Gone Too Deep (16 page)

His teeth flashed as he grinned, and he accepted the food and water.

“Is that going to be enough for you?” she asked, eyeing his big form. Even crouched as he was, he seemed to fill the cave with his bulk. That much mass required a lot of fuel—she'd seen this firsthand. “We could try to make one of those meals with cold water.” The thought made her gag inwardly. They were nasty enough hot.

“It's enough,” he said between mouthfuls of trail mix. “We'll be at the cabin tomorrow, and I can do some hunting if there aren't any supplies there.”

“Tomorrow?” she blinked, pulling the map from her pocket and crouching next to George so they could both see. She picked up the flashlight and directed it on the paper. “Did we make that much progress today?” It was hard to believe they'd traveled even half the distance as the day before.

“Here,” he pointed. “But we'll go this way.” His finger traced a line directly from their current camping spot to the cabin.

Ellie sucked in a breath. “But won't that take us right through the avalanche danger area?”

“Need to get you out of here fast. We're low on food.” He looked grim. “Don't want to use the gun to hunt this close to…”

The corners of her mouth drew down as she realized what he was saying. The sound of a gunshot would carry, attracting attention from anyone who might be trying to track them.

“I could set snares for game,” he continued, “but that doesn't work when we have to keep moving.”

Although he didn't say it, Ellie knew he had the same need as she did to put as much distance between them and the two men who could be on their tail. A flash of guilt squeezed her lungs when she thought of how much she'd slowed them down, even today, when she'd known that danger was very likely following them.

George interrupted her mental guilt party. “We'll be cautious. If there are avalanche warning signs, I'll do some tests. I'll keep you safe.”

“I know.” Catching the hand pointing to the map, she gave it a squeeze, vowing to do her best to keep him safe, as well.

Once the nightly chores were done, things got awkward again. As she stripped off her coat, Ellie caught George giving her yet another sideways glance. She turned to face him.

“We're just doing what we need to do.” She figured that her earlier reaction to their revised sleeping arrangements was the reason behind his fidgety behavior. “It's basic survival. Don't worry about it.”

The cold was creeping into her socked feet, so she left it at that, even though George didn't look reassured. Stripping off her fleece, she gasped when cold air hit her skin. Her long underwear was soaked with sweat, whether from the traumatic events or from a fast hike in relatively warm weather, she didn't know.

Diving for the sleeping bag, she wiggled into it. Since George hadn't taken off anything except his boots, she gave him a beguiling smile. “Could you please grab my extra set of long underwear from the pack?”

He dug through the pack, but his growing frown did not bode well for her change of clothes. Sure enough, there was an extra pair of bottoms, but her extra top was wadded into a frozen ball. As she remembered pulling it off on the first day, Ellie made a face.

“Should I leave on this top, do you think?” she asked as she accepted the long underwear pants he held out to her. She really didn't want to. It had already turned clammy and felt gross against her skin.

“No.” Quickly shucking his coat and middle layers, George peeled off his top innermost layer and offered it to her.

Her mouth dropped open at the sight of his bare chest, strong and broad and furred with dark hair. When he started to smile, she realized that she was staring and brought her teeth together with a click. Shaking her head, she didn't reach for the shirt. “I can't take your clothes.”

Despite her words, he dropped it right next to her and proceeded to strip off everything except his final bottom layer, his socks, and his—well, her—stocking hat. When he paused, she held up the corner of the sleeping bag.

“Get in here before you freeze, crazy man!”

Instead, he didn't move, except for a nod at his abandoned shirt.

“Fine!” she huffed, trying to peel off the damp top with the sleeping bag wrapped around her. As she struggled, a visible shiver ran through George's body, and she sat up abruptly.

Pulling the shirt over her head, she grabbed his top and yanked it on as quickly as possible. It had cooled after he'd removed it, but it was dry and smelled like him, so it was a huge improvement over her shirt. Ellie shoved the abandoned, clammy top down by her legs, trying to flatten it as much as possible so it would dry in the night.

“Now climb in before you turn into a lumberjack-sicle.” Ellie tried to feign casual indifference, as if she flashed her bra and invited attractive man-mountains into her sleeping bag on a regular basis. Her quick change only accounted for a small part of her rapid heartbeat, though. George's hungry stare was responsible for the rest.

After another pause and shiver, he climbed in next to her. Turning to face away from her so he could zip up the bag most of the way, his massive body pressed her against the folded side of the bedroll. Her anxiety disappeared when his icy skin shocked the nervousness right out of her.

“You're freezing!” she yelped, surprised that he'd gotten so cold in just that short time he'd knelt shirtless.

She rubbed his arm, trying to bring warmth back to his skin, and he stilled for a long moment before pulling the zipper close to the top. The tight quarters increased dramatically with the bag closed, and Ellie's nose squashed against his back.

“This will be warm,” she said, her voice nasally, “but not that comfortable. Can we rearrange?”

The two of them squirmed and twisted, fighting the restraints of the sleeping bag as they switched positions. When they settled, Ellie's back was to his chest, but her face was buried in the hood, making her claustrophobic.

“That doesn't work,” she said, twisting her neck as far as she could so her voice wouldn't be muffled. “I'm going to turn over.” As she wiggled, trying not to elbow George in the belly—or anywhere else—he shifted onto his back. She ended up half on her side and half on her belly, staring at his neck. Once she stopped craning her neck back so as not to appear too eager to snuggle into him, she'd be in pretty much the same position she'd woken in the past two mornings.

George seemed to read her mind. “This is how you like to sleep.”

“Yes. I mean, this is good.” Her neck was getting tired, and her throat ached, so she let it settle onto his shoulder. “Are you comfortable?”

His amused snort confused her, and she would've looked at him if her eyelids hadn't suddenly weighed fifty pounds each. Their vigorous wriggling had warmed both of them, judging by the toasty interior of the sleeping bag. When he didn't answer beyond that wordless sound, she forced herself to stay awake.

“George? Is this okay for you?” She hated the thought of him being uncomfortable all night because he didn't want to disturb her.

“Yes. Go to sleep.” There was a light pressure on the top of her head, and her eyes popped open again. Had he just kissed her hat? After a few seconds, though, exhaustion began to blanket her brain again, and she tucked away the possible affectionate gesture to overanalyze later.

Her arm protested its trapped position beneath her, so she tugged it free. Since George took up most of the room in the sleeping bag, the only place to rest her hand was on top of him. After letting her arm hover over him for a few seconds, she gingerly let it settle onto his torso.

As she began to drift into sleep, her fingers moved absently, stroking the wiry hair on his chest. His hand flattened hers beneath it, stilling her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, figuring her absentminded touch was irritating him.

He expelled a huff of air. “No need to be sorry.”

“'Kay. 'Night.” She was so tired, it was hard to get out even those two words.

The only answer was another slight pressure on the crown of her head.

* * *

For the first time in three days—almost a week, in fact—Ellie slept hard for the entire night. She woke to silver dawn light filtering into the cave, and she allowed her eyes to open a crack. It was different than being in the tent, less isolated from nature. She almost enjoyed her cave time, although it would've been a different story if she hadn't had her two sleeping pads and a living, breathing, jumbo-sized bed warmer.

She woke as she always did with George—plastered against his side with her face tucked into his neck. This time, though, there weren't two sleeping bags between them, and her hand rested on his bare chest. Silently, she admitted to herself that she liked this better than their solitary bags, and not just because it was warmer.

Letting out a sound that was as close as George had ever come to a snore—at least during the nights she'd been sharing a tent or cave with him—he tightened the arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer to his body. She relaxed into him, not minding. When she realized his other hand was draped across his body and was cupping her thigh, though, she couldn't help but stiffen. That small movement was enough to wake him, and she felt his muscles tense slightly with awareness.

“Morning,” she said to his neck, knowing that they needed to get moving but wanting another few minutes of basking in the warm safety of their shared sleeping bag.

He grunted, and Ellie chose to interpret that as “Good morning, Ellie. Isn't it a lovely day?”

Holding back a giggle at the imaginary British accent she'd assigned him in her mind, she asked, “Did you sleep okay?”

His next grunt was affirmative, although slightly tense. Even though he hadn't removed his hands, they felt stiff, as if George was ultra-aware of touching her. In turn, it made her self-conscious, and the delicious lassitude she'd been feeling began to seep away. With a sigh, she propped herself up as much as the confines of the sleeping bag would allow.

This put her face exceedingly close to his, and she realized her mistake when their eyes met. His were a soft brown, lightening almost to amber around the pupil. His dark lashes were thick and shadowed his eyes, giving him a sleepy, sexy look.

When the word “sexy” popped into her head, she jerked her gaze away. Unfortunately, her eyes then settled on his mouth, and the memory of kissing him made a shiver track down her spine for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold. George must have felt the shudder, because that lush mouth she was staring at turned down in a frown.

“Get dressed,” he said, his voice extra raspy from sleep.

Nodding, she reached down to retrieve her hopefully dry undershirt. The sleeping bag did not make her contortions easy, though, and she must have bumped something sensitive on George. He made a noise she could describe only as a squawk.

“What are you doing?”

Reemerging triumphantly with the shirt clutched in her fist, she held it up in explanation. It didn't seem to settle George, though.

It was Ellie's turn to frown. “Are you okay? You're breathing really fast.”

“Fine.” He practically bit off the word.

“Sure? I've never seen you out of breath.”

Giving a short nod, he unzipped the sleeping bag and was out before she realized his intention. He turned away to dress in his multiple bottom layers, and Ellie stared at his back for much too long before she caught herself. Giving herself a mental shake, she took advantage of his inattention to switch out her shirts.

“Here,” she said, holding out his long underwear top. “Thank you for letting me wear it. Mine is dry now.”

With barely a glance, he accepted the shirt and pulled it over his head. The view was suddenly not as nice. When Ellie realized the direction of her thoughts, she flushed and concentrated on pulling on her fleece top.

George was quiet as they did morning chores. Ellie found that she didn't want to be far from the silent giant. The previous day's events had left her shaken, and she knew she hadn't even started to deal with the mental consequences. Instead of dwelling on it, she focused on the day ahead and getting to her father. It made her wonder, though, what would happen once they got to the cabin.

As George started a fire with the ease of long practice, she watched him, her brain churning with possible scenarios, each one grimmer than the last. He kept darting glances at her.

“What's wrong?” he finally asked.

She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, and then realized that she'd just imitated one of George's mannerisms. If the trip lasted much longer, she'd probably start talking in grunts and nods. A small smile touched her lips, but it quickly slid away when she considered his question.

“Nothing…just…” She shook her head firmly. “Nothing to worry about right now.”

He gave her a look, the one that told her he could sit there all day if he had to, and she
was
going to tell him whatever she was holding back. It was very wordy for a look.

“Fine.” It didn't take long for him to break her. “What are we going to do once we get to the cabin? Will we immediately hike back to the truck?” Although she didn't say it, she was thinking about how the route back to where they'd parked could easily cross paths with the two terrifying men who wanted to kill them. This trip was treacherous enough without adding her mentally ill father to the mix.

“We'll see what resources are at the cabin,” he answered thoughtfully. “There might be a radio, so we can call the sheriff. If not, we can hike a different route that brings us to a main road.” Apparently, he was employing his mind-reading trick again.

“Okay.” Her shoulders relaxed a little. George had a way of calming her, of making her believe that he could accomplish anything, and do it with a minimum of fuss. It was a reassuring quality to have in a guide.

As if to prove her point, he used the aluminum blade of the shovel as a shallow, improvised pot to melt snow and heat the water to boiling over their small campfire. The good news was that they were able to fill their bottles with hot water, but the bad news was that they were able to make the remaining pouch meals. This time, Ellie had the beef stew, which was slightly better than the chicken teriyaki, but it was still fairly nasty. She forced down half of it before turning the remainder over to George to finish.

Once their water bottles and stomachs were filled, they broke camp quickly, loading everything into the solitary backpack and erasing all traces of their short habitation. As they started down the trail, Ellie looked over her shoulder at the cave, a little sad to leave it. It had been a cozy, secure shelter for the night.

“How did you know about the cave?” she asked, hurrying to catch up to George.

Glancing back at her, he shortened his long stride to match her pace. “Grew up exploring this area. I've spent the night there a few times.”

“So you've lived here all your life?”

He nodded.

“Did you always live in the house you have now?”

As he gave an affirmative grunt, he took her arm to help her over a spot where the melting snow had glazed the rocks underfoot with ice. She sent him a surprised look. The Boy-Scout-type assistance was new. Although he'd checked on her a lot as they'd hiked, he'd never helped her cross a tricky part before. She added that to the head kisses in the “overanalyze later” file in her brain.

“So your parents… Did they move somewhere else?” She had a sinking feeling that they were no longer alive, but she wasn't sure how to ask that tactfully.

“Both dead.”

She blinked. That was straightforward. “I'm sorry.”

When he grunted his acknowledgment, she figured the subject was closed, so she was surprised when he spoke. “My mom died when I was a baby, so I didn't know her. Dad passed fourteen years ago.”

“You were still a kid, then?”