Page 101 of The Unlikely Pair
I grab the coil of rope from the lean-to, my hands shaking as I hurry back to the ravine.
I take a deep breath to calm myself. Toby needs me right now.
Back at the edge of the ravine, I secure one end of the rope to a sturdy tree trunk. “I’m going to lower the rope to you,” I call,my voice sounding more composed than I feel. “You’ll just need to tie it around your waist, and I’ll pull you up.”
I carefully lower it to him, feeling my shoulders loosen when it reaches him.
Toby obeys my instructions, tying it around his waist.
“Are you ready?”
“Yep, I’m ready.”
I plant my feet firmly on the ground, my hands gripping the rope so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
“On three,” I say, my heart pounding. “One, two, three!”
The rope chafes my palms, but I ignore the pain. Instead, I pull with all my strength.
It’s a struggle against gravity, but I refuse to let it win. Finally, finally, Toby’s hand grasps the edge of the ravine.
I lunge forward, grabbing his arm and hauling him over the edge.
“Are you all right?” I ask desperately, pulling back from him so I can examine him.
“Yeah, I just scraped my knee. You might be calling me hop-along for a while,” he says.
I let out a shuddery breath, trying to calm myself. “That’s probably better than some of the epithets I’ve called you over the years,” I finally manage to say.
He snorts. “Very true.”
“We’ll get you cleaned up and some cold water on it when we get back to the cabin,” I say as I help him to his feet.
He leans on me, and the feel of him warm and solid against my side sends a flurry of emotions through me. I wrap my arm around his waist, supporting him as we shuffle our way back to the cabin.
“Let’s get you inside and take a look at that knee,” I say, guiding him through the cabin door.
I help him sit on a chair, then concentrate on cleaning his scraped knee, gently removing the debris, applying antiseptic cream, and wrapping it in a clean bandage.
Just as I’m finishing, Toby grabs my hands, stopping them.
“Oh my God, Harry, your palms are a mess.” He turns my hands over so he can examine them.
I blink down at the raw flesh. “It’s just from pulling the rope.”
“You need to use some antiseptic cream too, so they don’t get infected.” Toby is immediately leaning over to the first-aid kit.
“We don’t want to use it all up,” I say.
He pauses in his rummaging in the first-aid kit to give me an exasperated look, which is fair given I was quite liberal when applying antiseptic cream to his knee.
Toby squeezes a dab of the cool cream into my palm and starts to rub it in, his touch gentle. I’m struck by the slight quirk of his lips as he focuses on his task. The late afternoon light catches on his cheekbones, highlighting the dusting of freckles.
“It feels like death and disaster are so close around here,” he says.
I swallow hard. “I know what you mean.”
But as Toby continues to fuss over my hands, one curl falling across his forehead that is furrowed in concentration, I realize it’s not the natural disasters I’m most worried about surviving this winter.
