Page 43 of Montana Rain

“Yeah.” I couldn’t speak through the fear in my chest. This was unfamiliar ground for me. I didn’t have many fears, and the last few days had been nothing but. I didn’t like it.

Cole brought the rest of the blankets over to the couch, and we moved it closer to the fireplace itself. He grabbed granola bars too, and I couldn’t even look at him. It felt like the same vulnerability as before, but in the hazy light of day, it was so much harder.

We didn’t speak, but we settled together under the blankets, sharing warmth, and just breathing. Cole got his book and read, occasionally checking the satellite phone for a signal, and I stared into the flames and dozed.

Just like I thought, the woodpile dwindled quickly in our attempts to keep the fire roaring. By the time it was midafternoon, my stomach swam with nerves. The pile of wood wouldn’t get us through tonight at this rate, and the wind didn’t show signs of slowing.

I eased off the couch and went to my suitcase, pulling out the thickest clothes I’d brought with me.

“What are you up to?”

“We need more wood,” I said. “It’s not going to last.”

Cole stood from the couch instantly. “You don’t have to go. I’ll go.”

“Your clothes are barely dry from last time,” I said. “You put the rope up, right? Straight line?”

“Yes. But, Rayne—”

I shoved my foot into one boot. “We’re both in this together, and I want to help. It’s my turn.”

“I don’t want you to get that cold.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, Cole. I don’t need saving. I’m a grown-ass adult. And if we’re doing this together, then we’re doing it together. You said you’d take me up on the offer.”

One look at his face told me he wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t say anything as I bundled myself up to the gills. Cole was only humoring me because we were stuck here together, but I took the win.

“Be careful, please,” he said as I reached for the door. Did I imagine his voice was raw?

“I will.”

The second I stepped outside and shut the door behind me, I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Even with all the insulation, the wind cut through my coat, chilling me to the bone. The rope extended into the blustery white, and I followed it. I had to shuffle through the growing piles of snow. My core and legs burned with the effort.

The path Cole made yesterday was pretty much gone, but I would take anything that made it easier.

I stumbled into the wood pile when I found it. At least it was here, and I’d made it. Good. I picked up as much as I could manage and trudged my way back, Cole immediately taking the wood from me when I made it to the door. How many trips had he made yesterday? It was probably six or seven. Holy shit, I didn’t know if I’d make as many. I already felt as if I’d run five miles just going there and back.

But as long as I kept moving, I would be okay. It was stopping that was the problem.

Fight the inertia, Rayne.

With my hand on the rope, I went back. One step at a time. My toe hit something hard, and my momentum along with my bulky clothes pitched me forward. Shit!

I pushed myself up, blinking against the wind, and my stomach sank. The rope was gone. Or rather, I saw it being carried away by the wind. I must have broken it in the fall.

That wasn’t good.

My saving grace was the path I’d already made with my body. I couldn’t fully see it, but I could roughly feel the edges where my knees connected with the walls of snow.

When I got back to the cabin, I’d grab the rope again and fix it. Or have Cole get me more from the basement to redraw the line in case it had snapped and not just unraveled.

Inch by inch, I made my way down the path, but I should have been there by now. I thought I was still in the trail of snow I’d made, but it was hard to tell and even harder with my sudden, growing panic. It clawed at my throat, making it even harder to breathe.

A few more feet. I’d go a few more feet before going back the way I came. It had to be close.

Snow shifted beneath my feet, and I fell suddenly, sliding down a hill. My foot caught on something, pain shrieking through it as it yanked me to a stop. Oh god, it hurt. Moving it at all sent skittering lightning bolts of pain through my leg.

It didn’t feel broken. Small favors. But twisted? Yes. For sure.

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