Be Mine at Christmas(35)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Some of us are better at pretending than others,” he muttered. He was trying to hang a blanket across the opening to keep out the snow and cold.

“Was there a lot of blood?” she asked as she watched him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mr. Cox.”

The blanket he’d anchored on one end fell, forcing him to start over. “No.”

“What killed him?”

He sighed but shifted to the other side. “A head injury, I think. I didn’t want to look too closely.”

She could understand that. He was wearing the man’s boots. “Right.”

“We have a total of four blankets. Well, three,” he corrected, “if you don’t include this one.”

“That’s better than none,” she said, but she couldn’t manage any enthusiasm. She had yet to hear the swoop of a helicopter, which meant the Civil Air Patrol or whoever was out there searching for them, probably wouldn’t make it today. Temperatures were falling as it grew dark. And the wind was picking up.

Remembering the hopelessness they’d faced immediately following the crash, she shivered. In an hour or so they’d lose what little sunlight they had.

“What time is it?” she asked.

He checked his watch. “Almost four.”

They’d been in subzero weather for nearly twenty-four hours. “How’re your feet?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I can’t feel them. What about yours?”

“They burn.” She chafed them, hoping to relieve the pain. “Did you ever hear about that little boy, back in the eighties, who survived in these mountains for five days? He did it alone. Both his parents died on impact.”

“I’d rather not remember that, thanks.”

“He made it out. They found him.”

“He lost his legs.”

“He’s now a successful businessman.”

“So you were being optimistic in bringing it up?”

No, she was considering how she’d deal with something so traumatic, if she could deal with it. “Here, let me help—”

He lifted a hand. “Stay where you are and keep covered.”

“But it’s snowing again.” Which would make the crash site that much harder to spot, even if rescuers could get a helicopter in the sky.

“Other than hunkering down in here, there’s nothing we can do—at least not until morning.” He finally managed to block most of the opening, which cut down on the wind. “We’ll be okay,” he said over his shoulder as he finished.

She nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. Squeezing through the narrow passage, he crouched in front of her and raised her chin so she had to meet his eyes. “We’ll be okay…Adelaide.” The way he said her name made it a challenge. He wanted to see if she’d object to his use of it, but she didn’t. It still brought memories she’d rather forget, but he’d done too much for her; she had no right to complain about anything.

“Okay.”

A day’s beard growth—something she’d never seen on him before—covered his lower jaw, and his hair fell across his forehead in windblown tufts. She liked him this way. In a suit, he was too suave, too perfect, too…formidable. Or maybe it was just that she preferred a more rugged form of masculinity because she dealt with men in suits every day.

“Great.”

“I— Let’s take inventory, see what we have.” She pulled out of his grasp.

He didn’t immediately move. She could feel his gaze lingering on her but pretended not to, and he eventually turned to his cache. “We’ve got a sleeping bag, some wool blankets, a pair of snowshoes, two boxes of matches—which are no good because they got wet—half a dozen colored smoke bombs—which we can’t light because we don’t have matches—and rations.”

“Rations?” Adelaide didn’t think she’d ever been so hungry.

“Looks like military stuff.”

“So it’s freeze-dried?”

“Some of it.” He opened a brown cardboard box the size of a large shoe box. “We’ve got bottled water, Cup-a-Soup, hot-chocolate mix, biscuits, cooked rice, granola bars, crackers and cheese, chewing gum, chicken pâté, orange-drink powder, a tin of tuna fish, fruit snacks, pork and beans and some condiments.”

“That’s a lot to fit in a box that size.”

“They’re not the largest portions I’ve ever seen.” He slanted it so she could take a peek inside. “But we should have enough.”

Maybe. That depended on how long they had to survive out here.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THEY’D EATEN THE PORK and beans for dinner and then drank some water, but now that the sun had gone down, they sat in the pitch-black, chewing gum and talking to keep their spirits up. Adelaide was across the aisle from him in the sleeping bag. He was wrapped in the blankets. But it was getting so incredibly cold he knew they’d soon have to huddle together. He would’ve suggested it already. They’d both be more comfortable if they gave in and made the most of what they had in each other. But he was afraid she’d assume he was using their situation as an excuse to touch her again, probably because he wanted to touch her again and shut out the desperation of their situation, the same way they had last night.

“Do you miss her?” It was Adelaide who broke the silence that had fallen since Maxim had said he didn’t think this storm would be as bad as the last one. The rising wind seemed to contradict him, but he felt it was more important to remain positive than to acknowledge reality.

“Who?” His mind was on his girls and whether or not they’d been notified that he hadn’t reached L.A. Megan and Callie were in school at San Diego State, but they’d be home next week, just in time for Christmas.

“Chloe,” she said.

Her mention of his late wife drew him back to the conversation. “Why do you want to know?”

“I guess I’m wondering whether you’re as impervious as you seem.”

Impervious wasn’t the right word. But this wasn’t a subject he had any desire to discuss, so he tried to dodge it by answering her question with one of his own. “What do you think?”

“It’s hard to tell. You don’t reveal much emotion. Unless you’re angry. I can always tell when you’re angry.”