Page 79 of Fight

“It’ll be okay.” I’m assuring him as much as I am myself. “We have an exit strategy. You know these mountains and?—”

“Holy…” He runs his hand through his hair. “I think it might go through!”

I hurry over to him. “Really?”

“Yeah, look—” He tilts the screen toward me just as it goes black. “Shit! It still might have gone through… I think.”

He tucks the dead phone in his pack and scrubs a palm down his face.

I wrap my arms around him. “Let’s hope for the best. What would you like for breakfast? We’ve got a prime rib carvingstation and one hell of an omelet bar,” I suggest, trying to cheer him up.

He humors me with a smile. “Prime rib sounds great.”

“Coming right up,” I reply, tearing open the packet of brown-sugar flavored oatmeal.

Callahan is gone for several hours while he makes a path. It’s a lot easier to wait for him to return in the daylight. I’m laying out every combined piece of clothing we have when I hear footsteps climbing the lookout stairs. I smile and rush to the door, opening it when I hear him stomping the snow off his boots.

“Thanks,” he says with a puff of air, entering the room with rosy cheeks and sweat dripping down his face.

“So? How did it go?”

“Good, I got us through the tough spots. A couple loose areas leading to Goat’s Ridge, but I think we’ll do fine if we stay on the south face, that’s the windward side, and snow isn’t as deep there anyway. The sun should be up by then.”

Nodding, I turn on the stove, heating up water for lunch. We’ve got about two gallons left, which will give us enough for lunch, dinner, and tomorrow’s water supply.

His clothes are soaked with sweat as he strips them off. They need to dry by tomorrow. He places the chair in front of the fire and drapes the clothes over the back. After, he returns to his pack and locates those shower wipes he had before. He stretches out in front of the wood stove, washing up. It’s hard to keep my eyes off him. He’s just so damn rugged and…hot.

“You checking me out, Prescott?”

“Obviously.” I turn away, and finishing up our packing.

He chuckles, then I feel his palms cup my shoulders and slidedown my arms. My face heats at his proximity, touch, and how few clothes he’s wearing. He’s close enough for me to pick up notes of the shower wipes he was using. I don’t know what’s in them, but they smell divine. It’s some masculine scent that I will miss when we leave here.

I spin in his arms. “What are you looking forward to most when we get back?” I ask.

“Brushing my teeth,” he replies, running his tongue over his teeth. We’ve been getting by with baking soda and this mastic chewing gum stuff he has, which helps, but it doesn’t satisfy the way a toothbrush would. Like Cal, I’m hoping to deep clean my mouth when I return. He scratches the four-day-old scruff that’s filled in. “I’m trimming this for sure.”

I fake a pout. “Just don’t shave it off.”

“Hell no. I’ve grown too accustomed to the way it roughs up your thighs.” His wicked grin has heat rushing to my face. “I’m not giving that up so easily.”

I’m not sure what it is about his response that warms my chest, but it does. It’s clear he enjoys making me blush too. His gaze lands on my flushed cheeks, and he gives me a nudge. “What are you looking forward to?” he asks.

“I want to get the dirt out of my scalp, but I’m not sure the water pressure at my apartment is gonna cut it. I’ll probably take a shower at the station… Most importantly, though, I want to make sure I still have a job. I’m supposed to go to work tomorrow.”

“They’ll take one look at that nasty cut on your forehead and give you a week off, babe. You can take a vacation.”

I can’t afford a week off, or a vacation for that matter. I can’t afford to lose this job.I stir the soup mix into the boiling water. My stomach churns with nerves. I don’t know what I’ll do if I end up unemployed. It’s something I’ve been pushing from my thoughts since the night we arrived because I’ve been in survival mode, but now that there’s a timeline on our return, I keepcircling the drain with worry. “Vacation, huh? I’ve heard there’s a great inn at the top of Quell’s Peak,” I joke.

“You can take a shower at my place.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’ve got some great water pressure,” he adds with a wink.

“I don’t believe you. You’re going to have to prove it.”

He retreats toward the stove to finish cleaning himself up. “Happily.”

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