Her machine slid into the side of his and the handlebars knocked the gun from his hand.
She twisted the throttle and skidded sideways across the snow, spinning around to face him again.
Disarmed, the attacker had turned as well and raced north, away from the burning helicopter and the man on the ground.
Emma watched as the snowmobile continued into the distance. Keeping an eye on the north, she turned her snowmobile south toward the figure lying still on the ground.
She pulled up beside him and leaped off the snowmobile into the packed snow where he’d rolled.
A man in thermal underwear lay facedown in the snow, blood oozing from his left arm, dripping bright red against the pristine white snow.
Emma bent toward him, her hand reaching out to push him over.
The man moved so quickly, she didn’t know what hit her. He rolled over, snatched her wrist and jerked her flat onto her belly, then straddled her, his knees planted on both sides of her hips, twisting her arm up between her shoulder blades.
Until that point, she hadn’t realized just how vulnerable she was. On the snowmobile, she had a way to escape. Once she’d left the vehicle, she’d put herself at risk. What if the man shooting had been the good guy? In the middle of nowhere, with a big man towering over her, she was trapped and out of ideas.
“Let me up!” she yelled, aiming for righteous contempt. Her voice wobbled, muffled by a mouthful of snow it sounded more like a frog’s croak.
She tried to twist around to face him, but he planted his fist into the middle of her back, holding her down, the cold snow biting her cheek.
“Why did you shoot down my helicopter?” he demanded, his voice rough but oddly familiar.
“I didn’t, you big baboon,” she insisted. “The other guy did.”
His hands roved over her body, patting her sides, hips, buttocks, legs and finally slipping beneath her jacket and up to her breasts. His hands froze there and she swore.
Emma spit snow and shouted, “Hey! Hands off!”
As quickly as she’d been face-planted in the snow, the man on top of her flipped her onto her back and stared down at her with his dark green eyes.
“Dante?”
“Emma?” He shook his head. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, I’m sure not on a picnic,” Emma said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Dante stared down at the pretty young college professor he’d met when he’d taken classes at the University of North Dakota, working toward a master’s degree in operations management.
She stared up at him with warm, dark chocolate-colored eyes, her gaze scanning his face. “What happened to you?” She reached up to touch his temple, her fingers coming away with blood. “Why was that man shooting at you?”
“I don’t know.” Dante’s brow furrowed. “Did you get a good look at him?”
“No, it was all a blur. I thought he was coming to help, but then he started shooting at you. I rammed into him, knocking his gun out of his hands. Then he took off.”
“You shouldn’t have put yourself in that kind of danger.”
“What was I supposed to do, stand by and watch him kill you?”
“Thankfully, he didn’t shoot you. And thanks for saving my butt.” Dante staggered to his feet and reached down with his right hand and helped her up. “He shot down my helicopter with an RPG and would have finished me off if you hadn’t come along.” A bitterly cold, Arctic breeze rippled across the prairie, blowing straight through his thermal underwear. A shiver racked his body and he gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering.
Emma stood and brushed the snow off her pants and jacket. “What happened to your clothes?”
“I fell into a puddle of flaming aviation fuel when I climbed out of the helicopter.” He glanced back at the inferno. “We need to get out of here in case the fire ignites the fuel in the tank.”
He climbed onto her snowmobile.
“You should take my coat. I bet you’re freezing.” Emma started to unzip her jacket.
He held up his hand. “Don’t. I can handle it for a little while and no use in both of us being cold.” He moved back on the seat and tipped his head. “Get on. I don’t know where you came from, but I hope it’s warmer there than it is here.”
Her lips twisted, but she didn’t waste time. She slipped her leg over the seat and pressed the start button. She prayed the bent skid, damaged in the collision, wouldn’t slow them down.
Once she was aboard, Dante wrapped his arms around her and pressed his body against her back, letting her body block some of the bitter wind.
It wasn’t enough. The cold went right through his underwear, biting at his skin. He started shaking before they’d gone twenty yards. By the time they topped a rise, he could no longer feel his fingers.
Emma drove the snowmobile along a ridge below which a tent poked up out of the snow. A truck and trailer stood on the ridge, looking to Dante like heaven.
When she pulled up beside the trailer, Emma climbed off, looped one of Dante’s arms over her shoulder and helped him into the trailer. It wasn’t much warmer inside, but the wind was blocked and for that Dante could be very grateful. The trailer consisted of a bed, a sink, a small refrigerator and a tiny bathroom.
“Sit.” Emma pushed him onto the bed, pulled off his boots and shoved his legs under the goose down blanket and a number of well-worn quilts. She handed him a dry washcloth. “Hold this on your shoulder so you don’t bleed all over everything.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile.
Her brows dipped. “Stay here while I get the generator running.” She opened the door, letting in a cold blast of air.
“Keep your eyes open,” he said through chattering teeth.
“I will.” She closed the door behind her and the room was silent.
Dante hunkered down into the blankets, feeling as though he should be the one out there stirring the generator to life. When Emma hadn’t returned in five minutes, he pushed the blankets aside, wrapped one around himself and went looking for her.
He was reaching for the doorknob when the door jerked open.
Emma frowned up at him, her dark hair dusted in snowflakes. “The generator’s not working.”
“Let me look at it,” he insisted.
She pushed past him, closing the door behind her. “It won’t do any good.”
“Why?”
