The Cowboy Rescues a Bride (Cowboys of Chance Creek) (17 page)

“I hope so. Should be. Fitzgerald would have stocked up for an entire winter.” They slogged on. Fila reflected that the snow was preferable to the morning’s freezing rain.

Barely.

“I’m sorry,” Ned said after a long pause broken only by the crunch of their feet and his crutches in the snow. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come. You could be safe and warm at Autumn’s house right now.”

It was hard to picture the great room at the Cruz ranch. There would be a roaring fire in the fireplace. Food on the table. Friends gathered around, like usual. Fila sighed—she’d put up with as large a crowd as could squeeze in the place if only it meant they’d be out of the cold. “If I wasn’t here, you’d probably still be lying in that truck. Dead.”

“I know. I appreciate all you’ve done. You’re a hell of a woman.”

She didn’t know about that, but she liked hearing it. A hell of a woman.

“I mean it, Fila. How many people could do what you’ve done? Survive ten years as a captive. Figure out a way to escape. Stand up to a bunch of killers. And now this. Most women would have given up. But you’re not most women.”

“We should rest.” His praise made her uncomfortable. If she was such a brave person, why did she spend her days holed up in an empty cabin? Why didn’t she jump at the chance to run a restaurant? “I need to switch my foot wrap again.” Ned made his way over to a large tree near the side of the track and leaned heavily against it.

“If I sit, I’ll never stand up again,” he said and rested while she worked. “You know, it used to be when you went to Fourth of July get-togethers there’d be a set of old guys sitting around talking shit about the War—World War II,” he explained when Fila shot him a questioning look. “There were a few old geezers who actually went, and others who’d grown up listening to all the men talk about it back in their day. One thing always came up. Courage.”

Fila changed her wrapping as fast as she could, realizing she had only a few more items of dry clothing to use. As she listened to Ned talk, she decided she’d have to use them sparingly—if she ran out, she’d be in trouble.

“The thing about courage is, it doesn’t feel good in the moment.”

Fila slowed what she was doing.

“Heroes aren’t people who are somehow unafraid in a crisis—heroes are the people who feel afraid and still do what needs to be done.” Ned watched her finish up. “I heard that over and over again when I was growing up, but I didn’t get it. Not until recently.”

“What happened recently?” She stood up, ready to go again.

“I met you.” He made his way over to her in the middle of the snowy road. Took her hand and squeezed it, leaning heavily on his crutches. “This is going to sound all wrong, but when men fake bravery, I guess I’m as easy to fool as the next person. I just assume they don’t feel fear. But when I saw you—just a slip of a thing—and I heard all that you’d done”—he shrugged—“I knew you had to have been afraid while you did it. But you did it anyway. That’s my definition of brave.” He dropped a kiss on top of her head and turned to keep going.

Fila stood still for a moment, warmed by what he’d said—by his understanding. Now she had a word for when she felt sick to her stomach, tied up in knots, ready to faint.

Brave.

She bit back a smile as tears clouded her eyes again.

She hated being brave.

Too bad she didn’t have a choice.

They slogged on for what seemed like an eternity, until her toes went past burning with the cold, to numb, to simply not there anymore. She didn’t know how she was staying on her feet. Didn’t know how Ned had remained upright for so long, either.

“How much farther?” she gasped at one point.

“I’d say we’re a bit over halfway there.”

Halfway there. Fila wanted to hang her head and cry. It would be different if she were on her own. She could run for it and reach safety and warmth sooner. She could find boots or—

Ned must have had the same thought. “Fila, you need to go ahead. Break into the house, find something for your feet and mine. Get coats, a flashlight. Then come back for me. I’m slowing you down too much.”

The idea appalled her. “What if you slip? What if—”

He turned her way. “This isn’t a game. We could die out here. You could get frostbite. Heck, we both could. We might have already.” He sagged down on his crutches. “Honestly, I don’t see any other way.”

“How do I get in?”

“However you need to. Fitzgerald won’t care. Break a window. Anything. His house isn’t visible from the road, though. Watch for a wooden fence. You’ll see the gate across his driveway. Open it and follow the driveway down and you’ll find the house.”

She evaluated the proposition quickly. Dusk was already falling. Temperatures were going down. Neither she nor Ned were dressed for the weather. She could be back in less than an hour if she hurried on alone.

She would definitely hurry.

“Okay.”

“That’s my girl.” Ned straightened. “I’ll keep going, nice and slow. That’ll keep me warm until you come back. Go fast, but be careful. We don’t want both of us laid out.”

She nodded. Hesitated. Suddenly she hated to be alone.

“Come here,” Ned said softly.

She did so and he cupped her jaw with his hand. “It’s going to be all right. I promise. Remember how brave you are.” He kissed her until she sighed against him. She didn’t pull away. She knew it was safe to kiss Ned. She was alone in a snowy wilderness with the man, but she wasn’t in Afghanistan. There were no armed terrorists, no gossiping village women, no one at all to disturb them. As the seconds passed, his kiss deepened, and he slid his lips over hers until she thought she could lose herself for good in his arms. When he pulled away, Fila clung to him in wonder. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “Come back soon, you hear?”

She nodded and scampered away, racing down the lane into the thickening dusk.

‡
Chapter 20

N
ow that Fila
was gone, Ned gave voice to the groans he’d been suppressing as he moved. Every step hurt like daggers through his skin. He wondered if he was damaging his leg by working it like this, but he didn’t see an alternative—other than to freeze to death.

There was no reason Fila couldn’t make it to Fitzgerald’s house and bring back warmer clothing and footwear, at the least, in time to save him from permanent damage. He’d still have to make the rest of this painful journey but at least he wouldn’t lose any toes. As the shadows lengthened and the night drew in, however, he began to worry about what would happen if Fila lost the track. Even if she kept to it, she might not see the fence in the darkness—especially in the falling snow. Surely the driveway would be visible, but she was tired and cold. Maybe she’d lose her way.

Ned picked up the pace, visions of Fila wandering the woods without shoes filling his brain. When his crutch hit a patch of ice under the snow it slid straight out from under him. He wavered for a moment, still balanced on the other one, before it snapped and he keeled over. He cried out with the pain of impact.

And groaned when he realized he couldn’t get up again.

Fila ran for
as long as she could, but as the dusk turned to true darkness she realized she needed to pay close attention to the sides of the road to spot the driveway into Fitzgerald’s cabin. She watched for the wooden fence Ned had told her about, trudging quickly through the snow, not bothering to change the wrapping around her foot anymore, but as the remainder of the daylight leached out of the forest, her fear came back.

Had she already passed the driveway? How many miles had she come in her headlong rush? Surely she should have seen it by now.

She told herself she’d walk for fifteen more minutes before she turned back, but then she realized she had no way to judge the passage of time. She began to count, but as her footsteps increased their pace, so did her counting. She slowed down again. Lost her place. Started over.

Gave up.

She began to think she’d be walking this path forever and ever. Back and forth, through the dark and cold, her feet numbing until she could barely stumble forward.

The pure darkness surrounding her reminded her of the mountain village she’d left behind with its absence of electricity. You could look out from the mountain and see nothing but blackness all around you. When the winter winds howled and the snow drifted up she’d felt like she’d been alone in an alien world. Once, after a particularly hard day, she’d nearly convinced herself that was the truth. She’d stood outside the compound where she lived and stared up at the stars searching for an answer there.

She’d gotten one, too. A tiny light—no bigger than a star—traveling in a straight line across the sky. A satellite, just like the ones she’d seen while stargazing at home with her parents. If satellites were real, then technology was real. If technology was real, then the United States was real. After that she searched the night skies for satellites whenever the occasion arose. They comforted her a little. They promised her that home still existed.

Fila realized with a start that she’d been so busy in the last few hours that she hadn’t thought once about not fitting in or being afraid of people. All she’d done were the things she needed to do. The thought made her feel stronger. Ned was right—she was brave.

There.

Fila rushed forward. There was the wooden fence. She followed it swiftly until she came to a gap where a blank track of snow led away into the distance. Spotted the open gate. This had to be Fitzgerald’s driveway. She set off carefully down the sloped track toward even deeper shadows. At least the expanse of snow that marked the drive made it easy to follow through the woods. Several minutes later, she rounded a bend and saw the squat, square shape of a cabin up ahead.

Fila’s heart pounded in thankfulness and she rushed forward. She tried the doors first, found they were locked and broke the lowest window she could find. Clambering in through it, she threw down the duffel bag, felt her way down a hall to the kitchen and peered through the shadows until she found what she was looking for.

A box of matches.

She struck one with a shaking hand, located an oil lamp like the one at Ned’s family’s cabin and lit it. In its bright rays, she breathed easier. She’d done the hard part. She’d reached the cabin. She could gather supplies and go back to help Ned. They were safe.

Only Ned wasn’t safe; not yet. She set to work quickly, hunting for the things they needed. Back near the door she found several pairs of boots and set aside one pair for herself and another for Ned. The hall closet held several rugged winter coats. She pulled out two of them, along with mittens and hats. In a bedroom she found socks and a flashlight. Back in the kitchen she found packets of crackers which she stuffed in the pockets of one of the overcoats.

Ripping off the ridiculous footwear she sported, she chafed her toes until they tingled and burned, pulled on clean socks, shoved her feet into a pair of boots that were several sizes too big, pulled them out and layered on more socks, then tried again. She finally let herself back out the door, with the gear for Ned bundled into a cloth shopping bag, when she spied the best find of all—a plastic toboggan with a rope handle resting against a porch railing. She dropped her bundle onto it and set off back up the driveway toward the road, her heart soaring as she tugged the sled along behind her. Now she could pull Ned back here if need be. They’d be warm and fed and dry in no time.

As the minutes passed, she kept her pace strong, expecting to catch sight of Ned at any moment. While he couldn’t have covered the ground anywhere near as quickly as she did, he must have made some progress—especially given the time she’d spent inside the house finding the supplies. When her journey stretched out and he didn’t appear staggering through the snow on his crutches, she began to worry. With each passing minute, that worry grew. Had he run out of steam? Hurt himself again? Had he been attacked by a wild animal? She began to wish she’d thought to look for a gun.

The minutes ticked past as the cold, dark forest enveloped her. Her footsteps made small crunching sounds through the frozen snow as she walked. A slight, icy breeze blew through the rattling tree limbs, startling her now and then. She couldn’t see or hear any sign that she was anything but alone in these woods.

When she finally spotted him, a dark, still shape against the white snow, Fila rushed forward with a cry, dropping the lead rope to the toboggan. “Ned! Ned—” He was icy cold to the touch, but a pulse still beat at his throat. She scrambled to retrieve the sled and load him onto it, knowing that getting him warm was more important in this moment than not jostling his leg. She slid the second pair of boots straight over his feet, leaving the one on his hurt leg entirely undone, and piled both overcoats over him, knowing the exertion of pulling him would soon keep her warm.

She turned to face the long road home and nearly wept at the thought of retracing her steps. It would take ages to pull him to safety up and down the rises of the unplowed road. And then what?

Whatever it took to keep him alive until the Mathesons came and brought them home.