Beauty and the Badge

by Lyn Stone

  She wriggled out of the sleeping bag and followed his orders to the letter and with full attention. Her movements, while a bit jerky and rushed, betrayed very little in the way of fright.

  “You’re all right, kid,” he said.

  “Of course I’m all right,” she countered, yanking the poncho over her head and settling it around her. “It’s only eight miles or so. How hard can it be?” He heard the slight break in her voice, but tactfully ignored it.

  “A walk in the park,” he assured her.

  Two hours later, Ford figured they had come only about three quarters of the distance required to get them to the cabin. Navigating through the trees, and over rocks, and an ice-slick carpet of pine needles had probably added an hour or so to their journey.

  In the eerie quiet around them, Mary’s breath heaved in and out like a noisy bellows. His own nearly covered the sound.

  He stopped for a moment to rest, leaning against a tree. Mary did the same, choosing one close by. The tall pines, most of which had no low branches, afforded them plenty of room to walk between the trees. But sleet and ice had collected on the high tree limbs, weighting them down so they drooped to head level.

  Mary’s quickly stifled groan knifed through him. He raked her with the flashlight to see how she was holding up. She had pulled the poncho over the top of her hair so that the neck hole framed her face. He had told her to do that so her hair wouldn’t get wet and freeze.

  The predawn darkness made it impossible to see her face unless he aimed the light directly on it. Which he certainly wouldn’t do. Not when mea culpa seemed to have been his mantra for the last few hours. It was his fault they were in this mess, but he couldn’t see how they could have done anything else.

  “How’re you doing, kid?” he asked through numb lips.

  “Just fine.” She sighed. Her favorite refrain. Ford thought if he heard it one more time he would—

  Something cracked. For a split second Ford’s mind registered a gunshot. He shoved away from the tree and reached for his weapon.

  Then he heard the brush and crackle of a limb falling, striking others on its way down. He swung the flashlight up, then leaped toward Mary with his arms outstretched to push her out of the way. He landed flat on his stomach and felt the hard slap of an ice-laden pine bough pin him to the ground like a giant net.

  There was another crack, then more followed in quick succession, until the night exploded with the sounds of a war zone.

  “My God, my God!” Mary screamed. “Ford!”

  He struggled to move and couldn’t. He felt glued to the ground, the frozen weight on top of him enormous. “Don’t panic!” he shouted. “Grab a tree and stick to it. Protect your head!”

  No use, he thought, feeling his own terror grow. Terror for Mary. She probably couldn’t hear him. It sounded as though entire acres of the tall pines were dropping their deadly missiles all over the place. Some of the trees themselves would be snapping in two from the weight of their heavy canopies. There was no safety for her. No place to run.

  Suddenly he felt the branches around him move. “Are you hurt much?” Mary demanded, her words cut short by yet another loud snap from above. Ford felt her snaking between the limbs until she finally snuggled next to him.

  “I’m fine, just fine,” he said, deliberately using her old line. She didn’t seem to get the joke. He knew because he could hear her quiet sobs and feel her shaking. “Take it easy. It’ll be over soon.”

  “Wh-what’s happening?” she gasped, burrowing under the spiky branches as close to him as she could get. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!”

  “Ice storm,” Ford said, beginning to feel more discomfort now that the shock was wearing off the body blow he had received. He felt her hand clutching his left arm. “Follow my sleeve and get the flashlight out of my hand.”

  The cracking began to subside, full seconds passing between echoing snaps and the lumbering crashes as huge limbs struck the ground.

  Mary aimed the light straight up. “I think you got the big one. I don’t see any others left directly overhead.”

  Then she began surveying the local damage, skimming him slowly with the beam, sliding her hand between his body and the branches on top of him wherever she could. “Can you move?”

  Ford gave it his best shot, rotating his feet and bending his legs as much as the weight on top would allow. “Legs work,” he announced.

  He twisted his torso a bit and found it still intact. He turned his head to one side and then the other, getting his cheeks jabbed with sharp needles for his efforts. “So far, so good.”

  Drawing his left arm up beside him from its outstretched position, Ford flexed his gloveless fingers. But his other arm, paralyzed by the cold, wouldn’t budge an inch, even when he tugged hard. “Right arm feels pinned down,” he said. “Check it out, would you?”

  Mary rose to her knees and shone the flashlight over his back and along his right side. Apparently she couldn’t see because of the clumps of foliage, so she gingerly worked her way around him.

  Ford heard the frozen branches snap off as she moved them for a better look.

  And then she shrieked.

  Chapter 11

  “Jeez!” Ford shouted. She heard his breath hissing in and out between his teeth. The huge limb pinning him to the ground shifted when he did, jarring Mary back to reality. His voice lowered to an urgent grating. ”Knock it off, please! Unless my arm’s severed. Then you can scream like hell. I’ll join you.”

  “N-no, it’s not! Severed, I mean, but—”

  “Then for Chrissake, what? I can’t feel a damn thing!”

  “Blood,” she gasped. “There’s so much...blood.”

  She felt herself about to lose it again as she ran the flashlight over the sight, squinting as she looked. “Th-there’s a broken branch—sticking through it.”

  “My arm?” he asked quietly. “Through my arm?”

  When she said nothing, he raised his voice. “Mary! Honey, listen to me. It doesn’t hurt. I promise you I can’t feel it.”

  His words registered slowly, but Mary focused on them, drawing her breath in and out, compelling herself to stabilize her thoughts.

  For a moment there, all the blood had made her see her mother—me crimson flow out of her mouth, on the rocks, smeared on the broken body.

  This is Ford Mary repeated the words over and over in her mind. Not Mom. Ford won’t die. He’ll be fine. “Just fine,” she whispered aloud. “Fine.”

  “Right. I’m gonna be. Okay, hon, now listen to me. Answer me, Mary. Say something.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “We have to get the tree...off.”

  He laughed, and she could hear his relief. “Good. You’re talking! Now do what I tell you, Mary. Listen up.”

  She waited, growing calmer. Ford was in no pain. He had said so. Maybe he lied, but she told herself it couldn’t be too bad or he would faint or scream the way she had.

  “First get these damned needles out of my face, will you?”

  Mary frantically snapped off the small frozen branches laden with foliage that surrounded his head, and watched as he turned his face toward her.

  “Now shine that light on my arm so I can see the damage. Do it, Mary!”

  She did, forcing herself not to look away. A branch about the size of Ford’s finger must have cracked on its way down, leaving the sharp edge that had impaled him. It had disappeared into the sleeve of his jacket between his shoulder and his elbow. Blood encircled the branch where it had entered, and pooled beneath his arm.

  Ford released a sigh, just short of a groan. “Can’t get my jacket off until we get me out from under this mess,” he said. “Hurry up, sweetie. I only got so much of the red stuff. Let’s get cracking.”

  Mary jumped up and almost sat down again when her feet slipped on the ice. Quickly, she regained her footing, scanned the main part of the limb and found the broken end. It was twice as thick as her leg. “Cover your face!�
� she said. “I’m going to drag it off.”

  “No, wait!” Ford shouted. “Get this thing out of my arm first!”

  “Oh!” Mary wondered if her brain had frozen along with every other part of her body. She had to function here, she told herself. Think!

  First, get Ford’s arm unpinned, then pull the limb off his body. She had to do all of that before he bled to death.

  She rushed back between the branches and examined the wound more carefully. Nausea threatened, but she pushed it to the back of her mind.

  “Lift that limb,” Ford told her. “Pick it straight up, the way it went in. Don’t—don’t break it off in there, huh?”

  Mary laid the flashlight down so the beam shone directly on what she was attempting to do. With both hands, she grasped the limb and pulled up. The smaller branch embedded in his arm resisted but then popped free. Without taking time to see the results, she stumbled toward the heaviest end of the broken missile that had fallen on him and began to slide it off.

  Portions of his clothing had already frozen to the branches, but with his arm unpinned, he shifted around enough that he was soon free. By the time Mary reached him, he was sitting up, crunching stiffened pine needles beneath him as he tried to shrug out of his jacket.

  Ignoring his curses, she knelt beside him and helped him get the garment off. For the first time, Mary noticed the gray dawn sifting through the jagged tops of the trees. The woods around them looked like a winter battlefield. A blanket of ice covered everything and more was falling in the form of mixed snow and sleet. The occasional pop of a limb as it became overloaded rent the stillness, but she figured the worst of it had passed.

  “Not too bad, see?” Ford said, but his voice sounded thready to her. “Bleeding’s almost stopped.”

  Mary paid little attention to his words, and focused on his wound. Blood wasn’t pulsing out as it would have if an artery had been punctured. There must be black flecks of the pine bark still buried in the wound, but those would have to wait. She prayed they wouldn’t cause infection.

  The sleet pelted down into Mary’s eyes so that she could hardly see, even with the flashlight She released his arm, handed him the light and began shucking off her poncho and sweater, then her shirt.

  “What the devil are you doing?” he demanded. “Are you nuts? You’ll freeze!”

  With all the efficiency of a stripper on Fast Forward, she unsnapped her bra and pulled it off. “You’d better thank God I didn’t wear a lacy underwire today!” she said through chattering teeth. “Hold this on there.”

  Ford looked up at her, his eyes hot despite the freezing cold. A hint of amusement overshadowed the flash of lust. “Padded cups, Mary? False advertising.”

  “Just be glad I’m vain!” she declared, shivering back into her other clothes, which were now wet with sleet. Her body continued to shake as she took the bra from him and arranged the thin pads against the punctures. She tied the straps around his biceps to secure the makeshift bandage. “There you go. Now, let’s get out of here and find the cabin before hypothermia sets in. I hope you can walk.”

  “Me, too,” he ground out as he struggled to his feet. He stamped them a couple of times. “Good to go. Where’s our gear?”

  Mary slung all the straps of their bags over her own shoulders and Ford managed the lightweight tent. Together they picked their way around and through the slippery fallen limbs.

  If she’d ever been any colder, Mary couldn’t recall it. Her hands and feet had no feeling whatsoever.

  “Up ahead. There.” Ford sounded almost as indifferent as she felt. Her brain must be a Popsicle by now, she thought.

  Mary dragged one frozen foot in front of the other until they reached the one-story log house and crawled up the steps on hands and knees. The stone steps were a solid sheet of ice, but the wooden porch, shielded by the overhang, offered enough traction to stand.

  “Door’s locked,” she groaned as she rattled the knob, her fingers so numbed by the cold she could scarcely grasp it.

  Ford stood and took over. “Move and let me.” He turned the knob all the way to the right and fell against the solid panel. It flew inward and he landed on the braided rug with a pained grunt.

  “Just as cold in here,” Mary said as she stumbled in beside him and collapsed in a heap.

  “Fire,” Ford grunted and heaved himself up off the floor.

  Moving slowly, he made it to the stone fireplace and sat on the hearth. “Drag that black pack over here,” he ordered. “Come on, we don’t have time for a nap.”

  Mary did as he asked, then watched as he rummaged inside the bag. “There’s no firewood,” she noted, massaging her hands, trying to regain some feeling in them. “What do we do?”

  He nodded toward a chunky wooden stool that sat near his hip. “We burn that, for starters. With all the limbs lying around, we won’t have to worry about doing much chopping, but they’re all iced. When that melts, everything will be wet. We’ll have to bring some wood in to dry out later. Right now, we’ve got to get out of these clothes and warm up. Find me some paper or something to use for kindling.”

  Mary stirred herself to action, realizing that Ford could pass out any time from his injury. They would both die from hypothermia if she continued to sit around doing nothing.

  She had not seen the cabin since she had come here once with Gramps as a child. It looked smaller, but was in better shape than she remembered. The log structure contained only two rooms—a combined kitchen and living area, and a bedroom. If she remembered right, there was a small bathroom set into one corner of the bedroom. The rooms were small and low-ceilinged, she noted, and should be easy to heat

  There were signs that the cabin had been occupied more recently than she’d thought. Gran must have continued to lease it after Gramps died. Still, it would have been almost a year since anyone had used the place. No one had been here this hunting season, at any rate.

  She found a half roll of paper towels in the kitchen, along with a plastic bottle full of fuel for the kerosene lamps. She also dragged one of the four wooden chairs from the eating area over to where Ford sat. “We can burn these, too.”

  “Whatever it takes,” he mumbled, taking the towels and tearing off lengths of them, twisting them into tight coils that he placed under the stool in the fireplace. He added a little of the lamp fuel, fished a disposable cigarette lighter out of the pack and ignited the paper.

  Neither spoke as he fed the flame more of the towels and watched it finally engulf the stool. The smell of burning varnish and oak filled the room. Smoke drifted out into the room for a few moments until the updraft began sucking it through the chimney.

  “Now we’re cooking,” he said, turning to her. “Get out of those clothes and put on everything else you’ve got that’s dry. Everything.”

  He didn’t have to tell her twice. In minutes, she had stripped to her skin, not caring whether he saw her or not. If he could maintain any lecherous thoughts under these circumstances, he was a better man than most. The last thing on her mind was staying naked and pursuing any romantic diversions, no matter how diligently her brain had recorded their night together.

  Still, as she glanced his way and noted his eyes on her, Mary wondered if sharing their body heat might not be the wise thing to do. A warming fantasy of them cuddling in one of the down-filled sleeping bags raised her temperature a couple of degrees.

  Then she remembered his wound. That needed tending right away, and here she was entertaining thoughts of hot, masculine muscles. She reached into her bag for another of her shirts and didn’t stop dressing until there was nothing left there. When she’d finished, she felt like a stuffed sausage. A very cold, stuffed sausage.

  “Now you,” she said, hurrying to help him off with the jacket. “I hoped it’s stopped bleeding,” she added, thinking of the bloodstained bra she had tied around his arm. She pulled his shirttail out of his pants and carefully drew it over his head.

  “All right, kick off your
shoes and stand.” She stood as well and, without pausing to think about what she was doing, she unsnapped his jeans and pulled them and his navy briefs down over his hips. He stepped out of the clothes.

  “Never dreamed I’d be caught in nothing but a bra,” he said, chuckling.

  “You’re delirious,” she replied, wondering if he really could be. No, just making jokes, she decided as she looked up at him and saw his grin.

  She dropped her gaze and it caught briefly on that part of him that she had felt in the dark, but never really seen. It lay dormant now, but still looked impressive. Ford was built like a male model, she noted as she took in the rest of him. Not beefed up like a bodybuilder, but strong and solid. So wonderfully male. Heat reached her cheeks and she felt them burn.

  “Don’t be insulted,” he said casually. “I’m excited, but the idea got slightly chilled as it traveled south.” He reached down and picked up one of the sleeping bags, loosened the ties that held it rolled, and unzipped the length of it. Mary helped him wrap it around himself with the flannel side next to his body.

  “Are you in pain?” she asked, reaching for the bandage she had improvised.

  “Not right now. Let’s leave it alone until the fire’s hot enough to heat some water. Then I’ll clean it up.”

  “I’ll do it!” she offered quickly. “I’ve had courses in first aid. Required for the school,” she explained.

  He laughed as he snaked his left arm out of his cover, reached for the poker and gently stabbed at the burning stool. “You go ape at the sight of blood, remember?”

  “I do not!” she retorted. “It was just that when I saw you lying there, bleeding, it brought back the memory of my mother...when she died and I had no way to save her.”

  His movements stilled and he swerved to look at her. “You were the only one there when it happened?”

  “Yes,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Just me. I’m sorry I sort of fell apart on you. It won’t happen again. I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

  He reached out and ran his hand over her head. “Hey, it’s okay. You were great, hon. You saved my bacon out there this morning. Thanks.” His hand captured hers and brought it to his lips. Then he reached for her other hand and squeezed it softly.