Page 41 of Love Under Snowfall

They sat in companionable silence, devouring the thin caramel-filled cookies and sipping the last of the still-warm cider. He could feel the life creep back in as the sugar hit his bloodstream, despite the niggling dread that accumulated as quickly as the snow around them.

The icy wind graduated to sharp gusts that scratched atBenjamin’s exposed face. Turning to face downwind proved futile because the frigid blasts seemed to bounce off the surrounding boulders straight back at him. He glanced over at Francesca, who sat huddled in a ball. She shivered continually no matter how small she made herself.

He swept his arm impulsively around her waist and pulled her astride his lap, chest to chest. He unzipped his coat and pulled her against his base layers before she could protest.

“What the hell?”

“Relax into me,” he soothed breathlessly.

She remained tense, back rigid.

“It’s smart to share body heat, right?” Benjamin asked abashedly. He’d seen it in countless shows and movies and read it in books but never really questioned whether it was a device to create proximity or something that would actually help matters. “You seemed warmer in my lap after I bandaged you up.”

Francesca finally relaxed a little then sunk fully against him and grumbled.

“Yeah,” she conceded. “It’s true.”

She rested her head beneath his chin and his stubble dragged across the wet knit of her hat. She hesitated until finally sliding her arms around his middle and burying her hands beneath his shirt to rest on his bare back.

Benjamin sucked in a breath at her little rebellion.

Her giggle was quiet and evil. “Are they cold?”

“Only if you consider a bag of frozen peas cold,” he hissed.

“Or a witch’s tits?”

“An abominable snowman’s balls.”

Her snort caused heat to bloom in his chest. Her content little sigh sent it lower.

“Fr . . . you there—?” The garbled static sent a jolt of hope through Benjamin.

Francesca scrambled for the radio, struggling to work the PTT button with her freezing hands.

“Y-yesss, w-we’re here.”

He pulled her even tighter at the warbled sound of her voice.

“I have . . . and bad news. A snow . . . picking up . . . can’t . . . safely.”

Francesca locked eyes with Benjamin. While the staticky connection cutting in and out was difficult to translate, her panicked thoughts read loud and clear across her stricken face.

They were stuck.

“You can’t get us out?” The shrill alarm in her voice gave Benjamin goosebumps.

“No . . . but . . . about . . . half . . .”

Francesca’s narrow shoulders heaved, sharp and rapid, as she struggled to control her anxiety. Her fear nearly broke him as it registered that they’d be stuck overnight in the elements—snowing, freezing, potentially deadly elements.

“Miguel. Miguel! I can’t understand you. Slow. Down,” she urged.

“Cabin. About half . . . north . . . hope . . .”

Chapter twenty-two

Frankie

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