Dane's Storm(55)

I forced a smile, shaking my head, willing this terrible feeling away. “Nothing. It just felt cold to step away from the fire.” I stepped back toward it, holding my hands out to the welcome heat. “Ah, that’s better.”

His frown remained, though he moved closer, coming to stand across from me. “How was the bath?”

I smiled at him again, a real one this time. “It was wonderful.” I pointed at the two bottles already sitting among the fire. “I just put those on. They need another four minutes or so.”

Dane nodded, beginning to remove his jacket. I pointed to my cosmetic bag. “There’s body wash in there, if you don’t have any.” Why did I feel so nervous as he began to undress?

“Bundle up. It’s getting colder. It’ll be freezing again by tonight.”

I nodded, zipping into my jacket and quickly tying my “headscarf” on. I grabbed the magazine still near the fire, hesitating and then turning to my suitcase where my small purse was at the top. I opened it and took out the pen, turned, gave Dane a tiny smile and began moving toward the break in the trees. “Enjoy.”

He gave me a head nod as I passed him, his expression still slightly confused. I released a pent-up breath when I stepped into the open area, closing my eyes against the wind, turning my head away as snowflakes stuck to my eyelashes. God, it was really coming down. I’d realized it was snowing, but the tree cover really protected the area where our shelter was. Tomorrow Dane and I would go back to the place where we’d spotted the plane and build a second fire, one we hoped would be more visible from the sky.

I sat down by a rock wall and looked thankfully at the lone tree that somehow grew out of the side of a mountain, protecting me from the worst of the snowfall. Almost immediately, I began shivering, but I brought the magazine from where I’d had it inside my jacket and gripped the pen in my hand. Turning to a full-page ad with lots of white space, I poised the pen to write. I’d been intending on . . . what? I hadn’t made an actual plan. A will? A note to Jay? A half-formed thought that if this didn’t end well, I’d want someone to have my house, my business. At the present moment, the building my business was housed in belonged to Luella Townsend. If Dane and I never made it to Laurelton, Luella would have a funeral for Dane, or a memorial service if our bodies were never found, take over my building, dismantle everything I’d . . . Shaking my head, I leaned my head back, tapping it twice against the hard stone. This line of thought wasn’t doing me any good. And if I was going to make a will, I was going to wait until death was imminent. Making one now felt . . . too hopeless. It felt as if I’d already given up.

So, no.

Still, I put the pen to the glossy paper and watched as it moved, almost of its own accord. My hand was in control, but my mind wandered, reliving the moment I’d seen that tiny spark of fire, the joy that had simultaneously flared inside me. Such terrible conditions and yet, when was the last time I’d felt a burst of jubilation like that?

Except for the flowers, the one bright thing I’d clung to, everything else in my life was . . . colorless. Sitting under a bent tree on the side of a cliff on a lonely mountain, I realized how joyless my existence had been. For so long. But not Dane. He’d been able to move on. Find happiness. Find another person to love. My chest tightened, constricting my lungs.

The wind howled, growing louder, and the snow was coming down fast and furiously now, a blinding curtain of white. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, casting the landscape in platinum shadows. Alarmed, I closed the magazine, returning it to the inside of my jacket.

I made my way to the copse of trees, fighting the wind, my arm shielding my face against the icy snow. Once I had stepped into the shelter of the trees, the wind felt less harsh, the snow a gentle flurry in the crisp pine-scented air. It was still cold as all hell, though, and I rushed toward the fire, the smoky tinge in the air, luring me forward.

Dane was kneeling at the side of the fire, rubbing the same shirt I’d used to dry myself off on his hair, obviously having just finished washing it. My breath hitched and I came up short.

He was like a shimmering fantasy in the light of the flame, snowflakes fluttering down to melt on his skin, still warm from the heat of the fire and the water with which he’d bathed. On his knees that way, his head bent, his defined muscles glowing in the flickering shadows, he looked like a broken warrior and oh, I wanted to draw him this way. The thought brought with it a mild sense of surprise. I’d sketched just a few minutes ago, but I wasn’t used to being inspired to sketch by visual input, the way I’d constantly been . . . before.

As I stepped toward him, coming to the edge of the fire, Dane lifted his head and smiled. “You’re right, that was amazing.”

I grinned, holding my hands up to the fire and allowing it to chase the cold from my blood. He twisted at the waist to grab his shirt lying behind him, and my eyes snagged on a tattoo on his right bicep. My brow furrowed as I stepped toward him to investigate the art that had definitely not been on his skin when we’d been married.

When he turned back, he saw me attempting to look at his arm and frowned. “What?” I tilted my head, my eyes still on his bicep and he glanced at it, bringing it up in front of his chest so I could see it. It was a tree, next to a frozen pond, a banner of sorts twining up the trunk with the name Theodore John and our son’s birth date written on it. My stomach seized and I made a small gasp, stepping back.