Gone Too Deep (7 page)

It was over too quickly, and the dishes were done. After George filled water bottles, some with boiling water and some with just lukewarm, Ellie screwed on the lids and tucked them into foam covers. As George attached the bottles to the packs so they hung upside down, Ellie watched curiously. She wanted to ask why he put them on with the tops down, but she figured she'd just get a grunt in response. Plus, she decided she'd better save her questions for really important things, since George was definitely not one to waste words.

He hauled both packs to the door, and they donned their hats, boots, coats, and gloves before heading outside.

“I can take mine,” Ellie offered, reaching for the smaller pack, but George ignored her, carrying both easily. She closed the door behind them, hearing the wooden latch inside fall into place. The sound of the door locking made her suddenly anxious, and she turned toward his retreating back. “I didn't ask if you had your keys. Did I just lock you out?”

Without slowing, George walked through the side door of the outbuilding. Unsure of whether or not to follow, Ellie took a couple of steps after him and then hesitated. The overhead door rattled as he raised it, exposing the front of the silver pickup truck parked inside. After lifting the packs into the back of the truck, he got into the cab and started the engine.

Ellie waited, feeling useless. She wished that he would tell her what to do. Even barked orders would have been preferable to vague grunts and shrugs. Giving herself a mental slap, she cut off the surge of self-pity. Once she reminded herself that she could be stuck with bulldozer Joseph's come-ons for a week, she felt a little better about her quiet guide. As welcome as conversation would have been at the moment, there were worse things than silence.

George pulled the truck out of the garage and parked. Climbing out of the cab, he headed back to the porch. Without moving, she watched him walk past her, figuring he'd forgotten something. He stopped at the base of the steps and turned to look at her, making a come-along gesture. She joined him on the porch just as he lifted the carved wooden “Welcome” sign.

Underneath was a cord that lay flat against the door, both ends disappearing into holes drilled through the thick wood. Slipping his fingers under the cord, George pulled, and Ellie heard the clunk of the latch disengaging.

“Cool,” she breathed, a smile starting. “Guess I didn't lock you out after all.”

Releasing the cord, he let the latch fall back into place, securing the door. When he replaced the welcome sign, the cord was completely hidden.

“I should've known something was up when I saw a welcome sign on your door,” she said. Her eyes widened as a gloved hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Oh, that was rude. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded.” She actually
had
meant it the way it sounded, but she just hadn't intended to say it out loud.

George didn't appear to be upset by her comment, though. In fact, he looked closer to smiling than she'd ever seen him get. His amusement slipped away quickly, however, and his usual austere expression fell into place. He motioned at the truck, and she hurried toward it. Before she reached it, she glanced at her car and hesitated.

“Is it okay to leave it here?” When he shrugged affirmatively, she looked back at the rental. “Should I lock it?”

Instead of answering, he held out an upturned hand.

“Keys?” she guessed, digging them out of her coat pocket and laying them on his palm. He headed for her car while she watched him curiously, not sure why he wanted to be the one to lock the car doors. Instead of securing the vehicle, though, he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.

As he drove the car into the shed where the truck had been, she thought how odd he looked—he was so big, and the car was so small. After turning off the engine, George unfolded himself from the driver's seat, and Ellie had to hold back a giggle.

“We could take my car to the trailhead,” she couldn't resist suggesting, and then swallowed another laugh as his scrunched brows told her exactly what he thought about that idea.

She climbed into the passenger side of the pickup while he lowered the overhead door. His truck was older, but it was well-maintained. It reminded her of her grandpa's pickup, with the cloth bench seat and manual windows. She suddenly felt five years old again, and all her uncertainties and insecurities rushed through her. What was she doing? Why did she think she was capable of hiking for days through the wilderness in search of her father? In an effort to distract herself from her fit of nerves, Ellie leaned forward and wrote her name in the thin layer of dust on the dash.

As soon as George swung into the cab, she scrubbed the dashboard with her fist, erasing the letters and leaving just a smudged rectangle in their place. He didn't comment—of course—but just looked at the spot, glanced at her face, and then shook his head.

The truck rolled forward, and Ellie's stomach clenched around the breakfast she'd just eaten. Their journey had begun.

* * *

Although the forty-five-minute drive was quiet, it wasn't awkward like Ellie had feared it would be. She was beginning to get used to George's silence, and it was easy to get lost in her own thoughts as the pink light of dawn outlined the mountain peaks around them.

The truck began to slow, catching her attention. “Are we close to the road's end?”

Shaking his head, George pointed. Two small, deerlike animals bounded across the road in front of them and ran through the adjoining field. Leaning forward, Ellie watched until they disappeared from sight.

“What were they? Deer?”

“Pronghorn.”

Once again, his voice startled her. It was so deep, as befitted a man of his size, and rough-sounding, like his infrequent speech had caused his voice box to rust.

“Pronghorn?” she repeated.

“Antelope.”

“They're so little. I always thought antelope would be bigger—when I thought about antelope, at least, which honestly wasn't very often. It was more than I thought about pronghorn, though, since I'd never heard that term before.” Craning her neck as she tried to catch a final glimpse of the animals, she knocked the side of her head against the window. “Ow.” Glancing over at George as she rubbed her temple, she caught the upward curl of his mouth. “Hey! No laughing at my pain.”

The tiny grin disappeared as if it hadn't existed as he let the truck roll forward again. Ellie had seen it, though, and her insides warmed with the knowledge that she'd gotten George Holloway to smile. She decided to make it a personal quest to get him to do it again.

Ten minutes later, they saw the “No Road Maintenance Beyond This Point” sign. George turned into a small gravel lot and parked. He immediately opened his door and got out of the truck, but Ellie took a few seconds to breathe as panic threatened to shut down her lungs. This was it. Once she started walking along that logging trail, civilization would no longer be just a short drive away. Letting out a final shuddering exhale, she opened her door and jumped out of the cab.

While she'd been attempting to stave off hyperventilation, George had pulled their packs out of the back of the truck. He held the smaller one, and she turned her back toward it so she could loop her arms into the straps. When George rotated her to face him and adjusted the fit, she felt strangely self-conscious and warm with each brush and tug of his large, capable hands. Since he looked at her frequently to check her reactions to the adjustments, she couldn't even avoid his gaze to reduce the awkwardness. Once he appeared to be satisfied with how the backpack rested on her, he buckled the strap across the top of her chest and the one around her waist.

Giving a final, satisfied nod, he took her hand and guided it to where one of the upside-down water bottles was within easy reach. For some stupid reason that she didn't think about too closely, Ellie blushed at the contact of his gloved hand against hers. Ducking her head, she pulled the bottle free and took a drink.

Instead of reaching for the larger backpack, George headed to the passenger side of the truck. Curious, Ellie shifted to the side so she could watch what he was doing. The backpack moved with her, a part of her, yet not. It was an odd sensation, like she'd grown a camel's hump. Although she'd felt the full weight of the pack when the straps had first pressed into her shoulders, it seemed much lighter now after the adjustments George had made.

Her attention returned from her backpack to her guide, who was fiddling with a pair of electronic doohickeys that looked like a cross between a handheld video game and a really big stopwatch.

“What's that?”

He held it out so she could see “Avalanche Beacon” printed on the front. He pushed the button that said “Receive,” and an arrow above a “.3 M” pointed toward the second beacon.

The idea that someone might need to locate her—or her body—using this thing was rather off-putting, but she didn't say anything as her guide pushed a button marked “Send.” After fiddling with the beacons for a minute longer, he tucked one into the chest pocket of her new red coat and zipped it securely. Once again, color rose in her cheeks, and she had to hold back a self-deprecating eye roll. Something about this man's size and silent presence had turned her into a flustered, blushing ninny.

To distract herself from her reaction to George, Ellie adjusted her jacket, patting the spot where the beacon sat. It didn't even create a bulge. One of the things she loved about her new coat was the plethora of pockets. Wearing it, she didn't need a purse, unless she just wanted to accessorize.

Looking at George again, she blinked. He was in the process of removing a honking huge gun from the glove compartment. Ellie must have made a noise, because he looked at her as he slid the pistol into a holster at his hip. On the other side of his belt, he tucked two ammo magazines into their own nylon case. When he dropped his hands, his coat fell to cover the holstered gun, but Ellie noticed a vent on the side seam of his jacket. She assumed it was there to allow access to his weapon, rather than being just a stylistic detail.

“Is that…um, going to be necessary?” A collage of possible scenarios requiring a firearm flashed through her mind, from mountain men crazy with cabin fever to rabid wildlife to a zombie attack…or worse—a crazed-mountain-man zombie attack. His slight nod was tempered by a half shrug, which she translated as “possible to likely.” That response did nothing to settle her newly fired nerves. She looked around with a small shiver. The looming evergreen and leaf-stripped aspen trees suddenly took on added menace. She'd known about the obvious dangers—cold and hunger and getting lost—but now a new host of fears crowded into her mind.

George hoisted his oversized pack with the ease of frequent use. He fastened all the buckles in a quarter of the time it had taken to get Ellie situated. After locking the truck, he strode toward the logging trail, and she hurried to catch up with him.

She'd wondered why they weren't using the snowshoes strapped to the backs of their packs, but the snow had a hard crust that held her weight. It was slick, and Ellie was once again grateful for the good traction her new boots supplied. Once she decided to trust that her soles would grip the surface, walking became easier, and she quit trying to do the half-shuffle, half-skate motion that wasn't getting her anywhere.

Just in that short time Ellie had taken to find her bearings, George had pulled ahead by fifteen feet.

“Don't be a burden,” she muttered under her breath as she hurried to catch up with her guide. It was easier said than done, though, since she already felt winded. In Chicago, she was faithful about going to the gym four times a week, but the altitude was almost ten-thousand feet higher than what she was used to. Straightening her spine, she tried to even out her breathing and lengthen her stride.

As she rushed after George, Ellie attempted to ignore the eerie silence of their surroundings. All she could hear was her puffing breaths, and it was too easy to imagine hungry eyes watching her struggle. She had to appear to be the most catchable of prey. Her pace quickened.

It was no use, though. George's effortless gait widened the gap between them with every step. As the road tipped upward onto an incline, Ellie knew she had to say something.

“George,” she panted, but he was too far ahead of her to hear. “George!” There was a slight wheeze to her shout, but it did the trick. He stopped and turned around to look at her. “Sorry…but you're…going…to have…to slow down.”

By the time she'd finished her breathless sentence, she'd almost reached him. It was a lot easier to catch up with him when he was standing still. His slight nod was the only indication that he'd heard her. Turning around, he set off on the trail again. The incline leveled, and Ellie found it easier to stay right behind him. His pace seemed to have slowed, and he frequently looked back to check on her. The three-day hike suddenly felt less impossible than it had just a few minutes earlier.

The trail surface varied from a stone-hard snowdrift to bare rocks to a few inches of fluffy powder. As they were walking on a section of icy crust, Ellie's foot broke the surface, and she was suddenly one knee deep in snow.

As she pulled her leg out of the drift, her boot caught on the top crust of ice and started to slide off her foot. Bending, she caught the top of her escaping boot and jammed her heel down. Once it was in place again, she stayed leaning forward, using the opportunity to pant for oxygen.

Two enormous boots appeared in her view. Forcing herself to straighten, she tried to give the appearance of breathing normally and not sucking air like a winded racehorse. George was watching her and, no surprise, frowning.

“Okay.” Her ruse was completely destroyed when she talked, since she couldn't get out more than one word at a time. “Ready…now. Let's…go.”

Instead of turning and leading the way once again, he reached toward the side of his pack. By feel, he unzipped an outside pocket and pulled out a small bag. When he held it out to her, she saw that it contained trail mix.

“No, thanks.” She was able to say two words without a gasp in the middle. Ellie considered that an improvement.

He didn't withdraw his hand.

Shaking her head, she added, “Still full from…breakfast.”

Now he was frowning again, and he was still holding out the trail mix.

“Fine,” she sighed, accepting the nuts and raisins. Jamming a few into her mouth, she chewed, wishing that it was at least the kind of mix that had chocolate in it.

“Drink, too.” George gestured toward one of her water bottles.

As she obediently washed down her mouthful of trail mix, Ellie wondered if she'd ever get used to that so-infrequent bass rumble. After three more small handfuls of food, she returned the bag to George. He must have considered her intake to be sufficient, since he accepted the trail mix and promptly finished it. She watched, awed by the amount of food he was able to consume, but then figured it wasn't that surprising—his huge, muscled frame must require a lot of fuel.

After a few more swallows, she restowed her water bottle. George lifted his brows in question, and she gave a firm nod. Whether it was the food, water, or just standing still and breathing, Ellie felt… She wouldn't say energized, but at least she was slightly more prepared to keep walking.

They continued like that for a while, walking for much too long a time and then stopping for much too short a time. By the fourth break, Ellie was flushed and damp with perspiration. Barbara had promised her long underwear would wick away any moisture, but either it was failing, or she was sweating more than it could wick.

George's brow was creased with an unhappy wrinkle.

“What?” Ellie asked after she swallowed her mouthful of granola bar. “I'm eating
and
drinking”—she held up her water bottle—“so why are you cranky?”

As usual, his response was word-free. Pulling off a glove, he reached toward her. His hand slid under the bottom hem of her jacket, and his fingers dove beneath all of her layers before she could react. At the touch of his calloused skin on her bare stomach, she jumped and took a belated step back, pulling away from him. Even when the contact was broken, she could still feel the heat where his fingers had touched.

“What was…?” She stared at him. “What?”

“You're sweating.”

“So?”

“You'll get cold. Take off a layer.” Once again, he reached for her, as if he was going to start stripping off her clothes, and she reversed another step.

“Okay, but you could've just asked me.” Still flustered, Ellie started unbuckling the straps holding on her pack. “I'm not a horse. If you want to know if I'm sweating, just say, ‘Are you sweating?' and I'll answer honestly. You don't have to feel me up to find out.”

Her backpack was reluctant to leave her shoulders, so she squatted until the bottom of the pack rested on a rock behind her and then attempted to wiggle loose. This time, when George approached, she let him grab the pack and slide it free.

As she took off her jacket, she debated what to remove and decided on her outer long underwear layer—just the top. Hot or not, she wasn't about to start stripping off anything from the waist down. Her zip-up fleece top came off next, and she put it on top of her coat so it didn't get snow on it. Grimacing at the dampness of the fabric, she pulled the silky second layer over her head, dislodging her hat on the way.

She bent to pick up her fleece, shivering a little in her single, slightly clammy top, and caught a glimpse of George's face as she straightened. His eyes were wide and fixed on her chest. Following his gaze, she saw that the form-fitting long underwear presented a clear view of the lines of her bra and, even better, her cold-stiffened nipples.

With a mortified intake of air, Ellie clutched her fleece to her chest. Her movement broke George's daze, and he blinked, then quickly turned so his back was to her. She scowled. Why couldn't he have done that a minute earlier?

She fumbled to stuff her arms into the sleeves and then zip it up all the way to her chin. Although the fleece wasn't in any way revealing, she didn't feel totally covered until she had the jacket on and zipped. It was only after putting on her hat and gloves that she cleared her throat.

George turned slightly, so he wasn't quite facing her but could probably see her in his peripheral vision. Her cheeks still warm, she rolled the discarded top and tucked it into an empty pocket on her pack, not wanting it to get any of her other clothes damp. Once she'd zipped the section closed, she eyed the pack. She'd be able to get it onto her back, but it would be a lot easier with help.

“Uh…George?” When he turned to face her completely, she tilted her head toward the pack sitting on the rock. “Could you…?” He moved to lift the pack, and Ellie turned her back to him, sliding her arms through the straps. His hands shifted to her biceps, and he turned her to face him so he could fasten the buckles around her chest and waist. Even though George's touch was brief and impersonal, Ellie could feel her cheeks heating again.

It was a relief when he turned and started walking, giving her some space to figure out why this silent mountain of a man flustered her so much.

* * *

Ellie peered at the position of the sun, squinting even behind her sunglasses. Although she was no ancient navigator, it sure looked like lunchtime to her. “George?”

He turned his head, not quite looking at her. Since the whole not-really-naked-but-it-felt-like-she-was incident, he hadn't made eye contact.

“What time is it?”

“Noon.”

Wow, she was good. Maybe she'd missed her calling. Instead of working at a boutique, she could be letting sailors know the time. She'd have to time travel back a ways, though, since they had clocks on ships now. Ellie blinked, a little disconcerted by the trajectory of her thoughts. The high altitude must have made her punchy. “Can we stop for lunch soon?”

“Not stopping for long.”

“Oh.” Her legs gave a wail of complaint. So did her lungs.

“No sense in sitting a long time and getting cold.”

But the sitting part sounded so
nice
. She reminded herself to be low-maintenance. They were only a half-day's hike—a
slow
half-day's hike—away from his truck. It definitely wasn't too late for George to turn this car around if she was irritating. “Okay.”