Fan the Flames (43 page)

While she'd been occupied with “cooking,” George had put another pot of watered snow on the stove, and he was back to his tree-swing construction, or whatever he was doing with the rope. When the line dangled between two trees, the center loose enough to sag just five feet from the ground, he joined her by the stove.

After collecting the empty water bottles, he put a scoop of powdered energy drink in each one before filling them with the boiling water poured through the filter. Ellie closed the energy powder container as she read the label.

“Cherry flavor?”

“Freezes at a lower temperature than plain water,” George explained, closing the top of the last refilled bottle.

“You know what freezes at a really low temperature?” When he raised a brow, she grinned. “Vodka. Plus, that would make us feel warm—well, until we froze to death in a drunken haze—and it would make my blisters stop hurting.”

He'd been starting to smile until she mentioned the blisters. His suddenly serious gaze went to her boots before shooting back to her face.

“It's fine.” She was a little embarrassed to be whining about such a small discomfort. “I was just making a joke.”

“No blisters?”

“Well, yes, blisters, but they're not a big deal.”

According to his scowl, they were most certainly a big deal. “We'll take care of them tonight.”

Knowing it was pointless to argue, Ellie tried not to think of how much his last comment sounded like a threat. “What time is it?”

After checking his watch, he pointed toward the cooler—or warmer, she supposed it should be called. He pulled a couple of sporks from his pack and handed her one. With a smile, she accepted it.

When he gave her a questioning look, she just shrugged. “Sporks are fun.”

George shook his head and unzipped the cooler, holding the opening toward her so she got the first pick of the meals. If her assumptions about reconstituted food in a pouch were correct, neither would be a winning choice. She grabbed the chicken randomly, figuring that at least the meal would be warm. After eating trail mix all day, a change would be nice.

She gave it a stir with her spork and then took a bite. It wasn't nice. It wasn't nice at all. Since she didn't want to chew it anymore—because then she'd have to keep tasting it—Ellie swallowed it like a mouthful of medicine. It was still lumpy enough to hurt her throat going down. Staring down at the still-full pouch of food, her shoulders drooped. There was a lot in there.

Glancing up, she saw George was watching her. “Just fair warning. You're going to be stuck with a lot of this.” She gave the pouch a jiggle.

He didn't look too concerned as he shoved another sporkful of beef stroganoff into his mouth. With a sigh, she dug into her own dinner.

Ellie ended up managing to down almost half of her so-called chicken teriyaki before she gave up and handed the remaining food to George. He finished it quickly, and then tucked the empty pouches into a plastic bag and sealed it shut. He put that into a stuff sack, along with all the trail mix and other food he'd pulled from his pack. Once he emptied his pack of everything edible, he stripped hers of any food, as well.

He closed the stuff sack and attached it to the drooping center of the line stretched between the two trees. After he pulled the end attached to the second tree, tautening the rope and drawing the stuff sack full of food a good fifteen feet off the ground, she finally couldn't stand not knowing any longer.

“What are you doing?”

“Bears.”

His one-word answer made her suck in a quick breath and look around, frantically peering through the gathering darkness. “Bears? Here?”

Pausing in the middle of securing the line, keeping the food dangling high above them, George looked at her. “Not many out yet, but no reason to take any chances.”

“Yes, I think that's smart. I approve of not taking chances with bears.” She couldn't stop swiveling her head side to side, though, and the growing shadows were sparking the scaredy-cat side of her imagination. “So, should we head back to the tent now?” Not that she thought the soft-sided shelter would offer any protection from a bear's claws and teeth if it really wanted to eat them.

George did not look appropriately worried about the possibility of becoming a bear's midnight snack. In fact, although it was hard to tell under his beard, she was pretty sure he was amused by the squeaky pitch to her voice. He definitely didn't rush through packing up the stove. After giving the sporks a rudimentary cleaning with a handful of snow and then rinsing them with the remains of their quickly cooling water in the pan, he stowed them in his pack.

Quickly sliding her arms into her own backpack, she waited impatiently as he did a final check of the area. Before he put his own pack over his shoulder, he pulled out a flashlight. Once he turned on the light, Ellie realized how dark it was getting, and her desire to hide in the semi-safety of their tent doubled. At least then they wouldn't be standing by the yummy-smelling bag of food.

“Is that why we ate over here? To keep all the smells away from the tent?” she asked as George finally,
finally
, started walking back toward their main campsite.

He dipped his head. “No food in the tent.” His sideways glance was almost accusatory, as if he thought she was smuggling a candy bar in her coat pocket or something. Overcome with a sudden burst of bear-induced paranoia, she quickly checked her pockets for possible forgotten tidbits. To her relief, the only things she found were the avalanche beacon and the folded map that Callum had printed out the day before.

“I'm clean,” she said, earning another look from George, this one amused.

Ellie shivered. With the sunlight gone, the temperature was quickly dropping, and a cold breeze had picked up. The area outside the yellow beam of the flashlight seemed deeply dark and endless, filled with unfriendly things with fangs and claws. She stepped a little closer to George. He was just so reassuringly large. If an angry bear did happen to attack, George would have a pretty good chance of winning that fight.

When the tent reflected the light, she let out a silent exhale of relief. “Should we bring the packs inside?” she asked, looking back at him as she scurried toward the entrance. Thanks to the flashlight he carried, all she could see was a blinding circle of light. Her hand whipped up to shield her eyes.

“In the vestibule.”

Ellie held in a snort. “Vestibule” was a pretty fancy word for the tiny porch area draping the entrance of the tent. With white spots still plastered across her vision, she fumbled for the zipper. Before she could climb through the opening, George tugged at her pack, and she shrugged out of the shoulder straps. After setting her pack aside, he caught her again, this time by the arm, before she could dive into the tent.

“Don't you need to”—he jerked his head to the area outside the tent—“first?”

After a second of staring at him blankly, she realized what he was asking and made a face. “Yes. Good idea.” She reversed out of the vestibule and stood, accepting the flashlight and a few thin squares of camping toilet paper that George offered. The flashlight's beam seemed so puny compared to the yawning darkness that surrounded them. “Um…did you need to go, too?”

“After you're done.”

There was no way to tactfully ask a near stranger if he would pee in the woods with her because she was scared of bears and whatever else lurked out there, so she just vowed to stay close to the tent. Privacy became a nonissue when carnivorous—or at least omnivorous—wild animals were about.

She ducked through the trees sheltering their tent, just twenty feet or so from the entrance. It was both easier that time, since she didn't have her pack, and more miserable, thanks to her worries and the dark and the biting wind. She'd always imagined that being in the wilderness would feel peaceful and solitary, but she just couldn't shake the feeling that she was being
watched
. Telling herself that she was being an idiot, Ellie focused on finishing what she needed to do so she could escape the phantom gaze and return to the safety of the tent and George.

Ellie hurried back, almost crashing into George halfway to the tent entrance. She wondered if he'd been watching out for her. Knowing that he'd been so close while she'd answered the call of nature was both reassuring and slightly creepy. When she tried to hand off the flashlight to him, he held up his own. She was secretly relieved not to have to spend any time in the complete darkness.

Crawling into the tent alone was eerie, the bouncing light of her flashlight creating odd shadows on the fabric walls, and she felt like she held her breath until George joined her. The sleeping bag on the left looked slightly smaller, so she scooted over to that side, attempting to keep her boots off the bed. It was difficult, though, since there wasn't much tent floor showing around the edges of the pads.

Her hand rose to her mouth, but her glove kept her teeth off her fingers. While setting up the tent earlier, she hadn't noticed how
close
the sleeping bags were to each other. Even though they'd both be wrapped with multiple layers of fabric, it would be a little disconcerting to sleep that close to a man she'd just met the day before.

The stranger in question cleared his throat, and she looked up to see him holding out two stuff sacks, one empty and one full. Although she accepted them, she gave him a questioning look.

He pointed at the full sack. “Water bottles.” And then at the empty one. “Boots.”

“Okay.” That was strange. It wasn't like there were any snakes around in the cold weather to crawl into her boots or anything. With a shrug, she removed her gloves and unlaced her boots. When she pulled them off, her socks tried to follow, pulling loose from her blisters, and she yanked them back into place, hissing at the sting.

George made a wordless, unhappy sound as he looked at her socked feet. In the oddly shadowed illumination of the flashlight, the dried blood next to her baby toes looked black against the tan socks. From the throb at the backs of her heels, there'd be more blood there if she turned her feet to see. Instead, she focused on tucking her boots into the sack.

Once that was done, she looked at George, but he was still scowling at her feet. When she tucked the stuff sack in the corner, however, he finally pulled his attention away. “In your sleeping bag.”

“Really?” Once she thought about it, though, it made sense. It would be much better to stick her feet into warm boots in the morning instead of frozen ones. The thought of having to get up in eight or so hours and repeat the day of hiking was overwhelming, and she shut down that train of thought before she started whimpering. She slid the stuff sack into the bottom of her sleeping bag. “Should I put all my clothes in there with me?”

Shaking his head, he began to remove his own boots. “Just the water bottles and your gloves. Keep on your socks, long underwear, and hat.”

She tucked her gloves next to the stuff sack holding her boots and added the one full of water bottles. “I thought I read somewhere that it was warmer to be naked in a down sleeping bag.”

Even in the light of two flashlights, she had no idea how to interpret the look he directed at her for just a second before refocusing on his boots. He cleared his throat. “Myth.”

“Oh.” That was good. It was going to be uncomfortable enough sleeping right next to George without being naked. Besides, the idea of stripping to the buff in the cold air was not appealing. He put his boots in a stuff sack and then crawled to the entrance, unzipping the door so he could get something out of the packs. He reversed, zipping them in again, handing her a pair of her socks. He also had a white plastic box in his hand, which he placed next to him on his sleeping bag.

Her hand went to her coat zipper, but George reached out and covered her hand with his, stilling it. She looked at him in surprise.

“Feet.”

Making a face, she scooted back and pulled one foot onto her other thigh. Once again, George's hand stopped her. This time, he closed his fingers around her foot and gently tugged, turning her until she sat perpendicular to him with her feet on his lap.

He opened the white box, and Ellie leaned closer to see the contents. It looked like a first-aid kit. Taking out a few wrapped packets that she guessed were alcohol wipes, George tucked them into his waistband, momentarily revealing an inch of his hard stomach in the process. Ellie realized he was warming the wipes for her, and she felt a rush of appreciation for his thoughtfulness.

He removed her socks, and the air instantly chilled her bare skin. Her toes curled in protest.

“I'll be quick,” he promised, and he was. Quick and brutal. After cleaning the blistered areas with the alcohol wipes, leaving her breathless from the burn, he dabbed on antibiotic ointment and covered all four spots with Band-Aids. He took the socks he'd just retrieved from her and slid them over her doctored feet.

“Thank you,” she said as he folded her feet into his huge hands, enveloping them completely in luscious warmth. For a minute, neither of them moved. Ellie had never felt so cared for, so protected. At the same time, his gentle hold made her stomach dip and swoop with nervous excitement. It seemed as if every nerve ending in her body was based in her feet, and George's touch was setting all of them on fire. Her breath audibly caught, and self-consciousness slid over Ellie at the sound. When she shifted uncomfortably, George immediately moved her feet back onto her sleeping bag, rotating her body in the process. This time, when she went to remove her coat, he didn't stop her. As she tucked it by the head of her sleeping mats, the rustle of paper reminded her of the map.

Pulling it from her jacket pocket, she unfolded it and held it toward George. “Could you show me where we are on here?”

“Get in your sleeping bag and finish undressing.” He peeled off his coat and the layer beneath. “And then I will.”

That was easier said than done. It took a lot of wiggling and some grunting before she was down to her single long-underwear layer, socks, and her stocking hat. “Okay.”

He frowned. “Arms in.”

When she obeyed, he zipped her sleeping bag all the way to the top and then tugged the hood up over her head. Once he tightened the drawstring, only her eyes, nose, and mouth were exposed. She'd expected it to be claustrophobia-inducing, but it felt cozy instead. Thanks to the body heat produced by her undressing calisthenics, the bag was already starting to warm.

“Don't breathe into the bag,” he warned. “It'll hold in the moisture and get cold.”

“Okay.” The idea of tucking her face into the sleeping bag wasn't appealing anyway. That
would
make her claustrophobic.

“I have a bandana we can put over your nose and mouth if your face is cold.” He was watching her closely, as if she were going to start defiantly breathing inside her bag as soon as his back was turned.

“I'm fine. Map?” She wiggled onto her side so she could get a better view.

With a final stern glower, he picked up the map and directed the beam of a flashlight on it. After studying it for a minute, he tilted the paper and the light so she could see.

“We parked here.” He pointed to a spot very close to where Callum had marked. “Followed this road.” The tip of his finger traced one of the dotted lines. “Now we're here.” He stopped at a point heartbreakingly close to where they'd started walking.

“The cabin is that
X
.” Since her arms were bundled into her sleeping bag, she couldn't point, so she just tilted her head toward the map. “Which way do you think Dad's going? The deputy saw him at the Burnt Canyon Road trailhead.”

The pause after his small shrug lasted a long time. Ellie opened her mouth to speak, figuring George was done, when he spoke, moving his fingertip along an area on the map that didn't follow any of the lines. “This way, maybe.”

She resisted the urge to pull her arm out of her sleeping bag so she could trace her father's route on the map. Instead, she asked, “How long do you think it'll take us to get there?”

George studied the map for a moment before answering. “Two and a half days, if we push it.”

That was longer than she'd expected and would total more days than she'd told Chelsea. She sighed. It wasn't like she could call Chels and let her know, either, since she didn't even have to turn on her phone to know that there was absolutely no cell coverage. Trying to shift her thoughts away from Chelsea's annoyance—since there was nothing Ellie could do about that anyway—she asked, “Will we just keep following the same road?” The dotted line appeared to travel in a semi-straight line before it passed close to the cabin's
X
.