Page 20 of Chasing the Wild
“We had just passed the Campsite Alpha when I had to carry Amanda,” Shane said. “Jess had been holding on to my pack.”
She'd been alone for at least forty minutes. Maybe longer. In conditions that could kill an experienced mountaineer in an hour. And Jess—my brave, stubborn, beautiful city lawyer who'd only learned basic survival this week—was out there somewhere. Probably terrified. Definitely cold. Possibly— No. Not going there. She was alive. She had to be alive.
“I’ll start there,” I said.
“We’ll go with you.”
“No. You stay here. Keep the lawyers calm and safe. I’ll find her.”
Shane unslung his pack and handed it to me. “There’s a med kit in here and storm supplies. Don’t risk coming back if you can shelter in place safely.”
“I know what I’m doing.” I had to stop myself from snarling at him. They were worried about Jess. I could see that in their eyes.
“Radio if you can,” Neil said.
“Be safe,” Kevin said.
I nodded and took off on the ATV, not looking back. I pushed the machine too fast, too reckless, but it didn’t matter. Luckily, I knew this mountain like the back of my hand. And when I got close to Campsite Alpha, one of the many camping sites I had on the mountain, I saw a shape through the swirling snow. Dark against white.
A tent.
My heart stopped, then started again in double-time.
She'd done it. She'd actually fucking done it.
I could see from here that it was properly erected—guy lines tight, structure solid, exactly like I'd taught her. That expensive four-season mountaineering tent I'd mocked her for buying was standing firm against winds that had taken down lesser shelters.
I approached the tent, my hands shaking as I reached for the zipper. She could be hypothermic. Could be injured.
"Jess," I called, making my voice carry through the tent fabric. "Jess, it's Sam. I'm coming in."
I unzipped the vestibule and then the inner door, crawling inside the tent.
And there she was.
Wrapped in her sleeping bag like a burrito, her emergency blanket around her shoulders, sitting upright and very much alive. Her face was pale, her hair escaping from her braid in wild tangles, and she had never looked more beautiful.
"Sam?" Her voice was hoarse, disbelieving. "You're really here?"
"I'm really here." I couldn't move for a second, couldn't do anything but stare at her and convince myself she was real. "Are you hurt?"
"No. Cold, but not hurt." Her voice cracked. "I did everything you taught me.”
She didn't get to finish because I was already moving, pulling her into my arms—sleeping bag and all—holding her so tight she probably couldn't breathe.
But she was alive. She was here.
"I thought—" The words stuck in my throat. "When they said you were missing—"
"I'm okay." Her face pressed against my neck, and I felt her shaking. "I'm okay, Sam. I'm okay."
I pulled back just enough to cup her face in my hands, my eyes scanning for injuries, for signs of frostbite, for anything wrong.
"Let me see you," I said, forcing myself into assessment mode even though what I wanted to do was kiss her senseless. "Hands."
She held out her hands, and I stripped off her gloves to check her fingers. Cold but not dangerously so. Good color, good capillary refill.
"Feet."
