were in a very bad situation. If he’d had any doubts before, he was now damned sure she was running from someone, and that alone was bad enough, especially when the clearing was so exposed. But the worst part was that they didn’t have many hours of daylight left. And it was clear that she was definitely in no shape to spend a night, as had been his original plan, in a makeshift shelter. Which meant at least a three-hour ride back to the first line shack.
As if aware of what was going on in Finn’s head, Rooney remained on guard. The dog stood behind Finn and stared off across the clearing, his ears pricked, his attention fixed, as if watching for someone to appear. Knowing the dog would give him advance warning, Finn concentrated on the redhead. A funny feeling unfolded in his chest as he shifted his hold, and she immediately tightened hers. He gave himself a few seconds for the sensation to settle; then he tucked his head against hers and spoke, his throat tight. “Do you think you could stand up if you held on to old Gus here? I need to get some extra gear out of the saddlebags for you.”
She didn’t respond for a second; then she gave a single nod, but she didn’t loosen her grip. The corner of Finn’s mouth lifted just a little. He gave her a little squeeze and spoke again, his voice gruff. “You’re going to have to let go of me, honey. I don’t think this will work if you keep holding on.”
A weak, muffled response came from the vicinity of his neck. “Don’t call me honey.”
Finn’s expression relaxed into a wry smile. At least she had some fight left in her. That had to be a good sign. Making sure she was sheltered by the horse, he carefully set her down, the wind whipping her long hair across his face. It felt like strands of silk, and another avalanche took off in his chest. He had forgotten how silky a woman’s hair could feel.
Avoiding her gaze, he took her hand and tucked it under the cinch so she had something warm and solid to hang on to. Then he went around to the other side of the horse and took two pairs of heavy wool socks, a black wool cap and a heavy scarf out of the saddlebag. The snow was coming down so heavily that he could barely see the trees at the far side of the clearing, and his expression sobered as he latched the buckles back up on the saddlebag. Now the heavy snowfall was a blessing. As long as it continued, that snow was going to provide excellent cover.
The extra clothing in his hand, he rounded the horse again. She was standing with one hand grasping the saddle horn, and she was weaving around like a Saturday night drunk, trying to get one foot into the stirrup. Experiencing a small flicker of amusement, Finn stuffed the gear in his pocket. Then he reached out and steadied her. At least she was aimed in the right direction.
Knowing there was only one way to do this, he stepped beside her, caught her leg and hoisted her up. She grasped the saddle horn and steadied herself, her eyes closed and her face very white, her whole body wracked with shivers.
Shutting down his expression, Finn yanked the socks out of his pockets. Her shoes were very fine leather, and knowing that wet leather was a better insulator than no leather at all, he pulled both pairs of socks over her shoes. The long cuffs of the socks stretched almost to her knees. He finished pulling on the last sock, and he was pulling up the cuff when she whispered, her voice thick. “Thank you.”
One hand still resting on her leg, he glanced up at her. She was hanging on to the saddle with both hands, and it was clear that she was fighting with all she had to remain conscious. His gaze narrowing, he took another hard look at her eyes, and Finn experienced a cold feeling deep in his belly. He was no doctor, but he was willing to bet his best horse that she was fighting the effects of heavy-duty drugs. Which put her in even more danger. He experienced another cold sensation. They were both sitting ducks out here in the middle of the clearing.
Catching a glimmer of fear in her expression, he forced a half smile onto his face. “You’re welcome.” He undid the wool army blanket from the back of his saddle, and tucked it under her arms. Then grasping the reins and horn in one hand, he put his foot in the stirrup and swung up behind her. Gus tossed his head and did a side step in response to their combined weight, and Finn corrected him with a small jerk of the rein and a sharp command to whoa.
Bracing her weight against him, Finn pulled the wool cap over her head, then wound the scarf over the top of that. Shifting her legs so she was sitting sidesaddle, he wrapped the blanket around her, covering her from head to foot.
It was as if his covering her up allowed her to let go, and he felt her sag against him, her head lolling against his shoulder. He would have thought she was out cold, but she grasped the back of his belt, as if she needed something to hang on to.
His face hardening, he shifted her slightly so he could support her weight with one arm, then lifted the reins and clucked to Gus. An ominous feeling—one that slid like cold fingers down the back of his neck—made his jaw harden even more. He felt as if he had a gun pointed at his back. A long time ago, he had learned to respect his gut feelings—and his gut was telling him to get the hell out of that meadow and across the river, where they would be less exposed.
Giving Rooney a quiet command to heel, Finn rode through the clearing, the falling snow sticking to the trunks of the aspens and coating the rocky outcroppings. Visibility was maybe two hundred feet and getting worse by the minute. It was a damned good thing he knew this area. With conditions the way they were, it would be very easy to lose his bearings. And getting lost was the last thing they needed.
The wind gusted, sending the snow swirling in front of him, and Finn squinted against it, the landmarks nearly impossible to see in the near-whiteout conditions. But he wasn’t going to complain about that. If landmarks were invisible, so were they. And right now invisibility afforded them the best protection of all.
Another gust of wind flurried around them, pulling some of her hair loose and feathering it across Finn’s mouth. Tightening his arm around her, he transferred the reins to that hand, then tucked the blanket more snugly around her head. She muttered something and stirred and Finn pressed her head more firmly against him and spoke, his voice low and gruff. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He tucked a loose flap of blanket under her head, then spoke again. “It’s going to get a little rough here. We have to ford the river, and the banks on either side are pretty steep. So just hang on, okay?”
He felt her hand shift on his belt. “Okay,” she whispered, and Finn could feel her tighten her grip and fight to remain conscious, but the fight only lasted seconds, and she went slack in his hold. Locking his jaw against her vulnerability, he scanned the rough terrain through the falling snow, trying to spot the huge boulder that marked the location where he’d forded the river. Now all he had to do was get her from this side of the river to the other, keeping her dry in the process, and they’d be relatively safe.
With the ford hidden under boiling white water, the river provided a formidable natural barrier. No one in his right mind would even consider crossing it. No one, except Finn.
They made it across safely, although Finn got a shot of adrenaline when Gus stumbled once in midstream, and it was all Finn could do to hold on to her. And there was another tense moment going up the other bank, the falling snow, the steepness of the riverbank and the extra weight testing the horse’s strength and agility to the limit.
But once in the impenetrable cover of the trees, Finn relaxed a bit, knowing their tracks would be obliterated within minutes. And with the river between them and whoever she was running from, he felt reasonably sure they were safe—at least for the time being.
Finn whistled for the packhorse, hoping that it wouldn’t take the animal too long to find him. Finn had been well schooled in the unpredictable treachery of the mountains—especially this time of year—and he always carried spare gear. As far as his own welfare was concerned, he could manage with what he had on. He had dressed for the weather—thermal
