Page 215 of Her Reluctant Hero
He snorted. “I don’t think I’d have to, but do you have to argue about everything I tell you?”
“No, but—”
“Peyton.” Though his tone was soft, the underlying intensity alarmed her more than his temper would have. “We will get out of here. Just not tonight. Going down the mountain will be harder than coming up.”
She didn’t want to wait. As bone weary as she was, she wanted to put miles between her and this fire, all the way back to Chicago, if possible. “But we’ll have gravity on our side.”
He kept his voice calm, though her questions tested his patience. “What about forward motion on rocky terrain? I don’t want you falling on your face going down the mountain. We’ll find a safe spot, I promise, and wait till morning.”
“We should’ve stayed in the cave,” she muttered as they trudged on.
He stumbled a bit, as if doubting his decision to move up the mountain. “If I’d acted sooner, we could have. I’m sorry we didn’t make the helicopter. By the time I realized we wouldn’t make the chopper, we couldn’t have gotten to it.”
“If I had been faster getting out of the cave, if I hadn’t freaked out that you left me alone, we’d be back at camp by now.” Despair and exhaustion made her petulant, and while the knowledge shamed her, she didn’t have the will to battle her own faults.
“Peyton.” He stopped, turned her toward him, his own eyes intent in his grimy face. His responsibility for her must weigh on him and her questions were making his job harder. “We’ll get out of this. It’ll be hard work, but we’re going to get out of here.”
“I know.” She tried to smile, to show her appreciation of his encouragement. “I’d just kinda like to skip the middle part.”
“Come on.” He released her, leaving her bereft for a moment, floating, before she took steps to follow him. “We’ve got to take advantage of the light while we have it.”
After the sun went down, their headlamps put out miserly light in the pitch blackness. The only light was the glow of the fire beneath them; the smoke had obliterated the moon and stars. It was too dark to tell if they were still in the open or if they’d gone back into the trees. The ground had leveled off so it felt like they were moving sideways instead of up. She hoped Gabe knew where they were. She was pretty sure he did, at least in relation to the camp.
Though she couldn’t see him, she sensed him, and not just because of the noise he made as he climbed, as he breathed. It had to be because they were the only two people on the mountain, right? She would feel this way about any person she was running for her life with, this connection, this need.
It wasn’t because he was a man, a strong man. A handsome man. A hero.
Her muscles trembled with every step. Her head didn’t want to stay upright on her neck, and sweat soaked her T-shirt through the fire shirt he insisted she wear.
Ahead of her, Gabe crouched and she almost tripped over him. She caught her balance with a touch to his back, damp with perspiration, hard with tension. He stumbled a bit, then stood slowly. She dropped her hand away.
“We’ll camp here,” he announced abruptly.
“Camp?” She turned back to where the fire glowed below them, reflecting off the smoke in an eerie red light. “But the fire—”
“We’re in the black. No fuel.”
Where had she heard that before? “We thought we were in the black where the helicopter landed.”
He sighed. Another question he didn’t want to answer. Then the ground around them was illuminated. She shielded her eyes from the sudden light of his flashlight. He walked around the area, kicking up burned grass and clouds of ash.
“It’s cool,” he assured her. “No embers.”
She was afraid to trust nature, but she did trust Gabe Cooper. In relief, she sank to her knees, fatigue quivering her muscles. “I’m so tired but I don’t think I can sleep.”
He dropped his pack beside her, sending up particles of soot and making her cough. He lowered himself to the ground next to her with a groan and switched off the flashlight. The darkness beyond the pale beams of their headlamps was overwhelming and silent, and she reached for him, then stopped herself. He wouldn’t interpret the touch as being a means for her to regain her balance, like on the climb. He’d attribute it to female hysteria, to cowardice, and that she couldn’t bear, for him to find her lacking in any way. She closed her fingers around her pack instead.
“Got any water left?” he asked, oblivious.
“A little.”
“Make it last.”
She dug out her bottle by feel, shook it to gauge how much water was in it. Less than half, probably. She would only take a sip to wash the dust from her throat. But when the tepid water touched her lips she wanted to gulp it down. Gabe pulled it away from her. In the dark, his fingers brushed hers, bare now, no gloves, and she almost dropped the bottle. At least he couldn’t see her fumble as she secured the container and stuffed it back in her pack.
“Tomorrow will be a long day without water.” He pulled his pack in front of him and pawed through it.
“I know.”
