The Military Wife (A Heart of a Hero, #1)(27)

The ditch was too wide to jump and continued as far as she could see in either direction with no sign of a man-made bridge. That would have been too easy for Bennett the Torturer.

“Tree catapult?” The pain in her feet revved up her snarkiness. “I’ve seen Wile E. Coyote make one.”

His lips twitched. “Inventive, but doesn’t he usually make a coyote-sized crater?”

About fifty yards downstream, she could see a downed tree. “Shimmy over on a tree?”

He gave a small nod. “Go for it.”

When she reached the fallen tree, it was obvious it had been used as a crossing many times, but it was too narrow for comfort and the water was murky, with a pungent, unpleasant odor. She could only imagine how cold it was. Dare she tackle the trunk like a balance beam? She glanced over her shoulder.

“Or if you want to head back rather than risk hypothermia after falling in the water, we can. No telling how deep the muck goes.” He tutted. “Might take weeks to get the stench out.”

He was attempting to get in her head. And succeeding. A nervous shudder had her knees going gelatinous.

“Ass,” she hissed under her breath.

“What was that?”

The way to extract information from him was with honey, not vinegar. She fought her tongue and, as usual, lost. “I said, you’re an ass.” She enunciated every word.

“’Bout time you caught on.”

The combination of his smirking Southern accent and the light of triumph in his eyes cinched the decision. Stepping onto the end of the tree, she did her best to ignore the heat of his gaze on her back and concentrated on her feet. A few steps from solid land, she looked up and lost her balance. Her heart accelerated like a car leaving the starting line. Flailing her arms, she scampered the last few feet and landed on her hands and knees on the bank.

She stood and wiped her hands on her jeans, the knees muddy and wet but not the rest of her. Bennett walked across with his thumbs tucked into the straps of his pack like he was taking a Sunday stroll. He hopped off the end and landed next to her. Jack was the last to cross, bounding over with no problems.

“I did it.” Her heart was beating with the shot of adrenaline.

She wasn’t sure what she expected. A pat on the head? A high five? The spilling of secrets in the face of her meager accomplishment?

“Barely. Jack made it over with more grace.”

Sadly, she couldn’t dispute the facts. “Yeah, well. Yay for me.”

His lips pinched together, but she almost swore his eyes danced with laughter. He cleared his throat. “From here, we need to head northwest. Use my compass.”

The face of the metal compass he handed her was elaborately drawn with fancy script and embellishments. She rubbed her thumb over the back and could feel an engraving, but with his attention boring into her, she didn’t flip it over.

She lined up the needle with north and pointed northwest. “This way?”

“Your lead. Make sure we stay on track. It’s easy to drift off or even circle back on yourself in the woods.”

She did as he instructed. They continued in single file, the dog in the back. The going was slower because instead of following in Bennett’s wake, she was forced to push through the brush. A brief clearing allowed her to catch her breath. And flip the compass over. She rubbed over the inscription as if that would somehow help her decipher it.

Honor … something, something … Laurence.

His father? An uncle or brother? Or maybe he’d picked it up in an antiques store.

She became hyperaware of him a few feet behind her. More than his footsteps or the rustle of his clothing, it was as if his aura expanded to include her. It was the sort of hippie crap her mother tried to sell, but she’d never bought into.

“There is more among heaven and earth than we’ve dreamed,” she whispered.

“What was that?” His voice sounded so close, she stopped. He bumped into her, grabbing her upper arms to keep her from bouncing forward. She twisted her head around to see him.

Even with the hump of her pack between them, his face was only a few inches from hers, her eyes level with his beard. How soft or scratchy was the hair? She swallowed, her voice thin. “I said, ‘There is more among heaven and earth than we’ve dreamed.’”

“Shakespeare?”

“Yes. Are you a fan?”

“I prefer Mark Twain’s earthiness. ‘Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company.’”

The pithiness of his choice had her smiling. “I pegged you as an adventure reader, if you read at all.”

“Wasn’t Huckleberrry Finn basically an adventure?”

“True. And Jack London wrote amazing adventures, of course.”

Hearing his name, the dog barked and wagged his tail. They both laughed. Their relationship—if it even qualified as one—veered sharply from adversarial into uncharted territory. Not friendship by any stretch, but they danced on the edge of ease.

While they were still locked in a strange almost embrace, a snowflake drifted and landed in his beard, melting on contact. With more effort than it should have cost, she peeled her gaze from his and looked skyward. Through the gaps in the treetops, snow filtered to the ground.

A hush fell over the woods. Not a single bird chirped or squirrel chattered. It was a lonely feeling even though she wasn’t alone.