other two are going to the scene.”
“Can we get to the car from here?”
She heard him sigh. “Yeah. But we can’t take the path we took earlier. It’s too close to the road and someone might see us. We can circle around but that means we’ll have to cross the creek.”
She was already pretty wet. How much worse could it be? “Let’s go,” she said.
“Your feet have to be cold.”
“Of course. But I’m not stopping now.”
“I thought that’s what you were going to say.”
It was another ten minutes of slipping and sliding through the snow before they got to the creek. She stopped, catching her breath, while Ethan ran the flashlight up and down the banks. The water was covered by snow. “It’s usually only four or five inches deep,” he said, “but with all the rain we’ve had this week, I’m betting the water level is higher than usual. Plus, there’s probably some current that we’ll have to fight.”
“We should probably hang on to each other.” She held out her hand.
He shook his head. “I’ll carry you across.”
She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.
“I’m not being ridiculous. There’s no need for both of us to get wet.”
She thought about that. “What about your gun? You can’t carry me and it.”
“I’ll carry you piggyback. The way Mack used to,” he added.
She remembered how her brother would let her climb onto his back. Then he’d race around the yard and she’d squeal until he dumped her off.
It might work. “What if you drop me?” she said.
“Then you’ll get wet,” he said nonchalantly.
He clearly wasn’t planning on dropping her. “I really don’t think this is necessary,” she said.
“Take off your shoes,” he instructed.
“Why? They’re already so wet and muddy that I’ll have to throw them away.”
“But at least they’re some protection for your feet. I don’t want you to lose them in the creek and then you’ll be barefoot. That’s a recipe for disaster.”
It was not worth arguing about. She took off her loafers and stuffed one into each of her sweatshirt pockets.
He put his gun and his flashlight down on a stump. Then he squatted, she jumped, and his very capable hands were suddenly under her upper thighs, adjusting, settling her.
It was oddly intimate, even though they were both wearing wet blue jeans.
“Okay?” he asked.
Oh, yeah. Ethan Moore asked me to stay over and within hours, I had my legs wrapped around his waist. Her entry into her teenage diary was getting better by the minute. “Ready when you are,” she managed, trying to stay still. He’d been unresponsive to her kiss. A squirm here or a thrust there might send him into a catatonic state.
He picked up his gun and flashlight and they half slid their way down the bank. She heard his boots break through the ice and splash in the water.
It took just seconds to cross the narrow creek. Still, she was terribly grateful for the sweatshirt that he’d given her and glad that it had escaped getting wet. Something that wouldn’t have happened if she’d tried to walk across the creek.
He bent at the knees and she slid off his back.
“What’s your favorite pie?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“All the way across I kept thinking, I owe Ethan big-time . In those circumstances, my go-to solution has been to make a pie.”
He was silent for a minute. “Cherry,” he said. “Warm. With vanilla ice cream.”
“I didn’t say anything about ice cream.”
“I know. There should always be a bigger goal.”
“Vanilla is kind of boring.”
“Traditional. Comforting. Dependable,” he countered.
It was a silly conversation to be having. Especially in the middle of the night, on foot in the mountains, in a blinding snowstorm. And wet to boot.
And after somebody had tried twice to kill her.
No wonder it felt good to engage in the ridiculous.
“Okay. Vanilla ice cream, too,” she said.
“Excellent. You know, that’s what your hair smells
“Can we get to the car from here?”
She heard him sigh. “Yeah. But we can’t take the path we took earlier. It’s too close to the road and someone might see us. We can circle around but that means we’ll have to cross the creek.”
She was already pretty wet. How much worse could it be? “Let’s go,” she said.
“Your feet have to be cold.”
“Of course. But I’m not stopping now.”
“I thought that’s what you were going to say.”
It was another ten minutes of slipping and sliding through the snow before they got to the creek. She stopped, catching her breath, while Ethan ran the flashlight up and down the banks. The water was covered by snow. “It’s usually only four or five inches deep,” he said, “but with all the rain we’ve had this week, I’m betting the water level is higher than usual. Plus, there’s probably some current that we’ll have to fight.”
“We should probably hang on to each other.” She held out her hand.
He shook his head. “I’ll carry you across.”
She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.
“I’m not being ridiculous. There’s no need for both of us to get wet.”
She thought about that. “What about your gun? You can’t carry me and it.”
“I’ll carry you piggyback. The way Mack used to,” he added.
She remembered how her brother would let her climb onto his back. Then he’d race around the yard and she’d squeal until he dumped her off.
It might work. “What if you drop me?” she said.
“Then you’ll get wet,” he said nonchalantly.
He clearly wasn’t planning on dropping her. “I really don’t think this is necessary,” she said.
“Take off your shoes,” he instructed.
“Why? They’re already so wet and muddy that I’ll have to throw them away.”
“But at least they’re some protection for your feet. I don’t want you to lose them in the creek and then you’ll be barefoot. That’s a recipe for disaster.”
It was not worth arguing about. She took off her loafers and stuffed one into each of her sweatshirt pockets.
He put his gun and his flashlight down on a stump. Then he squatted, she jumped, and his very capable hands were suddenly under her upper thighs, adjusting, settling her.
It was oddly intimate, even though they were both wearing wet blue jeans.
“Okay?” he asked.
Oh, yeah. Ethan Moore asked me to stay over and within hours, I had my legs wrapped around his waist. Her entry into her teenage diary was getting better by the minute. “Ready when you are,” she managed, trying to stay still. He’d been unresponsive to her kiss. A squirm here or a thrust there might send him into a catatonic state.
He picked up his gun and flashlight and they half slid their way down the bank. She heard his boots break through the ice and splash in the water.
It took just seconds to cross the narrow creek. Still, she was terribly grateful for the sweatshirt that he’d given her and glad that it had escaped getting wet. Something that wouldn’t have happened if she’d tried to walk across the creek.
He bent at the knees and she slid off his back.
“What’s your favorite pie?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“All the way across I kept thinking, I owe Ethan big-time . In those circumstances, my go-to solution has been to make a pie.”
He was silent for a minute. “Cherry,” he said. “Warm. With vanilla ice cream.”
“I didn’t say anything about ice cream.”
“I know. There should always be a bigger goal.”
“Vanilla is kind of boring.”
“Traditional. Comforting. Dependable,” he countered.
It was a silly conversation to be having. Especially in the middle of the night, on foot in the mountains, in a blinding snowstorm. And wet to boot.
And after somebody had tried twice to kill her.
No wonder it felt good to engage in the ridiculous.
“Okay. Vanilla ice cream, too,” she said.
“Excellent. You know, that’s what your hair smells
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