Page 10 of Stuck with My Bossy Protector

“Have you been awake all night?”

“No.” He pulls his arm away from me, reaches for a bottle of water, and hands it to me. “I was awake off and on but got a couple of hours of sleep.”

I take a drink. The water is cold but not frozen. That is a good thing. If it were frozen, we would be in a world of trouble. As I drink, another problem arises. “So, I need to step outside.” I felt my cheeks burning. Of course, I’m stranded with the hottest guy on the planet, and I have to pee.

“I get it,” he smiles. “I need to step out as well. I’ll try to get the door open. Hopefully, it isn’t frozen shut.”

Noah gingerly rises to his feet, wincing as his limbs protest the long hours of inactivity. He grabs the handle of the plane’s door and gives it a tentative push. It doesn’t budge. I tamp down the panic. He gives it another hard shove with his shoulder. I watch with silent admiration as he battles the frozen door.

Finally, with a triumphant grunt, Noah manages to open it. A rush of cold air sweeps into the plane, making me shiver involuntarily. “Shit,” he mutters.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“There’s a layer of ice over the snow.”

“That’s bad?” I ask.

“Let’s just take care of the most emergent problem right now,” he says.

He climbs out first before reaching up and helping me out. I’m nearly blinded by all of the white. The area is blanketed in snow. The sun is shining brightly, making it painful to look around. The landscape is so uniform that I feel completely lost and disoriented. “What do we do now?” I ask, a hint of panic in my voice. “Can’t we use the radio to call for help?”

Noah gives me a look of mild irritation. “We tried that last night, remember? The storm must have damaged the receiver.”

His nonchalance irritates me even more. “Well, we have to try it again.”

“First, I’m going to go behind that tree.”

He goes one way, and I go the other. I am so glad I dressed for the weather. I walk back to the plane and see Noah is already sitting in the cockpit. He tries to start the engine, but it sputters and dies. My hope to fly out of here fades. He tries it again and again, but nothing happens.

“What now?” I demand.

He sighs, inspecting the plane. “It’s probably the fuel filter, clogged from the cold.”

Noah steps out and examines the wing I’m standing under. “Ice.”

“What?”

“There’s ice on the wings. We can’t take off like this. We’ll have to hike to the cabin.”

I know he’s right. “How far is it?”

“Probably five, maybe seven miles,” he replies. “I don’t know for certain.”

“But where is it?” I ask him. “Last night, you couldn’t see anything. We could be anywhere.”

“I have a general idea. I don’t know exactly where we are, but I know the direction we need to go.”

“How?” I ask with disbelief. I slowly turn around. It looks the same every which way I turn.

“I’ve been flying in this area for years. We were headed for a small landing strip about a quarter mile from your friend’s cabin,” he says confidently.

“Great. I’m not sure a birds-eye-view translates to ground navigation.”

“We could sit here and hope for a heat wave,” he says sarcastically. “Stay a few more nights in the plane. Or we walk to the cabin.”

“Do you really think we can make it five miles in this?”

“Yes. Trappers do it all the time.”

---