Page 6 of Burly and Rugged

The wind roars as we push forward, the storm intense as we move toward the cave. My boots slip on the muddy ground, sending me lurching forward. Cody’s hand shoots out, steadying me with a firm grip on my elbow. His touch, even through layers of wet clothing, burns like a brand.

“I’ve got you,” he says, eyes meeting mine for a moment. “We’re almost there.”

My lungs are burning with exertion, but I force myself to match Cody’s fast pace. Rain lashes at my face and blurs my vision, but I keep my eyes locked on Cody. I trust him to lead me out of this storm.

“There!” Cody points.

I follow the direction of where he’s pointing, but I don’t see it. Then the wind picks up, and a break in the rocks becomes visible.

We rush to the cave, and Cody ducks inside first, scanning the interior with the small flashlight from his belt. “Clear,” he calls, then waves me in. “No signs of animal activity.”

The moment I step through the entrance, the storm dulls to a muted roar. The abrupt shift from chaos to relative quiet is disorienting. My whole body sags with relief, and my heaving breath echoes in the cave.

I brace my hands on my knees, catching my breath, rainwater dripping from my clothes and hair, pooling onto the stone floorbeneath me. My fingers are numb with cold, and I’m shivering violently.

Cody moves quickly, shrugging off his pack and using his flashlight to inspect the space more closely. It’s small but deeper than I thought it would be. But most importantly, it’s dry, and the shrubs outside block out most of the rain.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice gentler now that we’re out of immediate danger. His eyes roam over me, checking for injuries.

I nod. My teeth chatter embarrassingly.

“Hey,” he says, moving closer. “We’re going to be fine. You did great out there. Now, the first rule of survival in wet conditions,” he says, his voice echoing slightly in the stone chamber. “Get dry as fast as possible. So, you need to strip and get into dry clothes.”

Without ceremony, Cody shrugs off his soaked jacket and tugs his wet shirt over his head, tossing it onto a jutting rock to dry. What he’s doing is practical—but nothing about the way my eyes lock onto his bare torso is practical.

I catch a glimpse of his defined chest, the ridges of his abs, the strong slope of his shoulders. Droplets of water trace slow paths down his skin, following the contours of his muscles. His body is all raw power, and suddenly, I don’t feel the cold anymore.

“The human body loses heat twenty-five times faster through wet clothing,” he explains, oblivious to my staring. “It’s why—” He stops mid-sentence, catching my gaze.

I quickly avert my eyes, heat rushing to my cheeks. My heart hammers in my chest, and I curse myself for being so obvious.

“Are you listening to me?” he asks, annoyance creeping into his voice. “You need to change. You’ll lose too much heat in those.”

It takes me a second to process what he’s saying because my brain is still fried from the sight of his muscles.

“Oh. Right. Hypothermia,” I mumble, blinking. Get it together, Lindy. This is survival training...don’t forget to, y’know,survive.

“The temperature’s dropping fast,” he adds, pulling out supplies. Cody tosses me an emergency blanket, the silver material catching the firelight. “I’ll turn around.”

I nod, swallowing thickly, watching as he turns his back to me. It’s stupid, how relieved I feel that he’s giving me privacy—and how disappointed I feel, too. The conflicting emotions tangle in my chest.

“Is this what you meant by ‘serious shelter’?” I ask to fill the silence as I peel off my soaked jacket, my fingers clumsy with cold.

“Not ideal,” he answers, keeping his back turned. “But it’s dry, defensible against wildlife, and the narrow entrance blocks most of the elements. This storm wasn’t in the forecast, but this time of year, it shouldn’t last too long.”

I struggle to get out of my hoodie, which clings to my skin like it’s determined to become a permanent part of me. “You seem pretty prepared for this.”

“Part of the job.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “Expectation versus reality is the first lesson in wilderness survival.”

My damp leggings are next, and I nearly lose my balance removing them. “What do you mean?”

“Nature doesn’t care about your plans,” he says. “The people who survive are the ones who adapt.”

I pull on the dry thermal shirt and leggings from my pack. The fabric is soft against my skin, and the relief is immediate and intense. I exhale as my shivering fades slightly, and a tiny bit of warmth comes back to my arms and legs.

By the time I turn back around, Cody has changed, too. His fresh shirt clings to his muscles, and his pants hang low on his hips. Somehow, this half-dressed version of him is even more distracting than the shirtless one.

“Better?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.

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