Her Rocky Mountain Defender. Jennifer Bokal D.
lifted, yet the conditions only improved a little. This far into the mountains the darkness was complete. Because of the higher elevation, rain now mixed with snow, decreasing visibility even more. The headlights spilled across the wet pavement and Madelyn couldn’t help but wonder: If I drive off this road, will I ever get back?
At the same time, she realized another important truth. While she didn’t know exactly what to expect from Roman DeMarco, she did know what fate awaited with Oleg Zavalov. She’d die a horrible death. Roman had kept her safe until now, so maybe she could trust him a little while longer.
She took the turn. Nose down, the undercarriage hit a rut and bounced upward. Engine whining, the car trudged up the mountain. The tires chewed through the muddy ground. The trail leveled off and they rumbled over a rickety wooden bridge. Even in the dark, the muddy water buffeting the bridge was visible.
Upward again, Roman turned to Madelyn. “It isn’t too far now.” He raised his voice to be heard over the wail of the engine. “Two miles from the bridge.”
Her eyes darted to the instrument panel. The temperature gauge had climbed to the top. “Good,” she said. “I’m not sure how much more of this road my car can handle.”
As if she had just given the small car permission to give up, the engine coughed, shuddered and stopped.
She turned off the ignition and waited a moment before trying to start the car once more. It screeched with protest.
“The engine needs to cool,” Roman said. “It’ll take a few hours, maybe more. We can wait here, or walk. It’s your choice.”
Roman was hurt and needed medical attention, not a two-mile hike. Then again, she couldn’t treat him in the car. Neither option was good.
“Let’s walk, but only if you feel that you’re able,” she said.
“I’m able.”
Roman opened the door and slipped into the storm. Immediately soaked by the rain, he folded his arms across his chest, trying to retain some of his warmth. It wouldn’t work well, Madelyn knew. She got out of the car, feeling that—in the very least—she could share his misery.
The cold and wet took her breath away. Gooseflesh covered her arms. She took a step. The sodden ground crumbled underneath and she slipped. Roman was at her side. With his hand under her arm, he kept her from falling.
“Thanks,” she said, his breath was warm on her wet flesh.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
She gazed at him. Rain trickled from the stubble that clung to his cheeks and chin. Madelyn caught a drop on the tip of her finger. Roman moved closer. Never had she been more keenly aware of what the word alive meant. It was to drink in every experience, to embrace each moment and never allow fear to take away desires. Roman’s body heat was now a flame that both drew Madelyn to the warmth and left her certain that she would be consumed by the fire.
Then again, hadn’t she been burned before? Hadn’t that been the turning point that made her decide that her studies and career were more important than a relationship?
She wiped her wet hand on the leg of her wetter jeans. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have touched you. This whole night is the stuff of nightmares, I just wanted to make sure you were real.”
That wasn’t it at all. Madelyn’s flesh had acted of its own accord, seeking out her deepest longing—propriety be damned.
Roman smiled, and she couldn’t decide if he had believed her lie.
“Let’s go,” he said. At least he seemed willing to let the moment pass. “This hill isn’t going to climb itself.”
“And isn’t that a shame,” said Madelyn.
“I’m glad you have a sense of humor,” he said with a small laugh. “Because you’re right, tonight has been the stuff of nightmares. Only now, waking up won’t solve anything.”
They walked silently, neither bothering to waste breath on small talk. Yet, what else was there to say? Madelyn refused to ask how much farther, turning herself into a whiny two-year-old. At the same time, complaining held a certain appeal.
“See that tree?” Roman asked, just as Madelyn’s resolve to not grumble began to weaken. “The safe house is just beyond.”
There were too many trees to count, yet she narrowed her eyes and strained to see through the dark. Atop a rise, she made out the shape of a dwelling. Even from the muddy track, Madelyn could see it was little more than a single room and yet, it was the best sight she could hope for.
Roman limped ahead, his breathing labored. “Walls, roof, a fireplace. It even has a well for water.”
“It’s great.” Madelyn hurried to catch up to Roman, anxious to feel warm, dry and safe. “Perfect, really.”
Roman unlocked the front door and held it open for Madelyn. She crossed the threshold. The air was thick and musty, and the room black as tar, leaving her feeling as if she’d walked into a cobweb. Reflexively, she brushed the back of her neck.
“No electricity this far into the mountains.” Roman’s voice came from further into the room. A quick hiss was followed by a whiff of sulfur. A match’s yellow spark sprang to life, illuminating Roman’s face from below. His cupped hand kept the flame alive as he touched the fire to the wick of an oil lamp. Light spilled around the room as Roman replaced a fluted globe.
With light, Madelyn could see around the single room. A set of cabinets lined one wall, cut in half by a counter with a sink. A sofa and armchair sat in front of a stone fireplace. A large table filled with electronic equipment that she could hardly name, huddled in the far corner.
“The bathroom’s back there,” said Roman. He pointed to the other door. “There should be some dry clothes in the cabinets if you want to change.”
Madelyn was about to accept the offer, when she looked back at Roman. His complexion was pale, almost ghostly. The lantern in his hand trembled and shadows danced. Even more than from an odd casting of the lantern’s light and his injury, it was obvious to Madelyn that Roman was quickly becoming ill.
She moved to him. Taking the lantern, she set it on the table with the electronic equipment. Her fingertips brushed the back of his hand. His skin was cold. “I’m fine for now,” she said. She took off her purse and tossed it next to the lantern. “It’s you who needs to get out of your wet clothes and I need to stitch up your side.”
“I told you before, I’m tough. All I need to do is get a fire started.” He took a step and rocked back and forth, his footing unsure.
“You might be tough—” Madelyn looped her arm around his waist and led him to the sofa “—but you are also stubborn.” A throw blanket hung over the back of the sofa and Madelyn draped it over Roman’s shoulders.
“I’m going to lift your shirt and look at your wound,” she said, preparing him to be touched and asking for permission at the same time.
“Go ahead.”
Madelyn peeled the cloth from Roman’s side and he grimaced. Bright red skin surrounded an inch-long darkened furrow in his flesh. Blood no longer seeped from the wound, but still the skin had not yet begun to knit back together. She sat back on her heels. “Do you have a first aid kit?”
“In the bathroom.” He pushed to stand. The wound began weeping blood.
“Just stay here.” Madelyn patted his knee. “I’ll be back.”
The bathroom was small. Just a sink and toilet alongside a set of shelves. A white metal case with a red cross emblazoned on the lid sat front and center on the first shelf. The offerings were basic, but serviceable. She returned to the living space, ready to work.
Roman stood over the electronic equipment, swaying like a drunk.
“What