Page 23 of Stuck with My Bossy Protector

Noah

Itake a second, holding my hands out. My fingers hurt. They hurt so bad that they feel like they might snap. I can’t believe I’m standing here. I honestly thought we were going to die out there. I had given up, but she was the one that pushed us on.

The snow had been coming down so hard it was almost a whiteout. I was convinced I was completely off the right path to the cabin. I was certain I had gotten her killed. Part of me was pissed that I didn’t stop and try to build an emergency shelter.

I am so glad she didn’t let me. Staying out there all night would have been a mistake.

I look at Mia, realizing she’s still wearing her coat and boots. Her lips are tinged blue. I know she’s not thinking straight. She’s on the verge of hypothermia.

“You need to take off your clothes,” I tell her, my voice firm. “They’re wet, and you’re freezing.”

“I—I don’t think I can move,” she whispers.

She fumbles with her clothes, her fingers clumsy and uncooperative. I can see how bad things are.

“Let me,” I tell her.

She nods, not having the strength to argue. I kneel and start with her boots, pulling them off gently. Her socks are soaked and ice-cold from trudging through the snow.

I peel off one and then the next. Her feet are white, and her skin is wrinkled. With the glow of the fire, I get a look at her toes. Thankfully, I don’t see any frostbite. Another hour and it would have set in.

“Keep looking at the fire,” I instruct her when I see that she’s drifting. She needs to stay conscious. She sways, reaching down to grab my shoulder.

I stand up and unzip her coat. It’s stiff with cold. I am glad it is a good-quality coat. Anything less, and I would be peeling this off a corpse. Her sweater is damp and clinging to her. With slow movements, I pull it over her head. She’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt underneath. Unfortunately, it’s a little damp as well.

“Mia, I need to take this off. Trust me, you’re going to get a lot warmer with the heat from the fire on your skin and not going through your damp clothing.”

She looks at me with no sign of fear. “Okay.”

I gently remove her shirt, trying not to alarm her. She’s still shivering, but I notice a touch of color returning to her cheeks. She’s watching the fire again, the flames reflected in her half-lidded eyes.

“Pants,” I tell her. “I promise; this is just me trying to get you warm.”

“I know. I get it. I know I have to get out of my wet clothes.”

“Stay here. I’m going to get some blankets. I’m assuming there is a bed here.”

I grab the flashlight and quickly scan the cabin. To my surprise, there is a tiny bedroom at the back. I pull the blanket from the bed. It’s a heavy wool coverlet that is perfect to get her warm. These places always have emergency supplies—a survival necessity of sorts. I see a shelf with more blankets neatly folded. I grab them as well.

She is sitting on the floor in front of the woodstove when I return, fighting with her pants.

“I got some blankets.”

“I can’t get my pants off,” she says.

“Let me.”

I sit next to her, tugging off the pants. They are meant to repel water and have an insulated lining, but they were no match for hours in an Alaskan blizzard.

She doesn’t protest, as she is too cold and weak to argue. Once she’s down to her underwear, I wrap her in a blanket and pull her close to the stove.

“Let me get some wood on the fire,” I tell her. “It’s going to warm up fast.”

“You have to get your clothes off,” she says, her teeth chattering.

“I will.”

I add another log, the heat from the blaze nearly singeing my eyebrows. That is a good thing. I get to my feet and quickly take my coat off. My sweater is damp as well. I peel it off, tossing it on the floor before sitting down and taking off my boots. I strip down to my boxers and stand in front of the wood stove.

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