Page 11 of Stuck with My Bossy Protector

“We’re not trappers, and we’re not wearing snowshoes,” I remind him.

“Look, you can continue to find reasons to be a sitting duck, or you can do something about it. I have zero intention of sitting in that plane another night if there is a cabin and hopefully another way out of here.”

I don’t know what to say. Sleeping in the plane does not appeal to me. But I also don’t know if I can trust him to make it to our destination. I’ve done lots of hiking while tracking moose and bears to photograph, but I was better prepared, and I knew where I was going.

“We’ll die if we stay here,” he adds, his voice eerily calm. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather freeze to death trying to get out of here than sit in this plane waiting for a miracle.”

His words make sense, and despite my fear, my survival instinct kicks in. “Alright, let’s do it.”

He climbs into the plane. “I’ll get my go bag.”

“What about my stuff?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “We’re not dragging all that with us. We can come back for it.”

“I’m not leaving my camera,” I argue.

“You do understand this will not be a leisurely walk?”

“Yes, but I’m not going anywhere without my camera.”

He sighs but doesn’t argue further. “Fine, but pack light. We need to move fast. You might not think it’s heavy now, but trust me, it’s going to feel like a boulder after an hour of walking through this.”

“I’ve hiked with my camera before,” I snap and climb in behind him.

I grab my small bag and unpack some of the unessential equipment, tucking it into my suitcase. I take just one lens and the camera body.

Noah pulls out his backpack. “I always fly with protein bars and basic survival gear, just in case. We’ll have what we need.”

“How many times have you crashed?” I ask the snideness in my voice not lost on either of us.

He laughs, a sound that grates on my nerves and yet oddly comforts me. “More times than I’d like to admit. Let’s go.”

“I do hope you’re joking.”

He climbs out of the plane, and despite our little argument, he helps me down.

“I have not crashed a plane,” he finally answers. “But shit happens.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s comforting.”

“Come on,” he replies.

I slide on my sunglasses and pull up the hood of my coat. The sun is out, but it’s cold. We start walking, the snow crunching beneath our boots. The air is crisp, and the cold bites at my exposed skin. Noah seems unfazed, and his strides are confident and sure. It’s as if he’s a walking compass, knowing exactly where to go. I follow behind him, realizing I’m putting my life in his hands. A man I’ve known less than twenty-four hours.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” I ask, my voice betraying my anxiety.

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. “Trust me.”

Trust him. The words are easier said than done. But I have no choice. The vast whiteness stretches out in all directions, and without him, I’d be hopelessly lost. The hike is grueling. My camera bag feels heavier with each step, just like he promised. I struggle to keep up with Noah’s pace. He occasionally looks back, making sure I’m still with him, but he doesn’t slow down.

“How much farther?” I ask, my breath coming in short gasps.

“We’re making good progress,” he replies.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Because I don’t have an answer.”

---