“I mean it,” he assured her gruffly. “You about ready to go home?”
“Oh, yes…I hope Becca kept dinner hot. I’m cold and I’m starving.”
Starving? Rafe had an unreasoning urge to laugh again. Starving. He’d pictured her lying out here, half-dead. He’d bring those cows three sacks of grain. Scratch that. He’d bring a whole damned truckload.
He pushed himself erect, prepared to lend her assistance in standing, but to his surprise, she managed on her own. That figured. This girl had been doing just the opposite of what he expected ever since he first clapped eyes on her. She shivered at a gust of icy wind. He found reason to rejoice even in that. It was when a person stopped shivering that there was cause for true alarm.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
She lifted one sneaker and gave her foot a shake. “Yeah. I was on my last legs earlier, but the breather and getting warmer really helped.”
He encircled her shoulders with an arm, pulling her snugly against him. It felt so good to have her with him, safe and sound. So damned good. Once he got her back to the truck, they’d be home free.
Rafe took only one step, then came to a stop, his gaze fixed in the direction of the road. He wasn’t sure exactly how far away it was. By quick estimate, it would take them over an hour, and that was if nothing went wrong—like falling through the ice, which was a probability. By the time he got Maggie to the rig, she’d be chilled to the bone again, not to mention so worn out she probably wouldn’t be able to put one foot in front of the other one.
Could he carry her through this snow? On the one hand, Rafe vowed that he would crawl out with her on his back if he had to, but on the other hand, he had to face facts. With her weight tacked onto his, he’d break through the ice far more often. Managing to scramble free from each wallow would take precious time and stores of energy, both of which would slow him down. What if it took two hours or even three to get her to the vehicle?
Concern tightened his throat. He cast his gaze westward. Just over that steep ridge was a line shack, which would be stocked with canned food and plenty of firewood. It would be equipped with other emergency necessities as well, including lanterns, warm bedding, and a radio or cellular phone to call out, powered by a thousand-volt generator with a DC outlet. The Rocking K was peppered with line shacks like that. They were a necessary feature on a huge spread, often meaning the difference between life and death for ranch hands who got stranded miles from anywhere. The rough dwellings also served as overnight accommodations for the men during roundups.
If he remembered correctly, it would take less than half an hour to reach the line shack, but it would be one hell of a rough climb to scale that ridge. On the plus side, though, the snow wouldn’t be packed as deeply on a steep slope like that. He glanced at Maggie, who wobbled slightly. She probably didn’t have the strength left to make it. He could throw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry if she gave out. He would call Ryan from the line shack and make arrangements for men on snowmobiles to pick them up in the morning.
Drawing her along with him, Rafe veered west, heading for the ridge that loomed like a black specter against the moonlit sky. With every step they took, he sent up a silent prayer that they could make it.
Chapter Seventeen
Her feet braced on protrusions of granite, Maggie clung to the snowy branch of a pine whose roots had taken hold on the steep, icy slope. Her legs quivered with exhaustion, and she was so cold, her fingers barely felt the bite of frost that encased the tree’s rough bark. Her lungs grabbed for breath, each inhalation making a soft, wheezing noise that knifed down her windpipe.
Halted in his ascent, Rafe stood about three feet above her, one long leg straightened behind him, his other bent to take another step. He looked over his shoulder, his face bathed in black shadows. She couldn’t see his eyes, but Maggie had never been more intensely aware of his ability to strip away a person’s veneer with that piercing gaze of his.
“You’re done for, aren’t you?” he called softly.
As far as Maggie could see, being “done for” wasn’t exactly an option. It had turned out to be a lot farther to the base of the slope than Rafe had estimated. High-elevation air, he’d explained, often made things look closer than they actually were, especially at night. “A magnifying effect,” he’d called it. In the time since, he had apologized to her several times and berated himself under his breath for misjudging the distance. It had been two years since he’d been up here, he explained, and he never should have trusted in his memory.
Maggie knew little about high elevations except that the thin air made it hard to breathe. Now the crest of the ridge looked no closer to her than it had when they’d started the climb. She couldn’t just lie down and say she was finished. To reach shelter, she had to make it to the top, and Rafe said it was still some distance after that to the line shack.
“I’m fine,” she said between panting breaths. “I just need to rest a sec.”
He nodded and braced his hands on his hips, throwing back his head to pull in a huge draught of icy air. “Hell of a climb, isn’t it? I’m sorry. In summer, when there’s no ice, it’s not such rough going. I’m about done for myself.”
Maggie could see he was tired, but he looked far from the point of collapse. He was breathing heavily. Anyone making a climb like this would. But he wasn’t frantically struggling for breath, and those long, powerful legs of his looked rock-steady. Her own were trembling and jerking.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Steep.”
She couldn’t manage a lengthier response. Right now, what little oxygen she could filch from the air was needed to fuel her body.
Seconds passed. She could feel him staring at her, an unvoiced You ready to go on yet? hanging between them. She gulped and drew on the last reserves of her strength. “Let’s go,” she squeezed out.
Standing above her, Rafe watched Maggie push off, his heart catching when one of her feet slipped on the ice. She scrambled for footing, caught her balance, and then stood there, shaking. Whether she would admit it or not, she was finished. He admired her pluck. As exhausted as she obviously was, most people would have been whining and saying they couldn’t make it.
Not Maggie. She would keep going until her legs gave out, and then she would try to claw her way up, bless her heart. Jesus. He couldn’t believe he’d underestimated the distance here. Some rescuer he was turning out to be. If he couldn’t get her to the line shack, they’d die of exposure, and it’d be his fault.
To make himself feel better, Rafe kept reminding himself that he’d been away from the ranch for a long while. Naturally he had forgotten some things. It was just a hell of a note when his memory failed him in a life-or-death situation. He was a frigging moron, and Maggie was paying the price.
He extended his left hand to her. “Grab hold.”
She stared at his outstretched palm. “I can make it,” she huffed. “You just worry about yourself. I’ll be right behind you.”
Rafe had ceased worrying only about himself the instant he’d clapped eyes on her in that boxcar a month ago. She was an irresistible combination of spunk and fragility, his Maggie, the kind of woman who made a man applaud her gutsiness even as he burned to protect her.
Tensing, he watched her struggle to gain more ground. When she got within reach of him, he grabbed her arm. The look she gave him was a mixture of stung pride and gratitude. Through the soggy sleeve of her parka, he could feel how badly her muscles were quivering. Before she could anticipate what he meant to do, he bent to catch her behind the right knee.
When he slung her across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, she wailed, “Oh, my God! Rafe, p-put me d-down!”
“I won’t drop you, honey.”
“I’m too heavy. You can’t make a climb like this, carrying me.”
“I’ve carried calves heavier than you are, and for a hell of a lot farther.” He failed to mention it had been a while since he’d done so or that he’d b
een in much better shape at the time. “I won’t even notice I’m packing you.”
Ha-ha. Just in pushing erect, he felt the strain in his legs. He had no intention of wasting his breath to argue the point with Maggie, however, so he gave no further response to her many objections as he resumed the climb.
“I’m not helpless!”
No, not helpless, he thought. But she did have physical limitations that had been intensified recently by pregnancy and serious illness.
“I can make it on my own.”
Yeah, even if she had to crawl.
“Oh, God, Rafe, please…don’t do this to yourself. You’ll never make it.”
I’ll make it, he vowed grimly to himself. He had to.
When you were being carried on a man’s back, Maggie decided, the thoughts that went through your head were as rough and jarring as the ride. That he was wonderful…and infuriatingly stubborn. That if he had a brain, he’d put her down and make her walk. That she loved him…and wanted to slug him. Or maybe just hug him, instead.
He fought his way to the top of the ridge, killing her a little with every labored breath he drew and every straining step he took. The way was steep and treacherously slick. There was no path to follow. It was a brutal climb over boulders and loose rock that rolled out from under his feet. More than once she felt sure they would go down, but somehow he managed to keep his footing. He was exhausted. She knew he couldn’t possibly go on like this. Yet he did. And the stress of worrying about what a burden she must be to him made the idea of walking on her own seem much easier.
She relaxed somewhat after he reached the top of the ridge where the ground evened out, but even then, she felt him stumble under her weight at times. Her heart twisted. She willed herself to be as light as a feather. Fat chance of that. She considered pulling his hair to shock some sense into him.
And, meanwhile, he just kept going, placing one foot doggedly in front of the other in an excruciating endurance test of his tendon-roped body. She could hear his chest whistling as he drew each tortured breath. Sometimes when he shifted her weight, she could feel the violent pounding of his heart between his shoulder blades. At one point, he crashed through the ice and fell to his knees. Maggie pleaded with him to put her down as he struggled to stand back up.
He never spoke, not even to tell her to shut up. Maggie suspected he didn’t have the breath, and knowing that broke her heart. Oh, God. She was afraid he’d keep pushing himself until he dropped, and then what would she do? As dearly as she loved him, she’d never be able to carry him as he was her.
Hot tears squeezed from her eyes. She could feel his exhaustion. Almost taste it. Never—not once in her entire life—had she felt so small and ashamed. He was killing himself for her. She could feel the quivering weariness in his body, every movement an effort that vibrated into her. Yet he kept going, taking just one more step, and then one more.
How much farther was it to the line shack, anyway? Please, God, don’t let it be far. This was her doing. She’d gone haring off into the woods. Poor little Maggie, running away to hide. It had been such a stupid and childish thing for her to do. And why? Because she hadn’t believed he could love her after hearing the ugly truth.
Well…if this wasn’t love, what was it? A serious case of like?
He fell again. This time, he hit the snow chest-first. Maggie’s right knee dug through the ice. Her frozen flesh felt as if it shattered, pain lancing from her toes to her hip. She blocked out the pain, her concern all for Rafe. He just lay there for a moment with her hipbone riding the back of his neck, his face shoved against the ice. She struggled to get off of him, but his hold on her was unbreakable.
“Oh, God, Rafe, let me go!” she cried with a sob. “You can’t do this.”
With strength she couldn’t believe he had, he straightened his back with all her weight still riding his shoulders. Maggie realized he meant to keep her there, no matter what, so she stopped struggling.
“Rafe, please. I’m rested now.” It was a lie. She wasn’t sure she could walk. But, oh, God, she had to try. “I can make it on my own. Honest.”
“Snow—too deep,” he rasped out. “Not much farther.”
He struggled back to his feet. She had a horrible suspicion he’d used the last reserves of his strength a half mile back, and that now he was operating on sheer force of will. What if his heart gave out? Her mom had seemed perfectly healthy before her illness began to manifest itself. Oh, God, she would never forgive herself for this.
Maggie nearly wept when she finally saw the dark outline of a structure ahead of them. She fixed her gaze on the bleary silhouette of the building, hoping Rafe wouldn’t fall again before they reached it.
When he staggered to a stop a few feet from the line shack’s door, he just stood there with his legs braced apart, staring at it. Maggie suspected that he was so exhausted, he could scarcely think, let alone determine what he needed to do next. She was about to suggest he put her down when his knees buckled. He dropped hard, somehow managing even then to keep her on his shoulders.
She heard his lungs whining and saw clouds of vapor rising in front of his face. Through tears, she stared at his sharply carved profile. Wet shocks of hair lay flat against his forehead. Droplets of sweat had frozen on his cheeks. His mouth hung open as he grabbed for oxygen.
“Rafe?”
He relaxed his hold on her, and she slid down his back to plop on the frozen snow. As she rolled onto her hands and knees, he braced his palms on his thighs and hung his head. Even with the thick leather coat blanketing his torso, she could see that he was shaking violently.
“Made it.” He heaved out the words.
Maggie shoved herself erect. Her legs felt rubbery and numb. She staggered to keep her feet, accepting as she did that he’d been right; she couldn’t have walked all the way here.
Done for. Those two words had aptly described her condition back on the slope, and they described his now. Maggie swung toward the shack. As she covered the distance to the door, she careened like a drunk. The crudely fashioned portal was held closed with a piece of board nailed to the wood. Her half-frozen fingers screamed with pain as she fumbled to turn it.
She stepped back to draw the door open. It didn’t budge. She glanced down and saw that a frozen drift held it closed. Sinking to her knees and blocking out the agony that exploded from her fingers to her shoulders, she clawed at the ice, her one thought to get the door open and Rafe inside.
He was still kneeling on the ice when she went back for him. She leaned over and grabbed his arm with both hands. “Rafe? Let’s go in.”
He shook his head as if to come awake and then stared at the doorway as if it were a thousand miles away. Then he began struggling to his feet. Maggie tried to help, but her arms were so leaden, she couldn’t lend much assistance.
When he threw an arm over her shoulders and his weight came down, her legs nearly buckled. She staggered, regained her balance, and somehow aimed their lurching footsteps toward the shack. Three steps, four. She strained with all her might to support him.
Suddenly—like a huge tree knocked flat in a gale—he started to go down. Maggie screamed, twisting to shove her shoulder against his chest in an attempt to catch him. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back like a kid making snow angels. She blinked and stared stupidly at the stars twinkling above her. As her senses cleared, she twisted onto her knees, got back up, and stared dizzily at her husband.
Husband. Not a fairy-tale prince on temporary loan. Not some dream come true that she could blink away and pretend wasn’t real when the going got rough. He was a flesh-and-blood man who’d laid his heart at her feet, and God forgive her, she’d walked all over it, throwing his love for her back in his face, denying him the right to touch her, and doubting him at every turn. Then, as the proverbial icing on the cake, she’d run away from him into the woods like a spoiled, not-very-bright child.
On legs that wobbled, Maggie made her way back to him. H
e had carried her on his shoulders for miles, half of that distance straight uphill and on ice that had made every step treacherous. She could surely get him into the cabin.
She leaned down and grabbed his hands, not allowing herself to think the word “can’t.” She would. Straining with all she had, she dragged him an inch at a time to the doorway. Then, stripping off her parka and bundling it under his head to protect his face, she managed to pull him across the threshold into the black void of the shack. He muttered something unintelligible.
“It’s all right,” she panted out. “It’ll be all right now, Rafe. We made it.”
Her back connected with a sharp corner of wood as she struggled to get him far enough into the dark room to close the door. She ignored the pain, just as she did the quivering weariness in her limbs. It’ll be all right. She remembered how he’d held her so gently in his arms on their so-called wedding night, whispering that promise to her, over and over.
Except for the labored whine of her breathing, silence descended when she slammed and bolted the plank door. No wind. She’d been hearing it whistle for so long that the sudden cessation made her ears ring.
“It’ll be all right now,” she said again.
And she meant it. With all her heart. With all she was. She’d get him warm, get some hot food into him. He’d be okay. Oh, God, he had to be. He was breathing. Sure he was. Her own huffing was just so loud, she couldn’t hear him. Rafe wasn’t her mother. He was big and strong and healthy. His heart was fine. Just fine.
She stumbled through the pitch blackness, waving her arms in front of her. First order of necessity was some light. Oh, God, she needed a light. After cracking her knees on several unseen obstacles, she ran into what felt like a crudely fashioned table. Praying mindlessly, she groped and patted the rough planks. When her hands bumped into a lantern, a sob tore from her. A box of kitchen matches lay beside it. Thank you, God. Thank you. Fumbling with numb fingers, she struck a match. Flame flared. She stared dumbly at the lamp, having no clue how to light the damned thing.