Page 141 of Roughing It

Using the knife and my teeth—Dr. Holly would have my head on a platter if she knew, but a seriously injured boyfriend trumps orthodontia—I take one of my shirts and cut and rip it into thin strips. I save the rope in case I have to tow him out of here.

I frown at Hudson’s sleeping form. I refuse to think of him as being unconscious. “You said stretcher and cabin, but that isn’t happening. Here’s the new plan. You better be listening.” I lean closer, hoping if I’m bratty enough, he’ll wake up and spank me. When he doesn’t stir, I sigh. “I’m going to splint your leg; then I’ll build a shelter and a fire and find some food. You sleep a little longer, but when I’m done with everything, you’re going to wake up and be okay. You hear me, Bear?”

In my thirty-three years, I’ve had my share of bad. A mother who cared more about drinking and men than me. A mother who withheld love. A moth—okay, a whole heaping pile of Brandee. Dropping out of high school. Being forced out of my hometown as a teen. Never knowing my dad. String after string of fake friends and lovers who saw me as a tool rather than a person.

But all of that—every bad memory, every hungry night, every collected hurt—pales to the idea of losing Hudson.

My throat is thick. “You h-have to be okay.” A series of strangled sobs burst free. “I love you. I w-want to stay with you and b-build a life together. So you c-can’t leave me now.” Tears drip from my eyes to his cheeks, rolling into his beard, little salty shimmers. I drop a kiss to his forehead, wipe my snotty nose with my sleeve, and haul myself to my feet. I have tasks to complete.

Hudson is a man prepared for all kinds of scenarios. It’s like he sat down and thought,Hmmm, what might happen? Oh, I know. Blakely and I will head into town, get in a massive fight, nearly hit a deer, and I’ll be rendered useless. Better make sure she can’t kill us.

The tarp, flint and steel, and additional cordage tucked away in the cargo hold make my to-do list so much easier. My foraging skills lead me to a cache of beef jerky and granola bars, which beats poisonous berries every day of the week.

It takes a handful of hours, a fair amount of swearing, a few crying breaks, and more sweat than I care to admit, but I get everything done.

“Is the shelter a little janky? Yep. Are my knots looser thanthey should be? Of course. Did I yell at you more than once while trying to drag your ass onto the tarp? You bet,” I prattle at Hudson, not expecting an answer. But my voice echoing off the spindly aspens and pines towering around me is better than the suffocating silence.

“I also built a rock ring and a fire like a boss. Layered my clothes on the tarp to make us a semi-comfortable nest and used an obnoxiously bright dress I didn’t wear to create a marker on the road. This way, on the off chance anyone is looking for us, we’ll be easier to spot.”

Hudson mumbles something and tries to turn onto his side.

I scoot next to him and cradle his shoulders so he can’t move. “Hey, no complaining. While this may not be your level of skill, I did the damn thing. We aren’t dying on my watch.”

He makes another pained sound, and I smother a matching one. I lift his shirt, careful not to jostle him. What I see has my eyes cutting to the sky as I fight off another round of tears. His ribs are black and purple, centralized around his right side. He’s been asleep too long. My bruised body begs for rest, but I can’t fall asleep. Not while he’s passed out. Because if something happens?—

Bile climbs in my throat, but I force it and my rising panic down. It won’t do either of us any good. He’s breathing, he’s stable. We have heat. We have shelter. We’re going to make it.

Snuggling closer to Hudson, I run my fingers over his stomach and chest, trace his handsome face, count every freckle. When the sun sets, I whisper my plans for our future so his dreams will be sweet, while demanding the universe watch over us.

Hudson Brooks is my second second chance, and I’ll be damned if I let anything take him away.

CHAPTER THIRTY

hudson

DAY THIRTY-ONE

Pain shoots from my leg through my rib cage and into my head.What the fuck happened?On the cusp of my memory are awful sounds: brakes squealing, metal crunching, and Blakely’s screams.

With every ounce of persistence, determination, and bullheadedness I possess, I will my weighted eyes open.

The sun shines early morning light around me, all mellow golds and burnt oranges. I’m surprisingly comfortable, given the entire right side of my body feels like my Jeep crashed down a bank and into a tree. There’s a pile of clothing beneath me and, below that, a tarp. Random clothes and the emergency blanket I keep in the cargo space cover me. As my eyes adjust to the light, I notice the makeshift lean-to built using the bottom of the Jeep as a wall. Smoke drifts over me from the banked ashes of a fire.

Fucking hell. She did this. I was less than useless, and my city siren kept us sheltered and warm overnight on her own. IfI hadn’t already planned on worshiping Blakely like the badass goddess she is, this would cement it.

The deity in question sleeps curled up beside me, her head in the crook of my left shoulder, her nose pressed into my armpit. So fucking cute. God, I love her. She makes a sweet snuffling sound and rubs her face against me.

I want to pull her closer. Sniff her hair. Kiss her forehead, but I can’t move. My leg screams, and my ribs burn. The pain in my head is a dull throb, so that’s a win. A dry chuckle bubbles up—some win.

Gently shaking her, I say the one word that means more than any other. “Blakely.”

Her eyes flutter before squeezing shut. Even on a good morning, Blakely struggles to wake before nine, but given the amount of work she did yesterday, the adrenaline drop, and her own injuries, she must be exhausted.

“Come on, Spitfire, I need you.” Speaking is like tearing my throat with sandpaper, but I force the words out. I need her to be okay. For her to be here and whole. To confirm I didn’t lose her. That I still have a chance to keep her.

She grumbles and frowns, the lips I’ve kissed a hundred times pouting. Then awareness hits her, and she shoots up. “Shit! Shit. Shit!”

Her voice is like a river running over rocks, leaves rustling in the wind, and the coyotes singing. Magic. Perfect. Home.

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