Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts)

by Annabeth Albert

  The audience had some good questions, including one from Owen about avalanche beacons. Despite the whole resemblance to JP thing, Quill liked his voice, which had more than a hint of California to it—casual vowels and easy confidence. Too much confidence really, assuming that technology like the beacons were foolproof.

  Quill explained their limitations, but he wasn’t terribly surprised when Owen caught up with him again in the line for lunch.

  “So why tell backcountry visitors to get beacons if they often fail to make a difference?” Owen asked, notebook out, which really was rather adorable. And smart, taking this training seriously. Made Quill respect him that little bit more.

  “Well, they can save lives, but everyone in your group needs one, not just a few designated persons, and you need to practice with them. Most people skimp on the number of beacons or they never practice, so when disaster strikes, they’re not prepared. Beacons don’t substitute for preparedness. And some people use them as an excuse to get overconfident or take risks, and that’s also problematic.”

  “So practice is key.” Owen jotted down notes in a crisp, precise handwriting.

  “Also, not to get too gruesome on you, but a certain percentage of victims will die from hitting trees and rocks on the way down. The beacons only work if you survive the ride.”

  “Ah.” Owen’s skin paled as he considered this fact. “Makes sense, I guess. And you did a great job, laying out all the dangers.”

  “Thanks.” Quill’s neck heated as he wasn’t sure what to make of the praise. Lunch was a simple buffet of sandwich fixings, chips, and cookies, but the line in front of them was slow as people took forever deciding. He supposed it was only polite to try to keep the conversation going. “Have you been around snow much yourself?”

  “Well, I grew up in the Bay area, so not much snow there. But I worked at a Lake Tahoe ski resort a couple of winters in college. Summers too. And I’ve been on other ski trips. I like snow,” Owen said with the sort of authority of someone who’d never had to deal with months on end of the stuff.

  “That’s good.” Quill wasn’t going to be the one to burst his bubble, but volunteers like Owen had a tendency to not make it through their first real winter. Loving snow wasn’t the same as being able to cope with the dark, frigid days that defined an Alaskan winter. But he’d promised Hattie he wouldn’t scare the volunteers, so he simply added lightly, “Being able to ski will definitely be a plus for you.”

  “I hope so.” Owen gave him another of those near-blinding earnest smiles. And such was Quill’s luck that the guy had deep, movie star–worthy dimples, which had always been kryptonite for him, even more than public speaking was. They made heat bloom low in Quill’s gut, made the rest of the line seem to fade away. The dimples were probably part of why Quill had initially placed him as being younger, but up this close he could also see subtle smile lines around his eyes that said he was indeed on the wrong side of his twenties.

  This close also meant that he could smell the guy’s crisp aftershave—a clean, modern scent that probably cost more than Quill’s boots, but hell if it didn’t combine with those dimples to utterly disarm him.

  “The line moved.” Owen’s smile this time was more crafty, like he’d figured Quill out and intended to exploit that knowledge.

  “Thanks.” Quill grabbed a plate and the nearest two slices of wheat bread. Owen might be nice and hot as hell, but he was also dangerously distracting. And Quill knew better than most how deadly even a few moments of misplaced attention could be. The smartest course of action would be avoidance and to thank his lucky stars that he wouldn’t be snowed in with those dimples.

  At least Hattie’s person wasn’t likely to pose the same sort of temptation that Owen did. His gut churned again. He really did need all this uncertainty settled. And if he felt some regret over moving away from Owen as he took his food over to sit near Hattie, he stomped it down. He had a job to do, one that didn’t leave room for much else, and that was simply how it was.

  Chapter Two

  Ranger watching didn’t lose its appeal for Owen even as he ate his lunch. He made friends with a nice retired couple, both volunteers who would be based out of Settlers Cove where they’d be living in a small log cabin for their second straight winter. The husband was working on a mystery novel, and Owen enjoyed the conversation even as his attention kept getting dragged away to hot ranger watch. Not wanting to make a pest of himself, he’d let Quill make a beeline for his friend, the female ranger who seemed to be running the day’s agenda. But even from across the room, Owen found himself glancing Quill’s way more than was prudent.

  It wasn’t that Quill was flashy, the kind of hot man who knew he was hot and who exuded that sort of swagger. If anything he was stoic. Reserved even. Like someone from an old Western, more concerned with doing a job well than how he looked doing it. His confidence seemed to come from a lot of earned experience—he’d certainly known his stuff during his part of the presentation, and that competent, zero-bullshit persona was incredibly attractive. Owen would much rather unravel a man like that than be blinded by the charms of a more outgoing sort. Been there, done that, didn’t even get a T-shirt.

  Something about the past few years had turned him off pretension, made him value genuineness because time really was too short to deal with fake people and their fake problems. And it wasn’t like Quill was the only good-looking man in the room—there were plenty of other spots for Owen’s eyes to roam, but somehow he kept getting pulled back to Quill. He liked the intent way Quill listened to his friend, leaning forward, giving her his full attention for some lengthy story that had him laughing at the end. He had a great laugh, deep and resonant without being overbearing—more of that realness Owen craved.

  As lunch wound down, they started preparing for the afternoon’s first-aid classes. Quill’s friend Hattie came around with a DNR hat with pieces of paper in it.

  “We’re dividing into groups of three or four for the hands-on portion of the first-aid training,” she explained.

  Owen would totally be lying if he didn’t admit to making a wish before he selected a number. He was one of the last people to draw, and around him, people were already moving into groups.

  “Four,” he said as he opened the piece of paper.

  “Okay, you’re with Quill—he’s the ranger over by the door—and Nancy, who will be wintering at the Chilkat Preserve this year.”

  “Sounds good.” Apparently, some wishes did come true, and he had to work hard not to beam at Hattie before she moved on to the couple next to him. Not wanting to appear too eager, he took his time making his way over to where Quill and a tall, thin woman with long curly red hair stood.

  Soft spoken, Nancy had a reticent demeanor, and Owen spent some time trying to bring her out of her shell as they waited for the first-aid instructor to start. She reminded Owen of one of his sisters in her shyness, and making her comfortable took priority over more flirting with Quill. She was a fellow first-timer but had spent the summer volunteering in Yellowstone, part of a plan to take a year off between college and graduate school.

  “Smart. I went straight through, and I was so burnt by the end,” Owen admitted. God, he hated remembering school, the constant worries that he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t measuring up.

  “What’s your degree in?” Quill surprised him by interjecting the question. Was he simply being polite or was he as curious about Owen as Owen was about him?

  Please let him be curious.

  “Finance. I was an investment banker for a decade or so.”

  “Ah.” Quill nodded like he’d expected similar, and part of Owen chafed at proving him right and wanted to explain that he could have gone for something more outdoorsy but had let expectations push him down other paths. But before he could launch into an explanation, the first-aid class began.

  The first part of the class focu
sed on assessing a situation. After a brief overview of triage principles, the instructor passed out papers to each group with scenarios for them to work on brainstorming approaches.

  “Thanks.” Owen accepted their group’s pages from the instructor, a short older man with a lengthy résumé as both an EMT and a ranger. Readying his pen for note taking, he glanced over the sheet before turning his attention to Quill and Nancy. “So, they’ve given us three scenarios to break down. I figure we should go in order. Now, the first is pretty straightforward. A skier has taken a fall and been brought to the ranger station by two members of their skiing party. We need to assess the injury and determine a course of action. Ideas?”

  Quill gave him a slow blink, head tilting to one side. “You used to being in charge?”

  Fuck. Of course, Ranger Umpteen Years of Experience would expect to be the de facto leader. “Sorry. Holdover from college and grad school—I was always the one running group projects. You want the paper? Or maybe Nancy would like it?”

  It wasn’t simply that he’d been the social one able to mitigate group politics and infighting, but he’d always been the one who cared the most, the one who ended up in charge because he couldn’t stand the idea of mediocrity. But this wasn’t a classroom, and he needed to remind his inner nineteen-year-old that he wasn’t going to impress anyone by being a model student.

  “I’m good.” Nancy gave a fast shake of her head.

  “Me too.” Quill leaned back in his chair, smile tugging at his mouth, clearly amused. Which was better than pissed. “You go ahead and take point. Save us the writing. What should we do first?”

  On the spot, Owen had a sudden and unfamiliar attack of nerves. He really didn’t want to screw up with Quill right there waiting to correct him.

  “Obviously, visible injuries should be assessed, but I’d also be super concerned about the possibility of a head injury, and I think I’d probably start there, seeing how lucid the skier was, looking at the risk factors for concussion or other head injury.”

  “Not a bad idea.” Quill gave him a little nod. “Anything else?”

  “Hypothermia,” Nancy contributed.

  “Great.” Owen jotted that one down as the three of them talked through the rest of the scenario. He kept their group on track, moving on to the other questions, leadership coming as naturally to him as ever, even if he was a little more self-conscious about that thanks to Quill. Because maybe he did care about making a good impression, even as he tried to remind himself that no one was grading this portion of the training.

  After the exercise, the instructor moved on to how to handle the specifics of various injuries, using the items in the emergency kits they’d have access to. The next group activity involved pretending to ready an accident victim for transport.

  “So one of us has to be the injured person.” He did a fast read of the next handout after the papers came around.

  “I’m... I’m not big on being touched.” Nancy licked her lips and looked away.

  “No problem.” Owen was about to volunteer himself when Quill gave a firm nod.

  “Guess I can be the guinea pig. You guys be the first responders on the scene. Go easy on me?”

  “I’ll be gentle.” Owen only realized after the words were out that his tone was more flirty than he’d intended.

  Nancy hung back, holding the kit, letting Owen be the one to put on a pair of nitrile gloves and pretend to evaluate Quill for a concussion. The smell of the gloves reminded him of hospitals, his stomach churning with things he didn’t want to think about right then, so he focused back on Quill. Looking into his blue eyes was more than a little disorienting as was leaning close to apply pressure to a nonexistent wound. Quill smelled good. Classic and woodsy, like everything else about him.

  “You can press harder than that.” Quill’s voice wasn’t the least bit suggestive, but Owen’s face still heated. There were any number of spots he’d like to press harder on Quill, but he forced his touch to be professional, as Quill continued, “Head wounds in particular bleed like the dickens. You get a gusher, no sense in being timid. Same goes for leg wounds, only with one of those be thinking whether a tourniquet is needed.”

  “Got it.” Owen accidentally brushed his fingers against Quill’s thick and soft brown hair as he adjusted the pressure. “So we get you onto the field stretcher, wrap you up in the blankets, and one of us relays your condition to the incoming medics.”

  “Yeah, keeping the victim warm is a big deal in winter injuries. Internal temperature can drop fast, especially if you’ve got a wait for evacuation. Add in the possibility of shock, and warmth has to be a priority.”

  “Makes sense.” Accepting the blankets from Nancy, he bundled Quill up. “Feels like I should be offering you a story and a pillow.” He tried to hide how it good it felt to tuck the blankets around Quill’s big, solid body.

  “Or a drink.” Quill’s voice was dry, more uncomfortable than humorous, but even so, awareness rushed though Owen. He totally wouldn’t mind getting under the covers with this guy, sharing body heat. And once in his brain, the idea of having drinks with Quill didn’t let up. He probably would never see the guy after tomorrow, but that was no reason not to make the most of the time he did have.

  He continued to ruminate on how to make that happen as they went through a few other exercises before moving on to the CPR portion with dummies that were brought in for each group. Going first, he relied on past CPR training back in college, going through the familiar motions. Quill was next up, and he surprised Owen by how forceful he was with the dummy, checking the airway with quick, efficient movements before starting a series of chest compressions that rattled the dummy.

  Nancy made a startled noise and Quill glanced over at them both where they knelt behind him on the floor.

  “Maybe...eh...little less rough?” Owen tried to be helpful without stepping on any ranger boots in the process.

  “You ever actually do CPR? In the field?” Quill stared him down, sharp eyes seeming to bore into Owen.

  “No,” he had to admit. He’d been fortunate in that, maybe even sheltered, and it made his voice more than a little sheepish. “I’ve been trained since lifeguarding in high school, but luckily, I’ve never had to actually use it.”

  “Well, I have, and there’s no luck about it, one way or another. If you’re in a situation, you have to act. And while you’re not out to crack ribs, you’ve got to exert yourself—if you’re not sweaty and exhausted after doing everything you could, then you didn’t do enough. Simple as that. I’ve had CPR work, sometimes fast, sometimes later right when you’re about to give up, and I’ve had it fail too.” The shadows in his eyes spoke to experience that Owen was glad he didn’t share, and it humbled him, knowing that Quill had probably saved—and lost—many lives over his long career.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to presume. Proceed.”

  “You try again first.” Quill moved out of the way. True to his words, sweat glistened at his temples. And fuck, Owen should not find him so hot in the middle of such a somber lecture, shouldn’t be wondering about other, more fun ways to get Quill sweaty.

  “Okay.” Owen scooted forward, arm brushing against Quill as they traded places. Sizzle. A surge of energy raced up his shoulder and neck, heading straight for his brain, which should know better than to go getting a crush on a stranger he wasn’t likely to see again.

  “If the chest isn’t actually depressing, you need to go a little harder.”

  “Like this?” Owen did a few compressions, but Quill’s mouth twisted and he shook his head. Leaning over Owen, he placed his hands on top of Owen’s and pressed down. Hard. A light he hadn’t noticed earlier on the dummy went off. “Oh! It has a sensor.”

  “Yeah. You want it to trip that sensor every compression.” Quill pushed down again, demonstrating, and Owen had to force himself to focus on the whole lifesavin
g skill acquisition thing and not how good Quill’s nearness felt, how warm and calloused his big hands were. He wasn’t a huge man, but he was beefy in all the right ways, and his big, capable hands were sexy as fuck. “Okay, now you do it. Count it out and focus on making each compression a good one.”

  Owen followed directions and was surprised at how much strength it took to make it light up each time. Quill hadn’t been lying about it being a workout, and Owen considered himself in the best shape of his life, so it wasn’t like he was unused to exertion. Nancy struggled even more than he had, and Quill moved closer to the dummy again.

  “You can do this.” With his strong, patient tone, he was the kind of man one believed, on a deep, cellular level, able to chase out uncertainty. “But hopefully you’re not going to be the only person on the scene, and you can do two-person CPR like the instructor talked about if you’ve got a trained partner. You focus on rescue breaths for five cycles, and I’ll do the chest compressions, then we’ll switch.”

  Watching him work with Nancy, Owen was struck again by how competent he was. He wasn’t simply hot ranger eye candy, and there was something incredibly sexy about watching him work. As Quill and Nancy finished their five cycles, Hattie came striding over and bent to tap Quill on the shoulder as he sat back on his heels.

  “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know that I need to take a rain check on dinner. Val’s still feeling poorly, and I don’t want to leave her.”

  “That’s fine.” Quill scrubbed at his short hair, still catching his breath after the CPR. “Family first. I’ll find something on my own.”

  “You’re staying over?” Owen couldn’t help interrupting, all but bouncing at his good fortune.

  “Yeah. It’s only a little over an hour drive in when weather’s decent, but Hattie and I had plans. Didn’t make sense to turn around again early tomorrow.”