The Renegade and the Heiress
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Judith Duncan
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Chapter 1
The weather did hold, and Wednesday morning dawned bright and clear. There was still a touch of frost hanging in the air as Finn reined his big buckskin gelding around and headed up the trail behind the barn. His dog Rooney nosed through the underbrush, his head down tracking some scent. The packhorse, all loaded down with supplies, plodded along behind him.
If he had special-ordered it, Finn couldn’t have asked for a better day to head out. Not a cloud in the sky, the air crisp and clean, aspens still cloaked in gold, the rugged countryside so beautiful it made his chest hurt. Dried fallen leaves crunched beneath Gus’s freshly shod hooves as they passed through a thick stand of poplar, their passage startling a huge raven off the trail ahead. It was the kind of day where a man should be able to fill his lungs and savor being alive. But for some reason, the brightness of the day left Finn feeling even more empty than usual. For more years than he cared to remember, he’d been making this trip. And over the years, it had turned into a kind of spiritual pilgrimage—a time to think, a time to assess and evaluate, a time to try and locate some small kernel of peace within himself. But finding even a trace of that inner contentment was becoming harder and harder to do. He wasn’t even sure what he hoped to find in himself anymore.
Guiding Gus around a shale face, Finn hardened his jaw and studied the jagged gray barrier rising up in his path. Maybe he was just like those mountains. So damned hardened and dead inside, there was nothing left.
It was a long, empty ride. By the third day out, the skies had turned dark and somber, and the wind kept changing direction. A sure sign that something ugly was building in the mountains. Finn had spent the first night and the entire second day at the first line shack, making repairs to the roof, stocking the shelves with nonperishables and chopping a supply of wood. It was a little after noon when he headed out, and by the time he reached the old tree shattered by lightning, a weather front had moved in. The sky had gotten heavier and more ominous, and the dense, heavy clouds huddled low, with the wind beginning to shift and moan.
It was midafternoon when the first snowflakes started to spiral down, and Finn shifted in the saddle, the thick flakes catching in his eyelashes and graying the landscape. Squinting against the falling snow, he flipped up the collar of his fleece-lined coat, then turned to check on Trouper. The packhorse followed without a lead, and the piebald was plodding along behind, his gait slightly off from a crooked shoulder. The corner of Finn’s mouth lifted just a little. Trouper was probably the most miserable piece of horse-flesh he’d ever laid eyes on—thick neck, huge head with mulelike ears, hooves the size of dinner plates, and a thin, stubby tail.
But in spite of all his bad conformation, Finn wouldn’t have traded him for a sack of gold. Trouper was the best packhorse, bar none, that he had in his stable. He was as surefooted as a goat, had better mountain sense than most humans, and was as wily as a coyote. If Finn ever needed to get out of a bad situation, all he had to do was turn the horse around, smack him on the rump and let the big piebald lead him home.
A smile still tugging at his mouth, Finn straightened in the saddle, angling his head against the falling snow, using the wide brim of his Stetson to keep the snow out of his eyes. He checked the underbrush, then whistled for Rooney. The dog appeared on the trail in front of him, tail wagging, his eyes bright. Rooney was mostly German shepherd, with a few other strains mixed in, and the dog loved these outings. Finn figured that between Trouper and Rooney, he had every contingency pretty much covered.
Finn guided the buckskin around a thick knot of twisted roots, the gust of cold air funneling down around him. Pulling his collar higher, he wondered why in hell he continued to do this—to make this ride every fall. He was getting too old for this crap. And on top of his current disinclination, he did not like the low, ominous sound of the wind.
The buckskin had to lunge up the last steep leg of the trail, and when they broke into a small clearing, Finn reined up, squinting against the whiteness as he studied the sky. The rugged landscape was nearly obscured by the falling snow, the outcroppings of granite and the trunks of trees like ghost shadows in the gloomy whiteness. An eerie silence had settled like a thick blanket, muffling even the sounds of the horse’s breathing. He didn’t like the feel of it, and he didn’t like the way the wind kept shifting. Nor did he like the way the snow was coming down. Unless he missed his guess, there was a helluva storm brewing, and it was the kind of warning anyone who knew these mountains would never ignore. Especially when the second line shack was still a good day’s ride away.
His mount tossed his head and pulled on the reins, then dropped his head and began grazing on thin clumps of grass now coated with white. Within seconds, the gelding’s black mane was thickly dusted with the big wet flakes.
Allowing the horse his head, Finn rested his arms on the saddle horn and stared off into the distance, his expression fixed with consideration. He didn’t like the look of it. Didn’t like the feel of it. And it wasn’t as if he had to complete the trip—and he sure as hell didn’t relish getting caught out here in an early blizzard. This trip was mostly for his own peace of mind.
He studied the scene for a moment longer, then made up his mind. The smart thing to do was turn around and head home. His decision made, he reined his mount around, giving a spoken command to the packhorse.
Their tracks were already covered by the time he crossed the narrow draw, and Finn settled in for a long, miserable ride, the dampness like a cold, wet blanket around him.
The snow continued to fall as Finn backtracked, the sky growing heavier and heavier. He tipped his hat lower on his head, then pulled the collar tighter around his neck and snapped it closed as he guided Gus onto the old goat trail which traversed a rocky ridge. Below was the fast moving river, the water cold and gray and dangerous. It felt as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees, and Finn hunched in the warmth of his coat.
Rooney appeared from the underbrush, his brown-and-black coat dusted with white, his tail arched over his back. He sniffed along the trail, then started across the ridge, his head low, tracking some critter as he trotted ahead of Finn. Suddenly the dog stopped and cocked his ears, turning his head into the wind, his body going perfectly still. Rooney held that pose for a split second; then he dropped his head and emitted a low growl. Finn watched the dog, his expression tightening.
Rooney was as much a legend as his master—a natural tracker and as close to human as any dog could get. He had been on more rescue missions than Finn could count, and just two months before, he’d successfully tracked a kid lost in the bush. He was no ordinary dog. And when he went on alert like that, Finn paid attention.
Finn rode along the ledge to where Rooney was standing, then reined up, turning his mount for a clear view. His expression fixed, he let his gaze slowly drift over the scene below him. Squinting against the relentlessly falling snow, he scanned the scene again, his attention arrested by a shadow of movement on the far side of the river. His muscles tensing, he shifted his head slightly, allowing his peripheral vision to catch the movement again, then he focused on the spot. No doubt about it—someone was there, a barely visible figure stumbling through the heavy veil of falling snow.
A cold prickle feathered along the back of his neck, and Finn narrowed his eyes. Not only should there not be anyone in that area, something was also definitely wrong. Yanking off his doeskin gloves, Finn twisted in the saddle, flipped open one saddlebag and took out the case holding his binoculars. He yanked the powerful binoculars free, then lifted them to his eyes, swearing when he couldn’t locate his target through the heavily falling snow. Finally he got a fix, and he went dead still.
The stumbling figure was a woman, dressed only in a dark green sweater and slacks, with something black wrapped around her head. And the reason she was having so much trouble keeping her feet under her was because it appeared that her hands were tied together in front of her. And even at this distance, Finn could recognize fear. Jamming the binoculars back in the case, he wheeled his mount around, his voice sharp as he gave a hand signal indicating the distant figure. “Rooney. Go. Go find.” He wheeled Gus around again, giving Trouper the command to stay, then he spurred the gelding toward the narrow twisting trail that led down from the ridge, his expression grim, an ugly feeling unfolding in his gut.
It was pretty damned obvious she was on the run from something or somebody—and that was bad enough. But it was going to take him at least half an hour to get to her—half an hour through falling snow and dropping temperatures, and terrain that was so dangerous it was an accident just waiting to happen. But there was no shortcut. He had to get down from the damned ridge, then fight his way through the dense bush to the old wash below and find a reasonably safe, shallow place to ford the cold, churning river.
A series of barks signaled Rooney’s movements, and Finn settled his weight in the saddle, his face even grimmer. Out of habit he loosened the rifle in the scabbard, a hard knot in his belly as he urged his horse downward, ducking to miss some low-hanging branches. It was going to be one hell of a ride. He just hoped he got her before whoever was after her did.
Pushing his mount and his horsemanship to the limit, Finn battled his way through the rough terrain, one forbidding thought replaying in his brain. If she were to lose her bearings and stumble down the steep bank and into the river, she wouldn’t stand a chance in hell. And he wouldn’t stand a chance in hell of getting her out.
Every minute seemed like an hour, and by the time he finally found a safe, shallow place to ford the churning, glacier-fed river, a good thirty minutes had passed. And by the time Gus scrambled up the bank, the snow was falling so heavily, Finn could barely make out anything.
Breaking through a thick stand of trees on the periphery of the natural meadow, Finn squinted into the blur of white, his heart missing two solid beats when he spotted her on the ground, Rooney whining and nuzzling her head.
Dread shooting through him, Finn pushed his mount into a gallop. Reaching her, he reined up, and he was out of the saddle before the gelding stopped moving. She was lying there, so still. So very still.
Dropping to his knees beside her, he stripped off his gloves, his frozen breath hanging in the air as he pressed his fingers against the carotid artery in her neck. He found a pulse, and a feeling of relief pumped through his chest. She had a pulse. And he could see her breath in the cold air. That at least gave him something to work with.
Rooney whined and nuzzled her again, and Finn pushed the dog away, his voice gruff when he spoke. “Down, boy. Give me some room here.”
The figure on the ground stirred, and with a massive effort pushed herself up, the fingers on one bound hand closing around a grapefruit-sized rock on the ground. Realizing she had every intention of slugging him, Finn grasped her bound wrists, humor lifting one corner of his mouth. If she had enough juice left to slug him, she was in better shape than he expected. Muttering something, she tried to jerk free from his hold. As she gave a savage twist, the black garment on her head—the thing that looked like a black hangman’s hood—slipped over her eyes, partially blinding her.
Grasping her wrists in one hand, Finn tightened his hold, not about to take any chances with the rock. “Easy, now. Easy,” he murmured quietly, then reached out and pulled the head cover off, releasing a cascade of long, wild red hair.
Still trying to fight her way free, she gave her arms another hefty jerk, grinding out the kind of cusswords he rarely used. Half amused by her tenacity, but with one eye still on the rock she had clutched between her hands, he grasped her arms, holding her immobile. Okay. So he’d give her a minute, until she realized he was not a threat; then he would try to talk some sense into her.
Dragging herself to her knees, she shook the curly mop of hair out of her eyes, then lifted her head and glared at him. She might as well have hit him with the rock. Finn stared at her, his pulse coming to a complete stop. He felt as if an avalanche had broken loose in his chest. With the snow falling around her like something mystical—and that cascade of fantastic hair—it was as if she were right out of some childhood fable. Snowflakes caught in her bright copper hair like perfect jewels, and the sensation in Finn’s chest expanded. She was almost too much to comprehend. With her face sprinkled with freckles, and with her flashing eyes the exact color of spring moss—she reminded him of the wild Celtic warriors that were part of his Irish heritage. It was, he thought dazedly, as if a piece of ancient history had suddenly landed right in his lap.
For an instant, it was almost as if she were transfixed—like a deer caught in headlights, the undercurrent of terror paralyzing her. Then fire and fight appeared in those wide eyes, and she tried to twist free again.
Finn tightened his hold and spoke again, his voice low and gruff. “It’s okay. It’s okay—I’m not going to hurt you.”
As if finally realizing it was a total stranger who was holding her, she let go of the rock, then covered her face with her bound hands, a violent reaction shuddering through her. “Oh, God. Oh, God,” she whispered brokenly over and over again, her body folding into itself, as if all her strength was gone.
It was as if her words broke Finn’s own trance, and he hauled in a deep breath. Roughly snapped back to reality, he quickly brushed the snow off her hair, not wanting it to melt and leave her head wet. His expression tightened. There was something wrong—very wrong—with her eyes. They were dilated, almost as if she’d been hit on the head—or heavily drugged. Recognizing the sluggishness of her movements as the onset of hypothermia, he finished brushing the snow off her, then pulled her against him, trying to shelter her with his body. Pressing her head against his shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice husky. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
A sob broke from her and she huddled into him, and Finn tightened his hold, trying to fold her in his own warmth. As if handling a terrified animal, he rubbed her back. His tone quiet and calm, he spoke again. “The name’s Finn Donovan.” Very carefully he turned her so he could get at her bound hands. “And I’m going to check you over to make sure you’re not hurt anywhere. Then I’m going to get the knife off my belt, and I’m going to cut the bindings on your wrists, okay?” The only response he got was another ragged intake of air, and he pressed her head more firmly against him, giving her a little shake. “Okay? I don’t want you to be scared. I’m just going to check you over, then I’m going to cut you loose.”
He knew it was a rotten thing to do, to leave her hands tied, but he didn’t want to give her a chance with that damned rock again. Keeping his touch slow and light, he checked her head, looking for any bumps that might explain the glazed look in her eyes. All he found was a couple of lacerations on the back of her head and some scrapes. And the only other injuries were some deep scratches on her hands. Reaching back under his coat to retrieve the knife in the leather sheath strapped to his belt, he spoke again, using the same tone he used on a spooked horse. “I’m not going to hurt you, honey. I just need to use it to cut the bindings, okay?”
As if the last of her strength had just deserted her, she shuddered and went slack in his arms. “Okay,” she answered weakly, her voice soft and thick.
Bringing the knife from under his coat, Finn cut the thick layers of silver duct tape binding her wrists. A strange feeling rose up in his belly when he pulled the tape away, and discovered that whoever had bound her had been in such a hurry, they had taped tightly over her watch, and her skin was purple and bruised from the pressure. His expression hardened by unexpected anger, he replaced the knife in the sheath, snapping the cover closed. Then he awkwardly removed his thick coat, trying to keep one arm around her.
With the sheepskin lining still warm from his body heat, he wrapped it around her, tucking the collar tightly around her neck. Then as if dressing a rag doll, he stuffed her arms into the sleeves. He was a big man, and the coat enveloped her, the sleeves long enough to cover her hands.
It was as if his tucking the coat around her broke through her shock, and she finally realized she was truly safe. Grasping the down-filled vest he had on underneath his coat, she curled into his arms. “Oh, God, oh God,” she sobbed over and over again.
For some reason, her hanging on to him made Finn’s heart hurt. Tight-faced with concern, he buttoned up the coat, tucking the folds snugly around her, then he spoke, stroking more snow from her hair. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, his tone husky, “but whatever it is, I think we’d better get you out of here.”
Making sure the coat was tucked firmly around her, he scooped her up, then got to his feet. The moment he straightened with her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on, another sob breaking loose. It was as if the exposure to warmth set something off in her, and she started to shiver violently. A strange sensation climbing up his chest, Finn turned and started toward Gus, immediately recognizing two things. One: she was not a tiny little thing. And two: they were in a very bad situation. If he’d had any doubts before, he was now damned sure she was running from someone, and that alone was bad enough, especially when the clearing was so exposed. But the worst part was that they didn’t have many hours of daylight left. And it was clear that she was definitely in no shape to spend a night, as had been his original plan, in a makeshift shelter. Which meant at least a three-hour ride back to the first line shack.
As if aware of what was going on in Finn’s head, Rooney remained on guard. The dog stood behind Finn and stared off across the clearing, his ears pricked, his attention fixed, as if watching for someone to appear. Knowing the dog would give him advance warning, Finn concentrated on the redhead. A funny feeling unfolded in his chest as he shifted his hold, and she immediately tightened hers. He gave himself a few seconds for the sensation to settle; then he tucked his head against hers and spoke, his throat tight. “Do you think you could stand up if you held on to old Gus here? I need to get some extra gear out of the saddlebags for you.”
She didn’t respond for a second; then she gave a single nod, but she didn’t loosen her grip. The corner of Finn’s mouth lifted just a little. He gave her a little squeeze and spoke again, his voice gruff. “You’re going to have to let go of me, honey. I don’t think this will work if you keep holding on.”
A weak, muffled response came from the vicinity of his neck. “Don’t call me honey.”
Finn’s expression relaxed into a wry smile. At least she had some fight left in her. That had to be a good sign. Making sure she was sheltered by the horse, he carefully set her down, the wind whipping her long hair across his face. It felt like strands of silk, and another avalanche took off in his chest. He had forgotten how silky a woman’s hair could feel.
Avoiding her gaze, he took her hand and tucked it under the cinch so she had something warm and solid to hang on to. Then he went around to the other side of the horse and took two pairs of heavy wool socks, a black wool cap and a heavy scarf out of the saddlebag. The snow was coming down so heavily that he could barely see the trees at the far side of the clearing, and his expression sobered as he latched the buckles back up on the saddlebag. Now the heavy snowfall was a blessing. As long as it continued, that snow was going to provide excellent cover.
The extra clothing in his hand, he rounded the horse again. She was standing with one hand grasping the saddle horn, and she was weaving around like a Saturday night drunk, trying to get one foot into the stirrup. Experiencing a small flicker of amusement, Finn stuffed the gear in his pocket. Then he reached out and steadied her. At least she was aimed in the right direction.
Knowing there was only one way to do this, he stepped beside her, caught her leg and hoisted her up. She grasped the saddle horn and steadied herself, her eyes closed and her face very white, her whole body wracked with shivers.
Shutting down his expression, Finn yanked the socks out of his pockets. Her shoes were very fine leather, and knowing that wet leather was a better insulator than no leather at all, he pulled both pairs of socks over her shoes. The long cuffs of the socks stretched almost to her knees. He finished pulling on the last sock, and he was pulling up the cuff when she whispered, her voice thick. “Thank you.”
One hand still resting on her leg, he glanced up at her. She was hanging on to the saddle with both hands, and it was clear that she was fighting with all she had to remain conscious. His gaze narrowing, he took another hard look at her eyes, and Finn experienced a cold feeling deep in his belly. He was no doctor, but he was willing to bet his best horse that she was fighting the effects of heavy-duty drugs. Which put her in even more danger. He experienced another cold sensation. They were both sitting ducks out here in the middle of the clearing.
Catching a glimmer of fear in her expression, he forced a half smile onto his face. “You’re welcome.” He undid the wool army blanket from the back of his saddle, and tucked it under her arms. Then grasping the reins and horn in one hand, he put his foot in the stirrup and swung up behind her. Gus tossed his head and did a side step in response to their combined weight, and Finn corrected him with a small jerk of the rein and a sharp command to whoa.
Bracing her weight against him, Finn pulled the wool cap over her head, then wound the scarf over the top of that. Shifting her legs so she was sitting sidesaddle, he wrapped the blanket around her, covering her from head to foot.
It was as if his covering her up allowed her to let go, and he felt her sag against him, her head lolling against his shoulder. He would have thought she was out cold, but she grasped the back of his belt, as if she needed something to hang on to.
His face hardening, he shifted her slightly so he could support her weight with one arm, then lifted the reins and clucked to Gus. An ominous feeling—one that slid like cold fingers down the back of his neck—made his jaw harden even more. He felt as if he had a gun pointed at his back. A long time ago, he had learned to respect his gut feelings—and his gut was telling him to get the hell out of that meadow and across the river, where they would be less exposed.
Giving Rooney a quiet command to heel, Finn rode through the clearing, the falling snow sticking to the trunks of the aspens and coating the rocky outcroppings. Visibility was maybe two hundred feet and getting worse by the minute. It was a damned good thing he knew this area. With conditions the way they were, it would be very easy to lose his bearings. And getting lost was the last thing they needed.
The wind gusted, sending the snow swirling in front of him, and Finn squinted against it, the landmarks nearly impossible to see in the near-whiteout conditions. But he wasn’t going to complain about that. If landmarks were invisible, so were they. And right now invisibility afforded them the best protection of all.
Another gust of wind flurried around them, pulling some of her hair loose and feathering it across Finn’s mouth. Tightening his arm around her, he transferred the reins to that hand, then tucked the blanket more snugly around her head. She muttered something and stirred and Finn pressed her head more firmly against him and spoke, his voice low and gruff. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He tucked a loose flap of blanket under her head, then spoke again. “It’s going to get a little rough here. We have to ford the river, and the banks on either side are pretty steep. So just hang on, okay?”
He felt her hand shift on his belt. “Okay,” she whispered, and Finn could feel her tighten her grip and fight to remain conscious, but the fight only lasted seconds, and she went slack in his hold. Locking his jaw against her vulnerability, he scanned the rough terrain through the falling snow, trying to spot the huge boulder that marked the location where he’d forded the river. Now all he had to do was get her from this side of the river to the other, keeping her dry in the process, and they’d be relatively safe.
With the ford hidden under boiling white water, the river provided a formidable natural barrier. No one in his right mind would even consider crossing it. No one, except Finn.
They made it across safely, although Finn got a shot of adrenaline when Gus stumbled once in midstream, and it was all Finn could do to hold on to her. And there was another tense moment going up the other bank, the falling snow, the steepness of the riverbank and the extra weight testing the horse’s strength and agility to the limit.
But once in the impenetrable cover of the trees, Finn relaxed a bit, knowing their tracks would be obliterated within minutes. And with the river between them and whoever she was running from, he felt reasonably sure they were safe—at least for the time being.
Finn whistled for the packhorse, hoping that it wouldn’t take the animal too long to find him. Finn had been well schooled in the unpredictable treachery of the mountains—especially this time of year—and he always carried spare gear. As far as his own welfare was concerned, he could manage with what he had on. He had dressed for the weather—thermal underwear, heavy wool shirt and an insulated vest, his felt Stetson. But he was going to have to get more clothes on her—and something hot into her, or she could end up in big trouble.
Rooney appeared through the trees, shaking water from his thick coat, his ears pricked. Finn’s expression eased a little. The dog was totally pleased with himself, and it almost looked as if he were grinning. The weight in his arms pulled on his shoulder, and Finn focused on his passenger. Shifting her weight so she was more balanced in the saddle, Finn tucked the blanket tighter around her. Now all he had to do was get her back to the line shack.
They had just rounded the bend in the trail when there was a sound of something moving through the bush, then a few seconds later Trouper appeared on the trail behind them. Finn experienced another flicker of humor. It was as if the damned horse knew exactly where they were headed.
The heavy canopy of trees provided some shelter from the falling snow, and now distanced from the sound of the river, it was as if the whole world was enveloped in a peculiar stillness.
Gus stumbled on some loose shale, the sharp movement jarring his passenger to consciousness. She began to struggle weakly, and it dawned on Finn that the snug folds of the blanket wouldn’t feel a whole lot different from the black hood. Telling Gus to whoa, Finn spoke, his voice calm and quiet. “Hey. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Everything is okay.” Shifting his hold, he peeled the blanket away, his insides giving a funny twist when she opened her eyes and stared at him, confusion transfixing her. Needing to reassure her, he managed a lopsided smile. “How are you doing in there?”
She stared at him a second, then as if realizing who he was, she closed her eyes. Then she swallowed hard and looked up at him, her eyes still glazed, her pupils dilated. “I’m fine. But I’m really thirsty,” she whispered.
He gave her another half smile. “Tell you what. There’s a place just up ahead that’s really sheltered. We’ll pull up there, and I’ll build a fire, then make you something hot to drink.”
Her eyes widened and she tried to struggle free, panic claiming her. “No!” she muttered, trying to break loose. “No.”
Gus started to toss his head and sidestep, and Finn gave him a sharp command, aware that if she really started to fight him, they could both end up on the ground. And right now, that was the last place he wanted to be. Letting go of the reins, he locked his arms around her, holding her immobile. “Easy,” he said, his voice husky. “Easy. It’s okay.”
She gripped his arm and hauled in a deep, uneven breath, then opened her eyes again. Staring at him, her gaze dark with fear, she tried to sit up, the black wool hat accentuating her fair skin. “No.” She swallowed and abruptly closed her eyes again, as if suddenly very dizzy. Her face noticeably paler, she swallowed again and looked up at him. “No. We can’t. If we—if we stop—” She forced in another deep breath and spoke again, her voice shaking. “If we stop, they’ll find us.”
Snow slid from one of the heavy spruce boughs overhanging the trail, plopping on the ground in front of them, and Gus tossed his head, his bridle jingling.
His expression very thoughtful, Finn stared down at the woman, studying her pale face, considering the pros and cons. Common sense told him to stop, caution warned him to move on. The hat covered her head down to her ears, but her thick, red hair hung past her shoulders, its copper color bright against the dull gray of the blanket. His expression sober, Finn again considered his charge. Then he spoke, his voice quiet. “We still have a good two-hour ride to shelter. And I think it would be a good idea if I got something hot into you.”
Her movements very sluggish and her eyes shut, she twisted her head. “No. Please,” she beseeched. “If they find you—if they find you with me—they’ll kill you too.”
His expression fixed, Finn studied her, processing what she had said. He didn’t like the sound of that—not one bit. And if that really was the case, he needed to get her as far away as possible from that small meadow. He had a spare mackinaw and a survival blanket packed in the gear on the packhorse, and he debated about getting them. Then he decided against it. With her all wrapped around him, she was plenty warm enough. And she had stopped shivering. Besides, she was so far out of it, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get her back on the horse if she slid off.
Turning her head so her face was against his neck, she let go a soft sigh and went slack again. Affected by that small show of trust, Finn carefully tucked the blanket around her, then made his decision. He never dismissed anyone’s fear, and hers was very real. But the fact that she didn’t seem to be suffering any serious effects from exposure was the deciding factor. And if they moved out now, they would be at the line shack before darkness settled in.
Satisfied that she was well enough insulated to contain her own body heat, he adjusted his position on the back of the horse. Hoping that Gus was up to carrying double through the rough terrain ahead of them, he picked up the reins and urged his mount forward. Now that she had voiced her fear, there were a dozen questions he wanted answers to. But those questions would have to wait. If he was going to get from Point A to Point B in this kind of country, while trying to hold on to a woman who was half out of it, he’d need to have his wits about him. With the snow coming down the way it was, making it even more treacherous underfoot, he couldn’t afford to let his mind wander for even a moment, or they could both end up dead.
And he wasn’t about to let that happen.
