Page 36 of Stuck with My Bossy Protector

Our breath is visible in the cold air. “Let’s head to the shed and see if we can get that snowmobile running. Is that where Eric keeps the wood?” He points toward the blue tarp.

“Yes,” I nod.

“Let’s hope we strike gold,” he says.

I silently pray for some good luck, following him through the snow to the small shed a short distance from the cabin. We use our hands and feet to clear the door, the snow packed tightly against it. Of course. Of course, it can’t be easy. It seems like everything we do out here has to be complicated.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Noah growls. He slaps the door and steps back, hands on his hips as he takes a few deep breaths.

I don’t say anything. I understand his frustration. Giving him a pep talk or expressing my irritation will only worsen this. I look around, searching for anything that might help us get into the shed. All I see is white. It looks like a soft blanket. I don’t even see animal tracks, which is actually a good thing.

“Son of a bitch,” Noah barks.

He goes after the door with new energy, his annoyance showing as he jerks and pulls. Finally, with a grunt, Noah manages to pry it open.

I can’t help but laugh.

He looks at me with a triumphant smile. “Damn, if I’m going to let a door get in my way.”

“You definitely showed it who is boss,” I joke.

He pushes it open enough for us to get inside. Thankfully, he was smart and brought his flashlight. He shines it on the snowmobile, sitting half-covered under a tarp. “How old is this thing?” he asks.

“I have no idea.”

“Do he and his wife come up here often?” he asks, handing me the flashlight.

I hold it up for him to see. “I don’t think she comes up here too often.”

I understand what he’s saying. The thing doesn’t look like it’s moved in years. I watch as Noah pulls off the tarp and tosses it on the floor.

“Keys?” he asks.

I shine the light around and laugh. “I would guess they might be hanging from the hook that says keys.”

He shoots me a wry grin, shaking his head. “Well, aren’t we a witty one this morning?” He walks over to the hook I spotlighted and retrieves the snowmobile keys. “Let’s see if this thing will start.”

He sticks it in the ignition and gives it a turn, but there is no response. He tries it again but to no avail. I can see his shoulders sag slightly. The snowmobile was our only hope for a quicker and easier journey back to the plane.

“Don’t worry. We might just need to tinker with it a bit,” I say, trying to reassure him. “Do you know anything about snowmobiles?”

“I do,” he nods. “Like I said—Alaska, born and raised. But it isn’t like I’ve got a full set of tools. And if this thing hasn’t run in a while, I don’t see me getting it to work.”

He’s already leaning over the engine. I watch as he rattles parts and mutters to himself. He obviously knows what he’s doing, which is a relief because I have no clue about machines.

“Maybe there are some tools in here somewhere,” I offer, flashing my light around the shed. There are some wooden shelves on the walls. I wonder what else might be calling this shed home. There’s some evidence of animals using it for shelter. The last thing I want to do is come face to face with a rabid squirrel.

Noah cranks the key again with no luck. He curses under his breath before leaning back and staring at the ceiling like he’s praying for divine intervention.

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask softly.

He takes a deep breath. “Unless you happened to bring some new spark plugs and fuel cleaner in that camera bag, I don’t think so.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not giving up yet,” he says with determination. “Why don’t you see if there’s wood under that tarp? If I can’t get this thing running, I want to know if we need to get some wood for tonight.”

I nod, happy to have something to do. I prop the flashlight up on one of the shelves, the beam shining on the snowmobile, and slide out the door to investigate our fuel situation.

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