The Military Wife (A Heart of a Hero, #1)(28)

“Who’s Laurence?” she whispered. Not sure what had prompted her to even ask, she remained still. The moment took on the feel of a priest’s confessional.

His hands flexed on her arms, but he didn’t release her or push her forward. “The man who adopted me,” he whispered in return.

“I’m sorry.” Except she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for. Perhaps the pain she could sense under his stoic answer. Perhaps the events that had necessitated an adoption at all.

“Don’t be. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

She sucked in a breath, the cold making her lungs tingle. So old. What had happened to him before he’d turned sixteen? Where were his parents? Had they died? And how? Questions stumbled over one another to get out, but before she could formulate the words, he released her, the confessional door flung open.

“We need to get a move on. We have another hour at least before we can make camp.”

She checked the compass to confirm their direction and trudged along, her head down, her mind troubled. For a while, those troubles distracted her from the pain in her feet. But soon enough each step was like walking barefoot on hot coals. She gritted her teeth. No one died from a blister.

After an eternity, he said, “Holler if you see a promising spot to make camp.”

A tent would require ground space. She spotted a clearing through the trees. Snow dusted the pine needles and scrubby grass in the clearing like sifted powdered sugar. Except way colder.

She dropped her pack to the ground and rolled her shoulders. Shedding the weight lent her a second wind. They’d have the tent up and a fire going in a half hour tops. “Where do you want to set up the tent?”

“What tent?”

“The one in your pack?”

The look he gave her landed squarely in the middle of pity and amusement. “You really are a city girl. We build our shelter.”

She was too hungry and cold to rise to his bait. “How?”

“I’ll show you. Did you bring a hatchet?”

“I did.” She pulled it out and scraped the price tag off the wooden handle while turning to face him. His was twice as big as hers. She clinked the blades together. “Seriously? If I was a man, this would give me a complex.”

Again, a smile threatened to crack his stony expression. “It’s too late to build anything off the ground, but the fire ants are dormant and the bugs are minimal. We can use pine needles as ground insulation. And boughs as cover. Look for low limbs, less than an inch in diameter.”

He did an about-face and stopped at an evergreen to chop. She headed in the opposite direction and found a young tree with thin branches and set to work. A raw place formed on the pad of her palm. She tugged on gloves, but the fleece made it difficult to keep a strong hold and she tucked them back in her pocket. Sweat broke over her forehead in spite of the freezing temperatures.

She dragged over the half-dozen limbs she’d managed to fell. He joined her with bigger, fuller branches. “I’m surprised you aren’t making me do all the work,” she said caustically. Her blistered hand and feet soured her mood by the minute.

“I’m here to teach you, not torture you.”

Her huff was a poof of white in the cold air. “Then teach me, wise one.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I didn’t mean … It was sarcasm.”

His sparkling eyes were too warm and attractive for her comfort. She preferred him harsh and unfriendly.

“Just show me.” She gestured.

“The fastest shelter is a lean-to or teepee type shelter. It’s also good in cold weather because it keeps heat in. Now, which direction should it face?”

“Away from the wind?”

“Exactly. So, we’ll face this way. I have cordage to make the braces.”

She caught on quickly, and they worked in silence. The sky was still spitting out snow and had turned a dimmer switch on the sun. Dusk crept closer. Her fingers were clumsy, and ice encased her feet. Except where her blisters burned. And all she could think about was food. Something hot, like soup.

For that they’d need a fire? “What about a fire?”

“You gather twigs we can use as kindling. I’ll gather fuel. You brought a fire stick?”

She nodded and trudged back into the woods, doing her best to scoot her feet without exacerbating her blisters. With her exertion level falling, a chill crept over her body. She shivered. Coming back with the kindling, she was thankful to see the pile of wood and a half-finished fire ring.

She retrieved her fire stick and sat cross legged on the ground next to where he was squatting. Dampness registered too late. She popped to her knees. The butt of her jeans was wet. If she weren’t so tired and hungry and cold, she would have laughed.

“What’d you bring back?”

She made her offering without words. He picked through the twigs and dead fronds and made a mound in the circle of rocks. “We’ll leave the rest to feed the flame once we get it started. It’s a delicate balance of fuel and air. Give it a shot.”

She clutched the fire stick, having read the instructions but not actually taken it out for a practice run. She set the stick on the edge of the mound and pushed down. A tiny spark emerged.