Something Wilder(55)

His ears rang; dirt and grit burned his eyes and clouded his vision. He wasn’t sure where he was until Lily was there, out of breath and passing frantic hands over his chest, his legs, his face.

“Leo—” Her voice cut off abruptly as she pushed his pack off his shoulders, feeling down his arms, squeezing, pressing her fingers to his neck to feel his pulse. “I thought you died.”

He tried to sit up, but everything hurt. Especially his ass. “I might wish I had,” he said, groaning.

“Does anything feel broken?”

He looked at his hand; he’d cut it on something but not too bad. She traced what he imagined was a scrape on his cheekbone and frowned. He tested everything else: elbows, wrists, knees, feet. It all seemed to move. “I don’t think so.”

She sank to the ground, pulling him to her. “I really thought you died,” she said again, voice suspiciously thick. Lily held his head to her shoulder, pressing his face to her neck, and the sweaty heat of her skin made him dizzy all over again.

“Lil, I’m okay.” He tried to pull back, but she tightened her hold on him, and his suspicions deepened. “Hey,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her, slowly rubbing her back. “Look at me. I’m okay.”

Finally, she allowed him to tip her chin back and look at her face. His heart took a sharp, delicious nose dive in his chest. This steely, wary woman was crying. Over him.

He reached up, running his thumb over her wet cheek, and she reluctantly turned her watery eyes up to his. Leo would voluntarily fall down that hill a dozen more times if it meant she’d look at him like that every time. “See? Not dead. Not missing any teeth, am I?” He smiled.

She scowled at this, not ready to joke yet. “You’re really okay?”

His smile widened into a grin despite the pain. “I’m really okay.”

“Okay.” She took a shuddering breath and nodded, eyes searching his features to reassure herself. “Leo?” she said softly.

He gazed up at her lips, leaning forward. “Yeah?”

She lightly cuffed the top of his head. “I told you to watch your step.”





Chapter Nineteen


IT TOOK A good twenty minutes for Lily’s adrenaline to sort itself out, and when it did, the powerful roar of the river reminded her that the hike down into the Maze was supposed to be the easy part. She could hear Duke’s gravelly voice: This is Canyoneering 101, pal. Don’t tell me you’re not prepared for this.

Leo came to a limping stop behind her, voicing her thoughts: “Whoa. That’s more water than I expected.”

Looking out at the river, Lily felt her stomach sink. Whitecaps jutted up, crashing down on each other, tangling. Small eddies whirled in graceful spirals; fat, glossy pillows of water pushed up against unknown obstacles. And from the way the water ran flat right in the middle, Lily knew it was deep.

No, Duke, I am absolutely not prepared for this.

No river crossing is worth your life, her father drawled in response. Did you pack your stuff watertight?

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Their packs were water-resistant, at best, but she’d expected calm water to her shins. It was part of the reason she’d planned the descent where she did, to cross here. Putting aside the possibility of ruined maps and waterlogged sat phones, if their things got wet and they were unable to start a fire, unable to change into dry clothes…

Lily didn’t finish the thought. Never in all her life had she imagined her own death, but if pressed, she’d say what anyone who was at least part optimist probably said: she expected to die when she was old, after a long, happy life. She absolutely did not expect to die in the Green River, chasing her father’s lunatic dream.

Leo shrugged off his pack, checking the zippers and ties, making sure his tent and sleeping bag were secured in their straps. Lily dropped hers to do the same.

He looked around. “It’s greener than I expected, too.”

Most of the vegetation here would never survive the dry conditions in the surrounding desert. The river created its own riparian zone, one where Fremont cottonwoods and Russian olives offered dappled shade, where dense clusters of shrubby plants and spring grasses grew with their feet in the rushing water.

“It’s been a wet year. Might not look like this next spring.”

“Let’s hope we’re still around to see it.” He nodded and blew out a steadying breath. “Okay. We can do this,” he said, squinting as he looked upriver. She could see him come to the same conclusion she had—it would be worse the closer they got to the confluence. “We just need to go slow.”

She picked up a branch and threw it in, gauging the current’s speed. Immediately, it submerged, bobbing a few feet downriver before spinning quickly in a tiny, hungry whirlpool. Lily groaned.

“Still, we should cross here,” he said, “and then set up camp nearby to dry our shoes.” He quickly looked over at her, anticipating her argument. “We can spare a few hours, Lil. We can’t hike in wet boots, and we can’t cross a river like this barefoot.”

He was right, but she hated it. Hated how complicated this was becoming, hated how she’d failed to plan for everything, and hated even more that her desire to push forward outweighed her desire to call it quits. “It makes tomorrow’s hike longer, but I’m not sure what we can do about that.” She gave him a once-over. He looked solid and was barely limping, but still: “You sure you’re up for it? You took a pretty big fall.”