Page 2 of Rescued By the Major

“Eva?”

He knows my name?

The question occurs to me even as I nod in response, and something like relief flits across his face as he gives a small twitch of the lips that doesn’t quite make it as a smile. I’m struck by how sure he looks, peering in at me, and how happy I am to see him, even though I don’t know who he is. Thankfulness that I’m not alone settles in me, and I want to shove open the door, launch myself into his arms, and hug him.

“Livvy and Max sent me,” he yells through the glass and any remaining reservations I had about trusting this man evaporate. My friends wouldn’t ask anyone they didn’t trust to come find me. When I smile in understanding, he points down to the door handle. “I’m going to pull from this side, but the snow is deep out here, so you’ll have to push at the same time so we can get you out.”

I nod, and he grimaces as he leans back, putting his full weight into opening the door. I push with my shoulder, but there’s almost no movement that I can feel.

“Try again,” he says, shouting against the wind that I can hear is getting louder.

This time I twist in my seat, pulling my legs up and leaning back until my feet are pressed against the door panel. I can see him grit his teeth as he pulls back, and I push with all my strength against the weight of the snow that’s piled up around my car.

The door squeals but it moves, and we work together until there’s enough space for me to wiggle out with the small bag of items I kept beside me on the passenger seat. Identification, my phone that’s long dead, an empty bottle of water, and the remains of half a granola bar. I made myself stop eating because I wasn’t sure how long it would take before someone might find me.

I wiggle out and slip in the snow. A strong arm grabs me, holding me up as I regain my balance. The force of the wind dissipates as my rescuer steps in front of me, and again I want to hug him for his thoughtfulness. Dark eyes look down at me, running over my head and then down, assessing, and his lips turn down.

“Do you have a hat or gloves in your bag,” he asks, leaning in close to my ear.

I shake my head. When I decided to stay here, there hadn’t been any hint to expect bad weather. Max and Livvy told me to pack for any possibility, but I was in such a hurry, I didn’t take the time to find them.

“Here,” says the man, his voice gruff, as he pulls a knit cap out of one of the many pockets on his thick coat. He settles it onto my head, tugging it in place, and then brushes long strands of hair out of my eyes. “Hands next.”

I hold them up in automatic response, which earns me a quick grin, and he carefully slides each of my hands into heavy gloves. They’re too big for my small hands, but I don’t care. I’m just thankful to be instantly warmer, less of me exposed to the freezing air. That’s what matters.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, and he ducks his head in one short nod, silently accepting my gratitude.

He wraps a braided cord around my waist, the bright orange color easily visible even in the bad conditions, and then loops the other end around himself. When I look down in confusion,he answers my unspoken question. “Keeps us from getting separated. Blowing snow is a problem up here. I don't want to lose you now that I’ve finally found you.”

Those words dredge up some strange warm feeling in my belly, and a shiver creeps over me as this sense of being cared for swamps me. Even if he’s just doing his job, it’s been a long time since anyone has shown this level of concern for me personally. It feels good to matter.

“Try to put your feet where I step. I’ll break down the deeper snow as I push through and that should make it a little easier for you as we go.” He casts a look around and then stabs a finger in a direction that isn’t clear to me. “That’s the way we need to head. You ready?”

He glances at me over his shoulder, eyes questioning, and I nod. There's no other option, really, short of cuddling up together in my broken-down car. The image of that sends a shot of heat right through me, and I shake it off. He waits, as if my reeling thoughts are obvious to him, and I straighten my shoulders. Before he can take a step though, I reach for his arm to stop him.

“Wait, what’s your name?”

He grunts, and it’s actually a sound that makes me want to smile rather than flinch. “It’s Anders.”

“Nice to meet you, Anders.” He almost smiles at that, which makes my stomach flutter. What would it be like to see this man really smile? To accomplish that feat? “Lead the way.”

He gives a tug on the line holding us together, as if he wants to test the connection, then turns and plunges forward into the trees, pulling me along behind.

3

ANDERS

She’s a tough little thing.There’s been no complaining or crying about how cold she is or how hard the trek through the woods is turning out to be. I’m sweating in my coat and my leg aches. The missing muscle is most obvious to me in these strenuous situations, and I almost wish for it back. But that’s a waste of time and energy. I need to keep my focus on getting us back to the cabin. I’m at least trained for this. Eva doesn't have any background in surviving this type of situation and if she can keep pushing forward, so will I.

We walk in silence, the wind shoving cold fingers at us, biting at any exposed skin, and I worry about the woman behind me. I start a mental list of things I’ll need to do to make sure she warms up properly as soon as we reach the cabin. Settle her beside the fire, make sure she’s drinking water, wrap her in blankets. Dry clothes and a meal.

It feels like forever, but I finally see the glint of light through the trees as dusk descends and relief spears through me. My steps speed up and I feel a tug on the line as Eva stumbles to keep up. I reach a hand back and she takes it, fingers squeezing as if she needs to reassure herself that I’m real.

It’s awkward, but I don’t pull away from her. Instead, I just keep walking, her hand holding onto mine like it’s an anchor, until we break free of the ring of trees, into the small clearing around the cabin. Eva picks up her pace and I let her hand slip from mine, surprised when I feel a sense of loss at the missing connection between us.

We make our way through the snow to the steps and clamber up onto the porch. I kick the wet slush from my boots, smiling as Eva does the same. But my smile shifts to worry as I realize she’s not wearing boots. Just tennis shoes. I can see her start to shiver as she stands there, the body heat generated from our trek here rapidly leaving her.

“Get inside,” I growl, instantly wanting to kick myself as fear crosses her face. “I’m sorry. Just mad at myself. I didn't know you were wearing tennis shoes. I assumed you had boots on. We’ve gotta warm up your feet, honey.”

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