Page 29 of Swept for Forever
I eased her down to the grass so she could sit.
“Hey, you did well yesterday,” I said, crouching to start breaking down the tent.
“Which part?”
“The climb.”
She gave a tired smile. “Couldn’t let you do all the heavy lifting. Though, let’s be honest, you kinda did.” Then she added, softer, “You were the reason we made it.”
I wasn’t expecting that. The words weren’t flashy. She didn’t dress them up. But they landed somewhere deep.
I looked at her, really looked. When you were this tired, you didn’t offer compliments to play nice or gain favor. She meant what she said.
All my life, I’d fought for other people, not that I regretted it. I was good at it, and sometimes even proud of it. But most of the time, no one fought for me. Not without strings.
People like Susan Nolan had stood by me, sure. She’d stayed late at the firm and pulled favors when I needed them. But there was always an angle—her career, her legacy. There was a ceiling to that kind of loyalty, and I’d learned to live under it.
But Autumn? She was fighting for her life, but it felt like she was fighting for mine too. And she didn’t stick around for praise. She just let me take the spotlight.
That did something to a man.
I dropped my gaze, feeling the air change. She must’ve felt it too, because her focus drifted toward a trail sign not far from our tent.
She jabbed a finger toward the crooked plank. “I told you! The sign says that way!”
The sign saidBuffaloberry River, all right. Only it was pointing in the exact wrong direction.
I walked over and gave the loose wooden plate a jiggle. The whole thing wobbled on a rusted screw. “No wonder.”
I crouched and pulled a multitool from my side pocket.
“What are you doing?” she asked behind me.
“Making sure the next person doesn’t end up speared because some idiot didn’t tighten a bolt.” I glanced over my shoulder. “You know, preventative heroism.”
Her laugh was small but palpable. I tightened the screw,gave the sign a firm nudge, then stood. This time, it didn’t budge.
She was still smiling.
And that felt better than finishing the fix.
Lulu had disappeared, hopefully off handling her business. After last night’s biological warfare, she owed us that much.
“I kinda need pants,” she said, eyeing the soggy pile outside the tent.
“Hang on.” I dug through my pack. “These’ll have to do.” I held up a pair of long johns. “Come on, I’ll help you get them on.”
I crouched beside her and helped ease one leg through, careful not to pull too hard. When we got to her injured calf, she winced. There was no way I was forcing it.
“Give me a second,” I said, grabbing my pocketknife. I made a clean cut up the seam, then rolled the fabric wide enough to slide around the swelling. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked.
“There,” I said, settling the waistband gently. “Custom fit.”
She looked down, then back at me, her lips still curved from before. This time with a little smitten tucked inside.
I quickly busied myself with folding the damp clothes. Because if I didn’t, I might’ve done something extremely stupid.
There were three or four miles of rough terrain standing between us and safety. I took stock of what I could realistically carry. Between first aid, supplies, and extra gear, my load was already pushing it. And if I had to carry her too…
