He’d only reacted in time because he’d been waiting for it to happen. After his harrowing experience, snow had become an obsession to him—learning the different kinds of snow, what made it slide, what made blizzards, all that. And since he’d bought Max and had him trained, he’d probably spent more time on the snow than anywhere else in his life. His instinct was honed to it, and he knew to listen to his gut.
Especially when he couldn’t see the terrain well enough to judge with his eyes...
But he couldn’t trust that his crew would have the same ability, especially with how tired they already were.
Conditions had just officially gotten too bad to continue.
His team had stopped when he’d pulled his maneuver—quickly enough to see how he’d survived it before they tried to follow—but he didn’t want them to try it. They’d follow where he led, but he couldn’t have any more lives on his conscience.
Grabbing the flashlight off his belt, he clicked it on, assuring that they’d see the motion even if they couldn’t clearly see any other details, and gave it a swirl before pointing back in the direction from which they’d come.
Retreat.
He waited until they had all turned around and then started up the slope in a gentle arc to bring up the rear. Not ideal. The best formation had him at the front—taking the dangers first—but at least from this vantage he’d be able to see if anyone fell behind or started having difficulty.
He felt shifting against the cage at his back. Max huddled behind Anson, strategically placing himself to get the least of the cold wind that blasted around his owner, even as the machine crept along.
If it were just him, he’d stay out on the mountain, looking until it was impossible to do anything else, but there were five other human lives under his protection, not to mention his hard-working, life-saving dog.
“I’m sorry, man,” he said to the wind.
They had to go back.
He’d have to tell the others they couldn’t reach the mine. Yet.
They hadn’t gotten far enough to find anyone or signs. Those they’d rescued earlier would just have to understand.
His gut twisted. He’d lost people to avalanches, recently even. But he’d never lost someone to a storm and not found them alive.
Worse, he’d have to lie to those people who’d been through so much. Say he was certain they would pick up the trail again as soon as the snow and wind let up. But the only thing he was certain of was the fear and guilt tearing through him—colder than the Colorado cyclone buffeting them about the mountainside.
*
Just as Anson had expected, Ellory was doing the job she’d been assigned. She’d been fast out the door when they’d first arrived, but not when they returned.
As quickly as they could, the team shut down their machines, climbed off, and hurried inside. They hadn’t been out in the weather that long compared to their hours of searching for the group, but the wind speeds were now enough that the awning over the front doors sounded like thunder as it rippled in the wind. That, coupled with exhaustion, made it impossible to keep warm.
He stepped through the ornate doors to the comforting heat and the smell of burning wood. The fireplace in the lobby still burned actual wood, something that had surprised him when he’d returned to Silver Pass. It was good. Wood fire dried out the air and cut through the damp better than anything but a shower. Anson loved the crackling and the temperatures for those times, like now, when he just couldn’t get warm enough. The dancing flames. The red coals. The warm golden light, so hopeful... Hopefulness he wished he felt.
Max looked up at him, made eye contact, and then headed for the fireplace at a trot. He always did that and Anson still didn’t know whether it was him asking for permission to do something, or he was just giving Anson a heads-up that he was going.
His crew hit the hot beverages first, the fastest way to heat up your core, leaving Anson to check on his patients and deliver the news.
Ellory had positioned his frostbite patient close to the fire, having transferred her to a fancy brass wheelchair that matched the décor—the lodge kept a few on hand for the really bad skiers—and now sat at Chelsea’s feet, gently patting them dry. She’d kept them in the hot water bath longer than he’d told her to. Not great. The tissue was fragile and being waterlogged wouldn’t do her any favors.
A hot plate sat on the floor about a foot away, which was new. Somewhere closer to keep the water hot for the footbath.
She was taking that temperature range very seriously at least. Probably keeping it better than the whirlpool baths at the hospital.
“Chelsea’s toes are pink now,” Ellory called, on seeing him. It almost helped. “Well, almost all the way pink. A couple of her small toes have a bit of yellow going on. We had a little trouble with the water temperature at first, but once we moved the hot plate closer, it got easier to keep it in the range.”
“It’s not hurting as bad now,” Chelsea added in quiet tones, swiveling in her chair to look the lobby over.
She was looking for her fiancé, as they all were, but she was the one who’d be hurt the most if the man didn’t make it back.
Anson stepped around and crouched to look at her toes. “No blisters have formed yet, so that’s good. You’ll likely get a couple of blisters soon, when they start swelling. But we’re going to take good care of you, and when the storm passes we’ll get you to a hospital.”
“What about Jude?” Chelsea asked, letting him know what she was interested in talking about but not whether she’d heard him at all. Someone would have to repeat the information to her later.
Anson straightened so he could address the group. “The storm has gotten to the point where it’s impossible for us to continue searching. I want to be clear: this is just a suspension of the search, not the end of it. I’m sorry we haven’t found your fiancé yet.”
“Jude.” Chelsea repeated the name of the missing skier, stopping Anson with one hand on his arm.
“Jude,” he repeated, his pulse kicking up a little higher. He knew why it was important to her, but saying the man’s name made it harder to maintain the distance he needed to be smart about this. “Just because we have to postpone going back out to look for Jude, it doesn’t mean it’s time to give up hope. So don’t get ahead of us, okay? You’d be surprised what someone can survive. Those mines are a pretty good shelter. There are also some rocky overhangs between here and where we found you. And some of those might actually be better.”
“How could they be better? You’re closer to the snow,” one of the rescued asked.
He contemplated how much to actually tell them about his experience with this kind of situation. I know these things, I killed someone with snow once wouldn’t inspire anyone to trust him. This had to be about them, not about his fear or guilt. “Small spaces hold the warmth your body makes better, and the wind can’t get into it as fully as it does in the mines, which have a bigger entrance and room for the wind to move around inside. He might still show up here before we get out to him, but as soon as the storm lets up we’ll get back out there. It’s not time to give up hope.” He repeated that, trying to convince himself.
It was time to bandage Chelsea’s toes...and hopefully him moving on would make them take the hint not to ask more questions. He didn’t have any answers or much of a mind left for coming up with more empty words of comfort. He was too busy trying to ignore the similarities between this storm and his storm.
Pulling off his cap and gloves, he squatted beside Ellory at Chelsea’s feet, struggling to hold his calm for everyone else. “Do you have some gloves for me to use?”
Ellory ducked into the bag of supplies she’d packed and fished out the box of gloves. One look at them confirmed they wouldn’t do. Small. He could squeeze into a medium at a pinch, but large were better. “All right, this job has been passed to you.”
To his surprise, she didn’t argue at all, just grabbed a couple gloves from the box and put the
m on. Crouched so close he was enveloped in a cloud of something fruity and floral. The woman looked like summer, and she smelled like spring. Warm. And distracting. He scooted to the side to give her room.
“What is the job?” she asked, looking at Chelsea’s toes and maneuvering herself so she could gently cradle the patient’s heel in her lap.
He handed the gauze to her and began ripping strips of tape and tacking them to the wheelchair, where she could get to them. “Part of the healing process is just keeping the site dry and loosely bandaged.” He gave short, quick instructions, and left her to it.
She unrolled the gauze carefully and began wrapping. He watched, ready to correct her, but she did it as he would’ve: a couple of passes between the two toes to keep them separate, controlling the moisture level better, and then loosely around the two together.
No matter how out of her depth she looked, she was anything but incompetent. There might even be some kind of medical training there. The cloud of floral scent stole up his dry, burning sinuses and almost made his mouth water like a dog’s.
Awesome priorities. Reveling in attraction to some woman while the lost man was freezing. Maybe dying. He definitely didn’t have the warm comfort of a fireplace and a wench-shaped blonde to take his mind off his failure to get back to the lodge safely, didn’t even know his friends had been saved, so he suffered that additional torment—worry for them in addition to himself.
An inferno of shame ignited in his belly.
Hide it.
At the very least he owed them all a confident appearance. Calm. Strength. Determination.
Meltdowns were something to have alone—a luxury that would have to wait until he was no longer needed.
CHAPTER THREE
ELLORY HAD READ about frostbite treatment so she could anticipate Dr. Graves’s needs for that, but she had no idea what his other needs were. She’d kind of pegged the search and rescue team as attracting the kind of adrenaline fiends in it for the thrill, but Anson looked almost as devastated by returning empty-handed as Chelsea had.
With the bandage applied, she switched off the hot plate, scooted it out of the way and stood. What came next? She didn’t know, but certainly there would be something she would need to do, and being on her feet would help her react that much faster.
“They still hurt, I know,” Anson said to the woman, looking at the toes now hidden by the gauze, the patch of yellow skin surrounded by angry redness hidden. “But most of this might not even be frostbite. The yellow area is, but the good news is that we got to it in good time and it’s very unlikely to leave any lasting damage. I won’t be able to tell for a couple of days if it’s frostbite or the lesser version, which you all have on your fingers and toes...frostnip. We’re going to treat yours as if you have frostbite, just to be safe. I’ll see what kind of antibiotics Dr. Dupris has in her inventory, and some pain medication.”
Good news. She’d take whatever kind of win they could get.
Anson asked the standard allergy questions, got whatever info he needed, and nodded once to Ellory—a kind of do it nod. She had been promoted: triage to assistant, or nurse...or whatever that position was.
“I can check with Mira. Which antibiotic do you need?” If she had to, she could no doubt find in Mira’s books which kind of antibiotic was good for skin infections, but she’d rather he tell her. She wasn’t a doctor. Not by a long stretch. But she knew enough to know that antibiotics were a tricky lot—some worked for everything, some worked best for specific things, and these days a frightening amount were resistant to stuff they used to be awesome at fighting.
“I’m sure she’s got some of the broad-spectrum ones, but I don’t know how well the drug cabinet is stocked for anything obscure.” For some reason she wanted him to think well of her, and she felt more competent even saying the words “broad spectrum.” Like proving to him she wasn’t a complete idiot was important. Probably something to do with the lecture she’d gotten about her clothes...
She didn’t even know the man, had never seen him before today, but as he spoke she became aware of something else: there was a rawness about him she couldn’t name. Something in that raspy timbre that resonated feelings primal and violent.
He rattled off a few medication names that sounded like gibberish to her, and she didn’t ask him to repeat himself, just hoped she could remember them when she came face-to-face with a wall of gibberish-sounding drug names.
Then she’d come back here and keep an eye on the good doctor with the terrible name, because alarm bells were ringing in her head.
Chelsea suffered the whole situation with more dignity than Ellory could’ve mustered, and directed the conversation back to what she really wanted to talk about. “If I got frostbite in the mine and I wasn’t in the snow, Jude’s going to have it for sure, isn’t he?”
“Nothing is ever certain.” Ellory said it too quickly. It sounded like a platitude. She shook her head and tried again with better words. “You can’t compare your situation to his for a couple of reasons: women don’t hold heat as well as men do, and your boots are different. Even if they are the same brand, the fit will be different. If his have more room inside than yours they’ll hold heat better. If he’s taken shelter in a smaller space than you did, like Anson...Dr. Anson...was saying, he could just be warmer...”
Anson pulled out the footrests on the wheelchair and carefully positioned Chelsea’s feet on the metal tray. “Find a pillow for her.”
Ellory knew he was speaking to her, even though he didn’t look at her. She hurried to the main desk and the office behind, where she knew she’d find some. When she presented him with two slender pillows from the office, he put one under Chelsea’s feet and rose. “Would you like the other pillow to sit on?”
“Yes.” She made as if to rise and Anson put his hands out to stop her. “No walking. No standing. When you need to go to the bathroom, someone’s going to have to go with you. Right now, I’ve got you. Luckily, you weigh about as much as a can of beans...” He caught her under the arms and lifted. Ellory slid the pillow beneath and then stood back as he returned Chelsea to her seat, lifting a brow pointedly at him when she saw his shoulder catch again and a wave she could actually name cross his handsome features: pain. His shoulder definitely hurt.
She really had to stop thinking about how hot he was. It wasn’t helping at all. It wasn’t breaking her resolution to think that the untouchable doctor rescue guy was hot, but it might lead her to other thoughts. It also wasn’t her fault that his eyes looked like moss growing on the north side of a tree...deep, earthy green blending to brown. Was that hazel or still green if she looked...?
He was staring at her. It took a couple of nervous heartbeats for her to realize that it wasn’t because he was a mind-reader.
Oh, yeah, she’d made the Ahh, your shoulder does hurt face at him. Because it did. He’d made the pain face, she’d made the ahh face, and now he was making the scowl face.
He didn’t know she was sexually harassing him in her mind.
While she was trying to decide what she was supposed to be thinking, the man pivoted and walked straight through the archway leading to the rest of the resort.
Where was he going?
Crap.
She should have gone after the medicine by now.
He was going to disturb Mira, maybe make her leave the love nest and come down here.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Chelsea,” she babbled, and rushed after him in a flurry of flowing skirts and jingling bracelets, but she was too late to see which direction he’d headed. The elevators all sat on the bottom floor, where she was.
The man was a ninja. A cranky, frosty ninja.
*
Ducking into the stairwell, Ellory tilted her head to listen, hoping he wasn’t outside earshot. The plush carpeting that blanketed the hallways and stairs made it hard to tell which way he’d gone. “Anson?” Tentative call unanswered, she stepped back into the hallway.
Okay, so he didn’t go upstairs by any means, he wasn’t heading for Mira and Jack’s suite.
Mira’s office? He did want antibiotics for Chelsea. She turned to the right, the shorter hallway, gathered her skirts to her knees so they’d stop the damned swirling, and ran. No yelling. Yelling disturbed people. And every single person in the lodge, except for maybe the two upstairs sheltered from all this information overload in their love nest, were disturbed enough with the current situation.
One turn and then another, she reached the final hallway just in time to see Anson reach the end and turn toward the wall outside the clinic.
Before she could call out to him, he reared back and slammed his fist through the drywall.
The loud slam and cracking sound stunned her into staring for a couple of seconds. Long enough for the pain to reach his brain and make him pull his hand out of the hole while the other gripped his poor shoulder. If it hadn’t hurt before he’d done that...
“You broke the wall,” she muttered as she trotted forward, no longer running. She was not at all sure how to respond to this masculine and aggressive display. She didn’t know anyone who hit walls when they were upset. Generally, she kept company with people who avoided violence. “I have the keys to Mira’s office, we can get whatever you need for Chelsea. I’ve been keeping an inventory of supplies.”
He finally turned to look at her and she saw it again—he wasn’t just upset. She saw desolate, blind torture in his hollow eyes. It robbed her of any ability to speak.
Whatever she’d thought earlier about his motivation behind taking this kind of work, she was now certain: It had nothing to do with being an adrenaline junkie or any kind of fixation on the dream of being the big hero. This mattered to him. This hurt him.
She did the only thing she could, reached out and touched him. Tried to ground him here with her.
Contact of her palm with his stubble-roughened cheek sharpened his gaze, bringing him back from wherever he’d gone.
“Don’t worry about the wall. We’ll fix it. Everything will be okay.” She whispered words meant to soothe him.
Breaking Her No-Dating Rule Page 3