Page 16 of Stuck with My Bossy Protector

I’m surrounded by snow and nothing else. I know how desolate this area is. There are no roads. It’s not like someone is going to happen upon us and offer us a ride. I understand the odds. If we don’t get to the cabin soon, it’s unlikely we survive the night. It will get dark in a couple of hours. The temperature will drop below freezing. With no shelter, we’ll freeze to death.

I choke on a sob at the realization.

“Are you okay?” Noah asks, pausing and turning to face me.

“Fine.”

He searches my face. “Sure?”

“Uh, not to sound like a three-year-old, but how much farther?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

Noah responds with a bit of snark. “I’ve never been here, so I don’t know.”

“You said we were five miles away. How far have we walked?”

He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe three miles. And I said we might be about five miles. I think it might have been farther. We might not be on a direct path. I don’t know.”

I nod. I know I’m miserable, but he must be as well. The pressure is on him to get us to safety. He turns around and starts walking again. I wonder if he’s lost. The thought brings a new wave of dread. If he doesn’t know our location, there is no hope because I have zero clue where we are. I’m counting on him. He is the man who will keep me alive. I hate being dependent on anyone, but in this case, he very much holds my life in his hands.

I swallow hard, pushing down the panic that threatens to rise. I have always considered myself a survivor, having wrestled with danger numerous times in my journeys around the world, but this is different. I am not behind the camera anymore, separated from the threat by a glass lens. This time, I am in the scene, in the picture—a part of the wild narrative.

It’s not long before I feel my energy wane, my exhaustion overtaking me. But I can’t stop. I have to keep trudging along. I know that stopping in such an environment is a death sentence. So, I put one foot in front of the other, pushing on.

Suddenly, Noah stops dead in his tracks. I nearly bump into him, caught off guard by his abrupt halt.

“What is it?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes scanning the horizon. I follow his gaze, and my heart sinks. In the distance, a dark figure moves against the white backdrop of the snow. At first, I think it’s a tree swaying in the wind. Then it moves again. My blood runs cold as I realize it’s a bear—a grizzly lumbering in our direction.

Noah turns to me, his face pale. “We need to move. Now.”

Panic surges through me, but I force myself to stay calm. We turn and begin to walk faster, our pace quickening with every step. The bear is far enough away that we might still have a chance if we hurry.

“Stay close to me,” Noah says, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “Don’t run.”

I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. The bear is still far off, but I know they can cover ground quickly when they want to. Running feels like the smart thing, but I know it makes us look like prey.

“Stay calm,” Noah repeats over and over.

“Where are we going?” I ask him.

It’s a valid question. We have nowhere to run.

My mind races with thoughts of what could happen if the bear catches up to us. I push them aside, focusing on the immediate task of moving forward. But the bear is relentless, and as I glance back, I see it has closed some of the distance between us.

I nearly vomit with a sudden burst of fear. My flight or fight instinct is in full force. I want to run as fast and far as my legs will carry me. Noah suddenly veers off the path, heading toward a cluster of trees. I follow him, my legs burning with exertion. We’re moving twice as fast as we were. I thought walking was difficult before. Now, I feel like we were wading through wet cement. The trees offer a bit of cover. I pray they can provide some sort of protection or at least slow the bear down.

We weave through the trees, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. I can hear the bear now, crashing through the underbrush. My fear is a living thing clawing at my insides, but I keep moving. I have to.

“Are we actually going to try and outrun a grizzly bear?” I ask, more to myself than him.

“I’m hoping it will lose interest,” he replies.

“We’re moving away from the cabin. We’re going to get lost.”

“I’ll get us back on the right path, preferably without a grizzly bear on our heels,” he snaps.

His words are short and filled with tension. We don’t have time for bickering. We need to work together if we want to survive this. Noah reaches back and grabs my hand. I can’t explain how or why, but the contact calms me. It infuses me with strength. Despite our terrifying situation, there’s something strangely comforting about his presence. He has an air of leadership—of capability. I find myself believing he will keep me safe.

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