Reaching For Normal Page 9

  She fought to regain her balance but the snowshoes wouldn’t grab the ice and she thumped down.

  The ice cracked beneath her and her left arm smashed through it.

  Frigid water soaked her in the instant it took to yank her arm free.

  Her sleeve was wet to the elbow and her mitt was already stuck to her hand.

  Unable to do anything other than stare at her hand, Myla tried to suck air into her lungs. Even a Florida girl knew the dangers of what she’d done.

  Hypothermia: 1, Clumsy Girl: 0.

  SAWYER didn’t bother entering the clearing where he’d left his sled. Fifty yards was close enough to see the destruction and he preferred to stay under cover.

  His charred machines sat in the middle of a smoking circle. Still hot. The snow had melted all around them and the bottoms of the pines were scorched. The recent snowfall had them too wet to burn but they were singed. His extra gas and the tanks themselves had been the fuel. The guy had probably covered the sleds with the extra gas then tossed a couple of matches.

  Messy, smelly, and petty.

  If the bastard could find the sleds, he could follow the trail. Easily. But he hadn’t. Which meant he likely didn’t want to kill them. Or he was too afraid to follow through. Slaughtering an animal was one thing, escalating to human kills was a whole other level.

  Images of his friends’ bodies or what was left of them, flashed through his head and Sawyer clamped down on his willpower to force them away. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by a damn flashback out here. Not when he was responsible for Myla’s safety.

  He itched to get moving to catch up with her but he needed to find out if the guy was hanging around here first. From what he knew, arsonists often liked to watch their burns and watch the reactions of the people affected. This jackass wasn’t going to get his rocks off by getting a reaction out of Sawyer.

  Wishing he’d packed his binoculars, Sawyer studied every tree surrounding the sleds. Nothing out of place. It had been long enough since the blast for the wildlife to reacclimatize and the noises sounded natural. No worries in bird-land at least.

  As his gaze swept past the charred mess, he frowned again over the waste. Every blasted thing was gone. Water. Food. Tent and cooking tools. Everything needed to pass a night comfortably in the bush.

  Nothing he hadn’t done before but sure as hell nothing City Girl had ever faced.

  Her weak leg had to be bugging her but she didn’t complain. Not willingly, anyway. Her mutters didn’t count because he doubted she was aware of them. Even then, she was more likely to tell her leg to suck it up than whine about it.

  Almost made him smile.

  Movement across the clearing had Sawyer freezing in place. He knew he wasn’t visible, he’d crawled into the area to ensure that but he slowed his breathing and focused every part of him on that area.

  Might not be the jackass. Could be anything from a bird to a fox to a moose. Having a wolf scare the shit out of the bastard would be perfect. As long as the guy didn’t have a gun and good reactions.

  The trees continued to rustle softly in a small area. The movement stopped six or seven feet off the ground. Very possibly human, although that was not even close to the only possibility.

  Sawyer settled in to wait. If this was the jackass, he’d show himself sooner or later. Sawyer hadn’t met the person he couldn’t outwait.

  Without moving, he tensed and relaxed his muscles so he’d be able to jump up and run at a moment’s notice. His eyes tracked the area constantly. No other suspicious areas.

  When the antlers poked through the pine tree, Sawyer didn’t know whether to swear in annoyance or relief. He’d spent far more than his promised ten minutes away from Myla only to find out that deer weren’t scared off by the smelly smoke.

  Regardless, Sawyer inched his way back from the scene, keeping his senses wide open. With the way things were going, he’d spin around and find the jerk making a snowman.

  Once he was away from the sleds, Sawyer picked up the pace. Finding the stream was easy, he hoped Myla agreed.

  Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. No sign of a red jacket. No footprints off to the side of the stream either, although both the snow and wind had picked up. It was possible she’d left the stream to rest and he’d missed the signs.

  Worry gnawed at his gut and he considered turning around. Five more minutes. Ten.

  The splash of red through the trees nearly had his knees buckling in relief. No one else had died on his watch.

  She was a few hundred yards ahead and moving, so Sawyer slowed his pace and worked to get his breathing level. He wasn’t going to give her any reason to think he didn’t have things under control.

  The thought nearly had him laughing. Under control was the exact opposite of how things were. He needed a plan.

  The best he could do would be to get Myla to the edge of the lake and keep an eye out for Dave or whoever headed over in the morning. The rocky shore and caves would provide lots of opportunities for cover.

  He wasn’t sure at this point how many hours of walking they had ahead of them. They’d routed around to avoid the same path and now she was following a stream that was a good way to hide their tracks but it wasn’t heading in a straight line anywhere and wasn’t even heading in the right general direction.

  But the stream gave Myla confidence that she was hidden and made it easier for him to follow her. If he’d let her go on her own, she’d have walked around in circles and been lost in no time.

  They’d need to rest soon. Her leg had to nearly be done in. But she was still upright. Still going forward.

  Pride surged through him. She’d have been damn good for morale over in Afghanistan. The kids would have loved her and she’d have fit right in with their enthusiasm and never-say-quit attitudes.

  When he was close enough to speak in a low tone, he called her name. She whirled around, eyes wide and wild. As soon as she realized who he was, her face crumpled. Tears filled her eyes and her lips trembled. She whipped back around, hiding her face.

  He closed the distance and pulled her to a stop. “Hey. It’s okay, Myla. We’re going to be fine. You covered a ton of distance. You’re doing great.”

  But, when she turned to him, she hadn’t blinked her eyes clear. Vulnerability shone out and ripped at his heart. “I’m not doing great. I didn’t do great. I screwed up, Sawyer. Big time.”

  He tugged her into his chest and gave her a quick squeeze, then leaned back and tilted up her chin. “What are you talking about? You walked twice the distance I expected you to. You followed the stream, made it easy for me to find you, yet made it impossible for anyone to follow.”

  The whole time he spoke, she shook her head and as soon as he stopped, she held up her hand.

  No mitt.

  Jacket sleeve soaking wet up to her elbow.

  Shit.

  Double shit.

  With an effort, he kept the panic out of his voice. “It’ll be fine. Trust me. We’ll fix this.”

  “Fix this?” Her voice rose to a shrill squeak. “How can we fix this? I fell in the stream, I’m soaked. I’ve researched hypothermia. I’ve interviewed people who’ve suffered from it. I’ve seen the skin damage, the missing limbs.” Her voice broke but she swallowed and kept ranting. “In one article, I wrote this sailor’s story of surviving for four days in the water. I wrote it. Not him. You know why? Because he’d lost his hands.”

  Her words struck him like blows. Writer. Articles. Sailor.

  Oblivious to his reaction, she barrelled on. “And that wasn’t in the winter. In the middle of nowhere with no tools.” She stopped, swallowed again, took in deep breaths to control herself.

  It barely registered. His mind reeled. She was a writer. She’d written about at least one other sailor. She was here in Bloo Moose writing about him.

  Talk about flashbacks.

  This was another Jen. Another writer out to make a name for herself on the backs of SEALs. Out to write ab
out him and his past without his permission.

  Christ, he’d been screwed over in the past and he’d learned nothing.

  Here he was with another woman whose pretty face had turned his brain to mush. He couldn’t be more of an idiot if he tried.

  Myla shook herself and backed away. “Sorry. I’m freaking out and I shouldn’t be shouting at you. It’s obviously not your fault. Let’s go.”

  She turned her back and walked on down the stream.

  He watched her go and fought his inner demons.

  Maybe she was working with the jackass who’d cut up the wolf. It might have all been an elaborate setup to get some kind of reaction out of him.

  To have him flashing back to the slaughter in Afghanistan.

  Or it was an unhappy coincidence that she’d shown up in Bloo Moose at the same time as the person who’d blown up his sleds.

  Maybe it was all her. Maybe she’d set up some kind of timer on the detonator so she’d be with him during the explosion.

  She’d offered to come with him back at the shed. Pushed him. Then, when he’d refused, she’d followed anyway.

  For someone who’d never seen winter before, she’d managed to drive his sled across the lake and trail him.

  Damn it.

  His gut screamed at him that there was no way she could have faked her reaction to the wolf or to the explosion but he’d been fooled before.

  By Jen.

  By the situation in Afghanistan.

  The first had only cost him his pride but the other had cost him his team.

  The red coat had disappeared out of sight as Myla continued to walk through the snow and he continued to debate with himself.

  Slowly, he started to follow. Even if she turned out to be a lying bitch, he couldn’t let her lose her hand.

  When he reached her, he called at her to stop but she kept walking. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

  He sighed and tugged her to a halt. “We need to get this fixed up first. Slide your arm into your jacket and tuck your hand under your clothes and onto your skin. It’s going to be cold as hell but keep it there.”

  He helped her follow his instructions as she was shaking too much to do it independently. A quick peek showed the skin was red and shriveling but didn’t look past hope. He had to get the jacket off her and get her dried out. Quickly.

  Of course, all of the proper equipment he had for keeping them warm had blown up with the shed. He had the basics in his backpack, he never went anywhere without it but he could have used more.

  A thick stand of spruce and fir trees stood not too far off the stream, so he took Myla’s free hand and pulled her along toward it. As he’d hoped, a small clearing sat int he middle of the stand. Perfect.

  He pulled off his backpack and yanked out his solar blanket, spread it on the ground. “Sit.”

  When she didn’t move quickly enough, he wondered if she was capable of getting down easily with the one arm trapped in her jacket.

  Reality or another stunt to get a reaction out of him?

  Knowing he couldn’t do anything else, Sawyer helped her down onto the blanket, then undid the snowshoes so she could sit more comfortably.

  “It’s cold.” Her voice shook and her teeth chattered.

  “No shit. Your body heat is the fastest way to heat up the arm. Keep it there. The shivering is actually good news.”

  Which she probably knew from her research on the damn subject.

  Sawyer squatted down in front of her and checked out the sleeve. Not just wet. Soaked to the elbow. Which meant her sweater was wet as well. Keeping the curses inside, he unzipped her jacket but kept it resting on her shoulders, keeping in as much of her warmth as possible.

  She wore a thick sweater, wet at the cuff, damp up at the biceps. Beneath, her arm was cold all the way up.

  A quick rummage of his pack turned up a pair of socks, gloves, a sling and tape from the first aid kit, and a plastic bag full of snacks. Not perfect but not bad.

  Working quickly, he shoved her sleeve up as high as it would go. He’d cut it if he had to but if they could dry it out, she’d stay warmer in the long run.

  Sawyer wrapped his socks around her arm, then taped them in place. After dumping the snacks onto the blanket, he slit the plastic bag, then wrapped it around the socks and taped it in place as well.

  Using the sling, he wrapped her arm closely to her body, then slipped off her jacket and replaced it with his own.

  She tried to shrug it off. “I can’t take your jacket, Sawyer. I can’t. I’ve caused enough trouble, already. You’ll never survive without it.” Tears filled her eyes and her lower lip trembled.

  Before he could think it through, he brushed her lip with his thumb, silencing her immediately. “I’m more than warm enough. I’m going to be moving for a bit. We’ll figure it out later. For now, we need you to get warm and that’s the quickest way. Nothing’s going to happen to either of us.”

  He needed to keep her safe. Writer or not. User or not.

  His mind flashed to the words sprayed on her car. Liar. Bitch.

  Someone else knew she was a writer. Someone else knew she was lying.

  He only had her word for it that she’d spoken to only a handful of people in town. She might even have someone working with her.

  Damn. She had him weaving conspiracy theories.

  He turned his focus back to the situation at hand. Lots of time to find the answers after he made sure she wouldn’t lose her hand.

  As soon as he was sure her skin would stay dry, he shoved to his feet and pushed through the trees. He needed wood. Dry wood that wouldn’t smoke.

  Back in the trees, he set a small fire, close to the solar blanket Myla slumped on. She watched him silently, eyes large and a little vacant. He’d never seen her anything but full of life.

  He needed to get that spark back.

  After several trips to get more and more wood, Sawyer used a spruce bough to erase their tracks. No one but an expert would be able to find them. The fire smell was unavoidable but it wouldn’t be easy to locate with the flames or the smoke.

  Back in the clearing, he found Myla sitting cross-legged on the blanket, head bowed, and her free hand lax.

  Sawyer hardened his heart. She didn’t deserve his sympathy. She was using him.

  He’d give her hell later.

  He picked up the backpack that now lay beside her and unzipped it. The sound had her jerking and trying to scramble backward. Having her hand trapped inside the jacket threw her off balance and she would have toppled over if he hadn’t steadied her.

  “Sorry. I must have zoned out.”

  Her voice trembled right along with her body and Sawyer squelched the urge to haul her up onto his lap and tuck her in.

  He didn’t want that. He didn’t want her if she was using him for a story.

  Sawyer snagged the solar blanket from her pack, glad his training had paid off yet again. This time in fully prepared packs. He wrapped it around her shoulders and tucked it in.

  She tried to push it off. “No. You need that. Not me. Tell me how I can help.”

  Sawyer held the blanket down over her shoulders. “You can help by getting warm. Relax.”

  “But, I can—“

  “Yes, you can but you don’t have to. I’ve got it.”

  Myla grimaced but stayed where she was. Sawyer did a quick survey of the packs and pulled out protein bars, granola, and dried fruit. “Eat.”

  “When you do.”

  He snorted out a laugh. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn?”

  A flicker of humor lit her eyes. “Only most of the people I meet.”

  Sawyer handed her an unwrapped bar before sitting beside her and opening one for himself. “Eat.”

  She did.

  Sawyer filled the tin cups from the packs with snow and set them by the fire. As the snow melted, he added more, keeping them full. Then he added some of the dehydrated soup and passed a cup to Myla.

 
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a regular Davey Boone?”

  He hadn’t thought anything about the situation could make him laugh. “Daniel Boone. Or Davey Crockett. Pick one.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes before she drew in one of those big breaths that meant she was about to ask a question or make a suggestion he was sure to hate.

  “What’s next? How do we get back home?”

  She didn’t stumble over the word home and he wondered if she’d realized she’d used it. She’d only been in town for a few days. She was temporary. Very temporary.

  “Two choices. Walk out tonight or walk out in the morning.” A shudder ripped through her and he continued. “Traveling the bush at night is nothing more than crazy when you don’t know the terrain.”

  Another deep breath. “You know the terrain. What option would be better?”

  And that was the Final Jeopardy question of the day. “Depends. Walking out now means there’s a slim chance Dave or someone else will cross the lake looking for us.”

  “How will they find us? We’re nowhere near where we started.”

  He’d hoped she’d be too tired to realize that. Should have known better. Reporter’s eyes had been tracking their moves all day. “They’ll figure it out.”

  “What would be better about waiting until morning?”

  He studied her pale face with the deep shadows under her eyes. “Rest. It’s been a hell of a long day. We’ll have a lot more energy in the morning.”

  She nodded and looked around. “Maybe we should move and rest.”

  Did she want to be left alone so she could meet up with her partner in crime? Or was she doing another version of sacrificing herself to save him, like she had when he’d tracked the wolves? “I’m not leaving you alone if that’s what you mean.”

  She reached out to pat his arm. “Relax. I get it. I’ve figured out you’re not going to abandon me if you think it’s dangerous. I didn’t mean that. I meant that we should keep going while it’s still light enough to see.”

  Of course, she’d figured out the best option. Except for the fact that she needed to rest. “Your body’s been through enough today. We’ll wait until morning.”