Page 4 of Rescued by the Captain

My gaze darts to my wristwatch. Fifteen minutes have passed since I reached the scene. With what I’ve learned in the military about hypothermia, I doubt that a girl laying in the snow will last much longer with the limited clothing she has on.

I scoop her up in my arms. The frailness of her condition becomes even starker in my hold. She takes shallow breaths, and her eyebrows twitch as if she’s struggling to stay conscious.

All the more reason to get her out of here fast. Her brown waves fall over my shoulders as I trudge forward, sliding one hand to the intercom to radio the sheriff.

I shout to be heard over the pouring snow. “Found victim but can’t make it back to the truck. Going to find shelter.”

The radio crackles as Colt releases a frustrated exhale. “You’re never going to make the force with this bullshit.”

“I’ll let you know when we’re safe, but thanks for being a dick.” I shouldn’t talk to my hopefully future boss.

I hold the woman closer to my chest. Keeping her vital organs warm is top priority. A beautiful iridescent owl necklace falls from her shirt and I jostle it back into place, hoping not to lose anything more than what she already has.

Yeah, the sheriff may be pissed off. He’ll have to deal with it. Losing a shot at a job weighs less than losing a shot at saving someone’s life. If I didn’t disobey this honcho’s orders, who knows when the next person would’ve found the woman’s body.

Colton answers through gritted teeth. "There’s a cabin about a mile from you, Winchester’s property, I’ll call them and let ‘em know you’re going to use it.”

“Understood.”

I switch off the intercom.

Out of the blue, the woman begins rambling. “I didn’t do it,” she moans.

I can only return a blank stare. Do what?

“Did they get it?” she asks. Her eyes flutter open and shut. She’s probably blurting whatever in her sleep, because I can’t piece together a lick of what she’s trying to say.

I’m guessing she realizes she’s hoisted six feet above the ground in a stranger’s arms, because she begins to thrash from side to side.

“Who are you?” She demands. “I need to go back to the car!”

My hands curl protectively around her waist. If she shifts too much, she’ll slip to the ground.

“My name is Donte Rogers. I’m a first responder, here to rescue you.”

“Donte?” The woman repeats. Her voice is raspy, oddly soothing my ears.

“You must be very confused right now, but I promise that I’m only trying to help you. Please bear with me for now. There’s a bad storm going on, so we’re headed for a cabin nearby.”

The woman barely nods before her head flops to the side.

Twenty minutes pass. I think I’m hallucinating when I glimpse a metal roof in the distance. Squinting, I rush forward to see if there has indeed been a break in the trees on the horizon, that we’ve reached our first hope of shelter.

As I get closer, a chimney comes into view.

“We’re here,” I sigh in relief.

I glance at the woman, who's still unconscious. At least she won’t feel the cold, but that’s probably not a good thing. When we get to the cabin’s doorstep, I carefully rest her on a porch chair so that I can open the door. It won’t budge.

“Damn it,” I grumble. The wooden entrance is bolted shut, and any key, if there is one outside, has to have been snowed over.

Looks like I’ll need to use sheer force.

On the count of one, two, three…

Bam!

I ram into the door, muscling it wide open. Might’ve gone too hard— the door flings with such momentum I hear the hinges crack the frame. Thankfully, our only means of keeping the cold out doesn’t give in, and I pick up the woman to carry her inside.

---