Page 27 of Wrecked By the Mountain Man
Penny. It was always her.
Her face, her vulnerability, her utter dependence on me. She had been my anchor, pulling me back from the brink.
She reappears, arms laden with a thick, heavy tarp and a roll of duct tape.
“Good idea. This should work,” she huffs, dropping them to the floor.
We work in tandem, a strange, efficient silence settling between us. I hold the tarp while she tapes it over theprecariously vibrating table. This wind is a bitch, I've never felt anything like it.
Penny is excellent, meticulously sealing every gap, every crack where cold air can seep into our cabin.
Our cabin. That sounds… nice.
Her fingers are raw and red with cold, but she doesn’t complain.
When we’re done, the cabin still feels like a freezer, but the immediate threat of hypothermia has receded. The incessant, brutal wind is now a dull roar beyond the makeshift blockage covering the giant hole in my cabin.
We slump against the table, exhausted, our breaths fogging in the air.
“Now what?” she asks, her voice a little weaker now that the immediate danger is over.
“Now,” I say, pushing myself up, “we need a fire. A big one.” My gaze falls on my dwindling woodpile. “And more wood.”
She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. “But it’s… still a blizzard out there.”
“I know,” I say grimly. “But we need to keep warm. I’ll be quick.”
“No,” she says, surprising me. She uncurls herself, stumbling to her bare feet. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not,” I snap, instantly regretting the harshness. “It’s too dangerous. You’re… you’re not dressed.”
Her gaze falls to her bare body, then back to my eyes, a resolute fire blazing in their depths.
“I’m not staying in here alone while you go out into that. What if… what if something happens? We’re in this together, Edward. You made that clear when you let me in and then decided to let me into your life.”
She’s right. And her conviction, her sheer courage, is undeniable.
But the thought of her out there in this storm, exposed and completely vulnerable to the harshness of my world…
“Fine,” I concede, grabbing a heavier jacket and tossing it to her. “But you stay right behind me. Don’t wander. Don’t talk. Just follow my lead. And put these on.”
I pull out an extra pair of thermal pants and socks from a gear bag, tossing them at her.
She nods, pulling on the clothes with chattering teeth. The heavy jacket swamps her, but provides some much-needed warmth.
We grab the two small but sturdy axes from the woodpile in the corner. I unbolt the heavy door, bracing myself, and pull it open a crack.
The world outside is a blinding, swirling white. The wind immediately tries to rip the door from my grasp, but I hold firm.
“Stay close,” I warn, my voice low and tense.
We step out, the door slamming shut behind us. The cold instantly steals my breath. But I push through it, the memory of her vulnerability, her plea for me, serving as a shield against the creeping despair.
The woodpile is a short distance from the cabin, partially covered by an overhang, but the snow is already hip-deep in places, making every step a struggle.
I break trail and push through, my body burning with effort. I hear Penny struggling behind me, her small gasps lost in the wind.
I glance back.
