Had she been raped? It didn’t make sense, not with the scenario she’d described, but then again he couldn’t be positive that her version of the incident had been a complete one. Was there something she hadn’t told him?
He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone for a long time, but at the moment he could cheerfully have put a bullet into Krugman.
All through the long trek he’d not only been watching for an armed man and a killer bear, he’d also been looking for his fucking horse. He’d hoped, for a while, that the buckskin would find its way back to him, or maybe to the cabin. Horses were herd animals; they didn’t like being alone. But there hadn’t been any sign of the animal, and though he could now see the building ahead, there still wasn’t.
Damn it all to hell, he might never find that damn horse. If it didn’t manage to find its way here—not likely, considering this was its first trip here, and it wasn’t familiar with the area—they’d have to walk off the mountain. He would, anyway. If Angie’s ankle was broken, she’d have to stay here while he fetched help. If the damn knuckle-brained horse hadn’t taken off, he’d have been able to use the sat phone to call for help.
Instead he was up here with a murderer, a killer bear, an injured woman, and no easy way out. The way things had gone to hell, he was surprised they hadn’t been struck by lightning; that was about the only thing that hadn’t happened. Of course, a lightning strike would have wiped away all his worries about the other stuff.
Dare was good at focusing. After allowing himself a brief respite by silently cursing at everything, he pulled his frustration back in and stuffed it away, so he could concentrate on what had to be done. Taking care of Angie was number one. Get her inside, get her dry and warm, check out her ankle—and any other injuries she hadn’t bothered to tell him about—and get her to eat. Survival always came down to basics. She needed medical attention, food, water, and sleep.
He couldn’t provide a hospital or a restaurant, but he did keep the basics on hand. Once she was taken care of, he’d make a plan for what came next.
“We’re almost there,” he said, jostling her a little to make her stir. “Are you okay?”
When she finally responded, her voice was thin and slurred. “You keep asking me that.”
“Yeah, well, you’re too fucking quiet.”
She mumbled something he didn’t catch.
“What?” he barked.
She lifted her head. He couldn’t see the motion, but he felt it, felt the shift of her weight. “I said, you curse too much.” Her voice was still weak, and she shook like a leaf, but she’d found the strength to criticize him.
He felt a little more cheerful. Things were looking up.
Chapter Fifteen
Dare stepped into the lower level of his cabin, out of the rain at last. He stopped, shuddering with relief, as he shone the flashlight around the stalls on the bottom floor, looking for any sign of disturbance. Everything was quiet, just as he’d left it. Only when he was certain that nothing else was in there did he close the door and throw the heavy latch, as glad as he’d ever been that his design made this place a defendable fortress.
Exhaustion dragged at him. He made it a point to stay in shape, but he wasn’t Superman. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night before the storm had jarred him awake and the pistol shots pulled him out into the dark rain. For the past several hours he’d been pushing himself hard, so hard all he could do was thank God the cabin hadn’t been even a hundred yards farther, because he might have had trouble making that hundred yards.
He couldn’t rest yet, though. The next step was to get Angie up the damn ladder. Everything he needed to take care of her was on the upper level, and that was the safest place to be, anyway.
He stared at the ladder, debating with himself whether he should carry everything up in one trip, or leave the gear here and take Angie up unencumbered. The second way would make getting her up there easier, but then he had to think about the effort of making another trip.
When he thought about the possibility of dropping her, that made the choice obvious. Angie first, then the rest. He put the flashlight on a shelf, unslung both rifles and propped them against a stall. “I’m going to put you on your feet,” he explained, gripping her waist with both hands to shift her weight. “Foot, rather. Can you stand?”
There was a pause while she processed what he was saying, then she said, “I don’t know.”
Not what he wanted to hear, but honest. He lifted her off his shoulder and carefully let her slide down his body, and once he had her upright, close to the ladder, he kept one arm around her until she had her balance. She grabbed the ladder, leaning into it, and put all her weight on her left foot.
The lower level was dark with shadows, but enough light came through the two windows above that he could see she was trembling from head to foot. The hard rain had washed away a lot of the mud that had been covering her when he’d found her, but she still looked like hell, her face paper white in the dimness, her dark eyes huge and glassy and rimmed with the bruised look of utter fatigue. She stood there swaying and shaking, watching him without even a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, waiting for whatever he told her to do next.
He slid the heavy saddlebags from his left shoulder and let them drop, then glanced up, considering the different ways he could get her up there, visualizing each one. Piggyback would be easiest on him, but he didn’t think she had enough strength left to hang on, so that was a nonstarter. Putting her in front of him and basically pushing her up would require too much effort on her part, and right now she probably didn’t have the strength to handle that anyway. Only one way was left. He removed his hat and tossed it to the floor beside her saddlebags. “Over my shoulder one more time.”