Page 30 of Swept for Forever
“I’ll leave some of this behind,” I said, grouping a few things into a pile.
For a second, something sparked in her, fast and urgent. She twisted toward me. “No.”
I squinted. “No…what?”
“Don’t leave anything behind.” Her voice was too sharp for someone half-delirious. “Not even the small stuff. Just…take it all. Come on, give some of it to me.”
I frowned. “Autumn, it’ll slow me down.”
“I don’t care.” Her words tumbled out quickly. “Just trust me. Keep everything.”
Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides, her eyes refusing to meet mine.
“The animals might get to it,” she snapped.
She didn’t even glance at the pile of wet clothes and folded tent, nothing but junk to a bear, really.
Lulu trotted back from wherever she’d disappeared to and sniffed around the pile.
“Please, Dom,” Autumn murmured. “Just pack it all.”
I repacked, shoving everything inside with the finesse of a man stuffing a pillow into a case two sizes too small. Autumn helped, her movements more sluggish than they should’ve been.
Even with half the load, I’d be slow. I was built for endurance, not hauling an entire survival kit and a woman across a mountain. Carrying her over my shoulder would keep her weight centered, but with my pack front-loaded, I’d be off balance and struggling for breath. I could do it, just not for long.
And not nearly far enough.
I abandoned packing for a moment and watched Lulu disappear into the brush, only to pop out of the same spot. The dog knew something I didn’t.
Frowning, I pulled out my phone and checked the map.
Damn me.
It wasn’t a path, but about a mile north, if I cut through the brush, we could reach a small village. I turned, assessing theterrain. It was overgrown, and pushing through the vegetation would test every leg press I’d ever done, but at least it was flat.
By the time I returned to packing, Autumn had nearly finished it herself.
I tightened the straps, clipped the buckles, and gave her a look. “There. You got your way. Which means, from now on, we’re doing this my way.”
She huffed. “What does that mean?”
I handed her the crossbody bag. “You can carry this.”
“Of course.” She slung it over her shoulder.
I hoisted my pack into the bushes, hiding it. “I’ll come back for this baby.”
Autumn just stared.
Then I crouched, offering my back. “Hop on.”
Her expression twisted like I’d just suggested she ride a camel through Montana. “No way.”
“Fine. You can try limping through the sagebrush, or you can make my life easier and let me carry you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You love carrying me, don’t you?”
“I love not having to drag your unconscious body off the trail, yeah.”
