudged on, the quietness began to wear on Fila’s nerves. The weight of the gray sky and burdened trees pressed down upon her heart until she wanted to give up. She knew this feeling all too well from her time in Afghanistan. The urge to lie down and never get up again. The urge to give in.

She fought against it, not just for herself but for Ned, who had to be in a world of pain. He didn’t complain, didn’t lie down and give up. He kept going and going, long past what any normal man could bear. If he could be so brave, she could too.

“It’s a shame about that lunch you were cooking.”

Fila smiled and was shocked to find she still could. “Are you hungry?”

“Damn hungry.”

“Will there be food at your neighbor’s house?”