Page 34 of Rescued By the Mountain Man Cowboy
"I know, Anna."
I scan the trail. There's a hunter's lean-to about a hundred yards off the spur, built decades ago by somebody for elk season and patched by me twice in the years I've been here. Three walls. Stone fireplace. Tin roof. Dry firewood under a tarp if no one's been up to take it.
"This way. Come on."
She follows. The rain's coming sideways now. I get Buttercup and Tuck both tied under the overhang where the trail bends, blanket the saddles, and hustle Anna up the path toward the lean-to.
We get inside, and I shoulder the door closed behind us. The roof's holding. The wood's stacked. The wind's hammering on the tin.
Anna's soaked through. Hair dripping. Flannel clinging to her in a way I'm going to have to ignore for my own sanity. She's shaking already, lips going pale at the edges.
"Sit down. By the fireplace."
"It's so cold."
"That's why we're making a fire."
I crouch at the hearth. The lean-to has a small grate, a stash of dry kindling I refilled two months back, a half-burnt log somebody else left. I work fast. Anna sits on the rough wood floor a few feet behind me, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them. I get a flame in under two minutes. Build it slow. Feed it. The light spreads through the small space, gold against the gray light coming through the slats.
I turn around.
She's so cold she's shuddering.
"Anna. Take those off."
"What?"
"The flannel. The boots. They're soaked. You'll stay cold all the way to the cabin."
She doesn't argue. Toes off the boots. Peels the flannel off her arms and lays it next to the fire to dry. Underneath, she's got a long-sleeved gray top, also wet, but less so. She wraps her arms around herself.
I pull off my own jacket. Heavier canvas. Lining, still dry.
"Put this on."
"You'll freeze."
"I run hot. Put it on."
She pulls it on. It comes down to her thighs. The sleeves swallow her hands. She makes a small sound somewherebetween a laugh and a sigh and tucks her chin down into the collar.
"Better?"
"Better."
I sit with my back against the log wall, one knee up. The fire's catching good. Smoke pulling clean up the chimney. She scoots over. Closer. Then closer again.
"Can I?"
"Yeah."
She leans into my side. Tucks under my arm and I settle my arm around her shoulders. She's still trembling. The shakes ease slowly.
I tell myself I'm only doing this so she doesn't go hypothermic.
I'm a goddamn liar.
The rain hammers on the tin. Steady. Loud. The kind of weather that makes a small space feel smaller. Her head's against my chest. Her braid's come most of the way loose. Wet pieces of hair are stuck to her temple and her neck.
