Page 37 of Love Under Snowfall

“Don’t forget gloves,” she scolded.

“Why are there condoms in here?”

“How else are we supposed to smuggle the heroine?”

Her sarcasm injected him with an instant rush of calm. She wouldn’t be so impertinent if she were in any real trouble. He glanced around and clocked the increasing snowfall. It wasn’t time to celebrate, not yet.

Miles to go . . .

He opened a pack of sterile latex gloves and pulled them in place.

“Ok, what’s next,Miss Miller?”

“Better.” The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Rip open the gauze packets and stack a few sheets together. Press the wad to the wound and tape it in place. I can help apply pressure as you cut strips of tape.”

Benjamin nodded. With wobbly hands, he followed her directions precisely. After a couple minutes, she was bandaged up with his beanie pulled snuggly over her head to apply added pressure to the dressing.

Francesca shivered, the body heat she’d accumulated from their excursion all but faded.

“Can I move you? You’re freezing.” Benjamin wanted to gether settled in his lap so she wasn’t making as much contact with the snow. Who knows how long they’d be stuck down there. The group had to find them shortly, but it wasn’t a straightforward walk back up to the trail. He peered up to where they stood a few minutes ago. It wasn’t as though Johnny could scurry down, scoop them both up, and fireman carry them out of there. “Is it safe to move you?”

“I’m pretty sure. Nothing feels broken. My head’s pounding.” Her chattering teeth jittered her words as she wrapped her arms tighter around her body.

Benjamin unzipped and removed his jacket then laid it across Francesca’s torso. He took great care as he slid one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders. Moving slowly, he gently scooped her up and settled her onto his lap. She didn’t fight him, didn’t protest.

Instead, she sighed and curled into the warmth of his chest.

Benjamin should have been freezing, with his coat, hat, and gloves removed, but holding Francesca so closely, knowing that she was all right, gave him added warmth from the inside. He felt a pang of guilt for finding enjoyment in their proximity and scolded himself silently.

Chapter twenty

Frankie

“My radio,” Frankie croaked, looking up into Benjamin’s once panic-stricken face. He’d calmed somewhat, reducing his earlier overt terror to a humming anxiety. “We need to call Jon.”

“Let me.” He reached for her pack and unhooked the carabiner holding the walkie-talkie to the arm strap. Fortunately, her tumble hadn’t destroyed the handheld device—they likely had the soft snow to thank for that. And her brother’s renewed obsession with survival gear after his own wilderness mishap with Lucy the year before. Benjamin pressed the button, about to say something, then stopped. “Is there a specific distress code for something like this?”

Was this guy for real?

“Yeah,” Frankie said as she rolled her eyes. “You need to do a series of Morse code clicks and pauses or else Jon will ignore the fact that we fell down the side of afucking mountain.”

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Right.” Benjamin cleared his throat. “Johnny. Are you there, Johnny?”

The ensuing silence added to Frankie’s unease as she watched more powder fall silently around them. It wasn’t supposed to snow until later that evening.Freaking meteorologists.And yet here they were, lounging at the bottom of a valley, flakes flitting around them like they were in a damn Christmas snow globe.

Benjamin attempted another call with no response.

Last year, Jonathan had gone on a personal protection tirade, swapping old gear with the highest safety-rated equivalent. That included the new, super rugged GMRS walkies that were supposed to transmit further and through more obstacles than their FRS counterparts, but so far, his purchase had left a lot to be desired.

Frankie snatched the radio from Benjamin and scolded into the mic.

“Jonathan Stanley Miller. So help me god, if you don’t answer, I’ll include the Valhalla incident of 2018 in my wedding toast.”

“Is his middle name really Stanley?”

She snorted. “No, it’s Andrew. I use Stanley when I’m pissed or want to mess with him.”

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