Chapter Two

Rusty’s head began to buzz. She felt nauseous. Her earlobes were throbbing and her throat was on fire. Each individual hair follicle on her head felt like a pinprick. The pads of her fingers and toes were tingling. She’d fainted once after having a root canal. She knew the symptoms.

But, damn, did they have to afflict her here? In front of him?

“Easy, easy.” He grasped her shoulders and lowered her to the ground. “You don’t remember hurting yourself?” She shook her head dumbly. “Must have happened when we crashed.”

“I didn’t feel any pain.”

“You were too shocked. How does it feel now?”

Only then did she become aware of the pain. “Not bad.” His eyes probed hers for the truth. “Really, it’s not that bad. I’ve bled a lot, though, haven’t I?”

“Yeah.” Grim-faced, he rummaged through the first-aid kit. “I’ve got to sponge up the blood so I can see where it’s coming from.”

He tore into the backpack she’d been carrying and selected a soft cotton undershirt to swab up the blood. She felt the pressure of his hands, but little else as she gazed up through the branches of the trees overhead. Maybe she’d been premature to thank God for being alive. She might bleed to death lying here on the ground. And there wouldn’t be anything Cooper or she could do about it. In fact, he would probably be glad to get rid of her.

His soft curse roused her from her macabre musings. She tilted her head up and looked down at her injured leg. Along her shinbone a gash ran from just below her knee to just above her sock. She could see flesh, muscle. It was sickening. She whimpered.

“Lie down, dammit.”

Weakly, Rusty obeyed the emphatic order. “How could that happen without my feeling it?”

“Probably split like a tomato skin the moment of impact.”

“Can you do anything?”

“Clean it with peroxide.” He opened the brown opaque plastic bottle he’d found in the first-aid kit and soaked the sleeve of the T-shirt with the peroxide.

“Is it going to hurt?”

“Probably.”

Ignoring her tearful, frightened eyes, he dabbed at the wound with the peroxide. Rusty clamped her lower lip with her teeth to keep from crying out, but her face twisted with anguish. Actually, the thought of the peroxide bubbling in the gash was as bad as the pain.

“Breathe through your mouth if you feel like vomiting,” he told her tonelessly. “I’m almost finished.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and didn’t open them until she heard the sound of ripping cloth. He was tearing another T-shirt into strips. One by one he wrapped them around her calf, binding her lower leg tightly.

“That’ll have to do for now,” he said, more to himself than to her. Picking up his knife again, he said, “Raise your hips.” She did, avoiding his eyes. He cut the leg of her trousers from around her upper thigh. His hands worked beneath her thighs and between them. His callused knuckles brushed against her smooth, warm skin, but she needn’t have felt any embarrassment. He could have been cutting up a steak for all the emotion he showed.

“You damn sure can’t walk.”

“I can!” Rusty insisted frantically.

She was afraid that he would go off without her. He was standing over her, feet widespread, looking around. His brow was beetled and beneath his mustache she could tell that he was gnawing on the inside of his cheek as though giving something careful consideration.

Was he weighing his options? Deciding whether or not to desert her? Or maybe he was thinking of killing her quickly and mercifully instead of letting her die of her wound.

Finally he bent down and, cupping her armpits in his palms, lifted her into a sitting position. “Take off your coat and put on that ski jacket.”

Without an argument, she let the fur coat slide from her shoulders. Using the hatchet he’d brought along, Cooper hacked down three saplings and stripped them of their branches. Silently Rusty watched as he fashioned them into an H, only placing the crossbar higher than normal. He bound the intersections with rawhide tongs, which he’d taken from the boots of the men they’d buried. Then he took her fur coat and ran a sleeve over each of the tops of the two longer poles. Rusty flinched when he stabbed through the fur and satin lining, gouging out a hole in the bottom of her precious fox coat.

He glanced up at her. “What’s the matter?”

She swallowed, realizing that he was testing her. “Nothing. The coat was a gift, that’s all.”

He watched her for a few seconds more before making a similar hole in the other side. He then ran the poles through the holes. The finished product was a crude travois. No self-respecting American Indian would have claimed it, but Rusty was impressed with his ingenuity and skill. And vastly relieved that he obviously didn’t plan to leave her behind or otherwise dispose of her.

He laid the rough contraption on the ground. Turning to her, he caught her under the knees and behind the back and lifted her. He laid her on the soft fur, then piled several pelts on top of her.

“I didn’t see any animal up there with a hide that looked like this,” she said, running her hand over a skin of short, fine wool.

“Umingmak.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s what the Inuit called the musk-ox. Means ‘the bearded one.’ It wasn’t my kill; I just bought the pelt. It’s very warm.” He tucked the wool around her and threw another pelt on top of that. “It’s up to you to stay on and keep covered.”

Standing, he wiped perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand. He winced when he grazed the bump on his temple. Rusty would have gone to bed for a week if she had sustained a blow like that; it must be killing him.

“Thank you, Cooper,” she said softly.

He froze, glanced down at her, nodded quickly, then turned and began gathering up their paraphernalia. He tossed both backpacks onto her lap, along with both rifles. “Hang on to those, too, will you?”

“Where are we going?”

“Southeast,” was his succinct reply.

“Why?”

“Sooner or later, we’ll bump into an outpost of civilization.”

“Oh.” She dreaded moving, anticipating that the journey wasn’t going to be a joyride. “May I have an aspirin please?”

He unpocketed the plastic bottle and shook two aspirin tablets into her hands.

“I can’t take them without water.”

He made an impatient scoffing sound. “It’s either dry or with brandy.”

“Brandy, please.”

He passed her one of the flasks, watching her closely. She bravely put the spout to her mouth and took a hefty swallow to wash down the aspirin tablets. She choked and sputtered. Tears filled her eyes, but with dignity and poise she returned the flask to him. “Thank you.”

His narrow lips twitched with the need to smile. “You might not have any common sense, but you’ve got guts, lady.”

And that, she thought, was as close to a compliment as she was ever likely to get from Cooper Landry. He secured the trunks of the saplings beneath his arms and moved forward, dragging the travois behind him. After having gone only a few teeth-jarring, butt-bruising yards, Rusty realized that she wasn’t going to be much better off in the travois than she would have been walking. It required all her concentration just to keep from sliding off. Her bottom would be black and blue with bruises— legacies of the rocks it encountered every grueling step of the way. She dared not even think of the satin lining of her coat being ripped to shreds by the forest debris as it was hauled over the rough ground.

It grew progressively darker and colder. A light precipitation began—snow grains she thought the meteorologists called the stuff, pellets of ice no larger than grains of salt. Her injured leg began to ache, but she would have bitten her tongue in two before she complained. She could hear Cooper’s labored breathing. He wasn’t having an easy time of it either. If it weren’t for her, he could cover three times the distance in the same amount of time.

Darkness closed in suddenly, making it perilous for them to continue over the unfamiliar terrain. He stopped in the next clearing he came to and dropped the poles of the travois. “How’re you doing?”

She didn’t think about how hungry, thirsty, and uncomfortable she was. She said, “Fine.”

“Yeah, sure. How are you really?” He knelt down and whipped off the covering of furs. Her bandage was soaked with fresh blood. He quickly replaced the furs. “We’d better stop for the night. Now that the sun has set, I can’t tell which direction I’m going in.”

He was lying, only saying that to make her feel better. Rusty knew that he would keep going if it weren’t for her. It was doubtful that he was afraid of the dark or that inclement weather would faze him. Even though he’d been dragging her for hours, he appeared to have enough stamina to go at least another two.

He circled the clearing and began shoveling pine needles into a pile. He spread the pelts over them and came back for Rusty.

“Cooper?”

“Hmm?” He grunted with the effort of lifting her off the travois.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

She couldn’t see him clearly in the darkness, but she could feel his shocked stare. Embarrassed beyond belief, she kept her head down. “Okay,” he replied after a moment. “Will your leg support you while—

“Yes, I think so,” she said in a rush.

He carried her to the edge of the clearing and gently lowered her to stand on her left leg. “Brace yourself against the tree,” he instructed gruffly. “Call me when you’re done.”

It was much more difficult than she had expected it to be. By the time she had refastened what was left of her trousers, she was shaking with weakness and her teeth were chattering with cold. “All right, I’m finished.”

Cooper materialized out of the darkness and lifted her into his arms again. She would never have thought a bed of pine needles and animal pelts could have felt so good, but she sighed with relief when he laid her on it and she was able to relax.

Cooper packed the furs around her. “I’ll build a fire. It won’t be much of one. There’s not enough dry wood. But it’ll be better than nothing and might help ward off visitors.”

Rusty shivered and pulled the furs over her head, as much to protect her from the thought of wild animals as the icy precipitation that continued to dust the ground. But the increasing pain in her leg wouldn’t let her doze. She grew restless and finally peeped out from beneath the covering. Cooper had succeeded in building a sputtering, smoky fire. He’d lined the shallow bowl he’d scooped out of the ground with rocks to keep it from igniting her bed.

He glanced over at her and, unzipping one of the many pockets in his coat, took something out and tossed it to her. She caught it one-handed. “What is it?”

“Granola bar.”

At the thought of food, her stomach rumbled noisily. She ripped open the foil wrapper, ready to stuff the whole bar into her mouth. Before she did, she got hold of herself and paused. “You...you don’t have to share with me,” she said in a small voice. “It’s yours and you might need it later.”

His gray eyes looked as hard and cold as gunmetal when he turned his head. “It isn’t mine. I found it in a coat pocket that belonged to one of the others.”

He seemed to take brutal delight in telling her that, implying that if the granola bar were his, he’d think twice before sharing it with her.

Whatever his intention, he had spoiled it for her. The bar tasted like sawdust in her mouth; she chewed and swallowed it mechanically. The tastelessness was partially due to her thirst. As though reading her mind, Cooper said, “If we don’t find water tomorrow, we’re in trouble.”

“Do you think we will?”

“I don’t know.”

She lay amid the furs contemplatively. “Why do you think the plane crashed?”

“I don’t know. A combination of things, I guess.”

“Do you have any idea where we are?”

“No. I might have a general idea if it hadn’t been for the storm.”

“You think we were off course?”

“Yes. But I don’t know how far.”

She rested her cheek against her hand and stared into the feeble flame that was struggling for life. “Had you ever been to Great Bear Lake before?”

“Once.”

“When?”

“Several years ago.”

“Do you do a lot of hunting?”

“Some.”

He wasn’t exactly an orator, was he? She wanted to draw him into conversation to keep her mind off the pain in her leg. “Do you think they’ll find us?”

“Maybe.”

“When?”

“What do you think I am, a damned encyclopedia?” His shout bounced around the ring of trees surrounding them. He came to his feet abruptly. “Stop asking me so many questions. I don’t have the answers.”

“I just want to know,” she cried tearfully.

“Well, so do I. But I don’t. I’d say the chances of them finding us are extremely good if the plane was still on the flight plan and extremely remote if it was too far off, okay? Now, shut up about it.”

Rusty lapsed into wounded silence. Cooper prowled the clearing in search of dry tinder. He added a few sticks to the fire before moving toward her. “Better let me tend to your leg.”

He brusquely threw the covers back. The fire shed meager light onto the bloody bandage. Expertly wielding the hunting knife, he cut through the knots he’d tied earlier and began unwinding the stained cloth. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it has every right to,” he said grimly as he gazed down at the wound. His expression wasn’t very encouraging.

While she held the flashlight for him, he soaked the gash with peroxide again and wrapped it in fresh bandaging. By the time he had finished, tears were stinging her eyes and her lips were blotchy from biting them, but she hadn’t cried out once. “Where’d you learn to bandage so well?”

“Nam.” His answer was curt, indicating that the subject was closed. “Here, take two more aspirin.” He passed her the bottle after shaking out two for himself. He hadn’t complained, but his head must have felt as though it were splitting in two. “And drink some more brandy. At least two swallows. I think that by morning, you’re going to need it.”

“Why?”

“Your leg. Tomorrow will probably be the worst day. After that, maybe it’ll start to get better.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

He said nothing; he didn’t have to.

With trembling hands, Rusty held the flask of brandy to her lips and took an occasional sip from it. Now that the dry kindling had caught, Cooper stacked more wood on the fire. But it wasn’t burning hot enough for him to take off his coat, which he surprised her by doing. He took off his boots, too, and told her to do the same. Then, making a bundle of the coats and boots, he stuffed them down between the furs.

“What’s that for?” Her feet were already getting cold. “If we sweat in our boots and it turns colder, we’ll get frostbite. Scoot over.”

She stared up at him apprehensively. “Huh?”

Sighing impatiently, he crawled in with her, forcing her to move over and allow him room beneath the pile of furs. Alarmed, Rusty exclaimed, “What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep. If you’ll shut up, that is.”

“Here?”

“Accommodations with separate beds were unavailable.”

“You can’t—”

“Relax, Miss... What was it again?”

“Carlson.”

“Yeah, Miss Carlson. Our combined body heat will help keep us warm.” He snuggled close to her and pulled the furs up over their heads, effectively cocooning them inside. “Turn on your side, away from me.”

“Go to hell.”

She could almost hear him mentally counting to ten. “Look, I don’t want to freeze. And I don’t look forward to digging another grave to bury you in, either, so just do as I say. Now.”

He must have been an officer in Vietnam, she thought petulantly as she rolled on to her side. He put his arm around her waist and drew her back against him, until they were lying together spoon fashion. She could scarcely breathe. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t move away. There’s nowhere to go. You don’t have to keep your arm there.”

“You surprise me. I thought you’d like this.” He pressed against her stomach with the palm of his hand. “You’re a real looker. Don’t you expect men to get all hot and bothered when they’re around you?”

“Let go of me.”

“All that long hair, its unusual color.”

“Shut up!”

“You’re proud of your round little butt and perky tits, aren’t you? I’m sure most men find you irresistible. That copilot sure did. He was salivating after you like a Doberman over a bitch in heat, almost stumbling over his tongue.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stroked her stomach. “Oh, yes, you do. You must have enjoyed stunning all those men on the plane into speechlessness when you climbed aboard with your fur collar pulled up, brushing against your flushed cheeks and sexy mouth.”

“Why are you doing this?” she sobbed.

He cursed and when he spoke again, his voice wasn’t lilting and teasing. It was weary. “So you’ll rest assured that I’m not going to take advantage of you during the night. Redheads have never been my preference. Besides, your body is still warm from your sugar daddy’s bed. All things considered, your virtue is safe with me.”

She sniffed back tears of humiliation. “You’re cruel and vulgar.”

He laughed. “Now you sound offended that I’m not tempted to rape you. Make up your mind. If you have a hankering for sex tonight, I can oblige you. My body isn’t as particular as my head. After all, it’s awfully dark in here. And you know what they say about cats in the dark. But personally, I prefer safer, more comfortable surroundings to screw in. So just go to sleep, will you?”

Rusty grit her teeth in outrage. She held her body rigid and put a barrier between them, if not physically, then mentally. She tried to ignore his body heat, which permeated her clothing, and his breath that drifted over her neck each time he exhaled, and the latent power in the thighs that conformed to the backs of hers. Gradually, and with the help of the brandy she’d drunk, she relaxed. Eventually she dozed.

It was her own moan that woke her up. Her leg was throbbing painfully.

“What is it?”

Cooper’s voice was gruff, but Rusty didn’t think it was because he’d been roused from a deep sleep. Intuitively she knew that he had been lying there awake. “Nothing.”

“Tell me. What’s the matter? Your leg?”

“Yes.”

“Is it bleeding again?”

“I don’t think so. It’s doesn’t feel wet. It just hurts.”

“Drink some more brandy.” He angled himself away from her and reached for the flask of brandy, which he’d brought into the fur cocoon with them.

“I’m already woozy.”

“Good. It’s working.” He poked her lips with the uncapped flask and tipped it forward. She either had to drink or drown.

The potent liquor burned a fiery path down her middle. At the very least, it took her mind off her painful wound for a few seconds. “Thanks.”

“Open your legs.”

“Pardon?”

“Open your legs.”

“How much brandy have you had, Mr. Landry?”

“Do it.”

“Why?”

“So I can get mine between them.”

Without giving her another chance to argue, he slid his hand between her thighs and raised her injured leg. He wedged his knees between hers, then gently lowered her right leg to rest on top of his. “There. Keeping it elevated will help relieve the pressure. It’ll also keep me from jostling it in the night.”

She was too flabbergasted to fall back to sleep immediately; too uncomfortably aware of his nearness. And there was something else keeping her awake: a nagging guilt.

“Cooper, did you know any of the other men?”

“Those on board the plane? No.”

“The men in the front two seats were brothers. While we were weighing our luggage, I heard them talking about getting their families together for Thanksgiving in a few weeks. They were going to show them the slides they’d taken this week.”

“Don’t think about it.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t. I keep asking myself why I’m alive. Why was I allowed to live? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” he said bitterly. “That’s just the way it is. It was their time, that’s all. It’s over, forgotten.”

“Not forgotten.”

“Force it out of your mind.”

“Is that what you did?”

“Yes.”

She shuddered. “How can you be so unfeeling about another human life?”

“Practice.”

The word affected her like a hard slap on the cheek. It had been cruelly delivered to shut her up, and it did. But it didn’t stop her from thinking. She wondered how many of his buddies Cooper had seen killed in Vietnam. Dozens? Scores? Hundreds? Still, she couldn’t imagine ever becoming inured to death.

She’d had practice dealing with it, but not to the extent that he apparently had. It wasn’t something she could block out, dismiss, by an act of will. When she thought about her losses, she still ached.

“My mother died of a stroke,” she told him quietly. “Her death was almost a relief. She would have been severely incapacitated. I had a week to prepare myself for it. But my brother’s death was sudden.” Cooper wouldn’t care to hear about any of this, but she wanted to talk about it.

“Brother?”

“Jeff. He was killed in a car wreck two years ago.”

“No other family?”

“Only my father.” She drew a gentle breath. “He was the man I was with at the lodge. The one I said goodbye to. Not a sugar daddy. Not a lover. My father.”

She waited for an apology, but it never came. If his body hadn’t been so tense, she might have thought he’d fallen asleep.

Finally he broke the silence by asking, “What is your father going to think when he’s notified about the crash?”

“Oh, my God!” Reflexively, she clutched Cooper’s hand where it still rested against her stomach. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

She could imagine her father’s despair when he heard the news. He’d lost his wife. Then his son. Now his daughter. He would be disconsolate. Rusty couldn’t bear to think of the suffering he would go through, the hell of uncertainty, of not knowing what had happened to her. Hopefully, as much for her father’s sake as her own, they would be rescued soon.

“The guy looked like a real mover and shaker to me,” Cooper said. “He’ll ride the authorities until we’re found.”

“You’re right. Father won’t give up until he knows what happened to me.”

Rusty was certain of that. Her father was a powerful man. He was dynamic and had both the talent and the means to get things done. His reputation and money could cut through miles of red tape. Knowing that he’d leave no stone unturned until she was rescued gave her an optimistic thread to cling to.

She was also surprised to discover that Cooper hadn’t been as withdrawn and impervious as he had appeared to be. Before they boarded the plane, he had kept to himself. He hadn’t mingled with the other passengers. But he’d noticed everything. Apparently her companion was an observant student of human nature.

Nature was having its way with him right now. While she’d been talking, Rusty became nervously aware of his sex snuggled solidly against her bottom. She blurted, “Are you married?”

“No.”

“Ever?”

“No.”

“Involved?”

“Look, I get my share of sex, okay? And I know why you’re suddenly so curious. Believe me, I feel it too. But I can’t do anything to help it. Well, actually I can, but as we discussed earlier, that isn’t a very workable solution under the circumstances. The alternatives that come readily to mind would embarrass us both I’m afraid.”

Rusty’s cheeks grew hot and rosy. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“What?”

“Talk like that.”

“How?”

“You know. Dirty.”

“You just left a big game hunting lodge. Didn’t you intercept a few dirty jokes? Overhear some lewd comments? I thought you’d be used to bawdy language by now.”

“Well, I’m not. And for your information, I went on that hunting trip for my father’s sake. I didn’t particularly enjoy myself.”

“He forced you to go?”

“Of course not.”

“Coerced you to? In exchange for that fur coat, maybe?”

“No,” she grated with irritation. “The trip was my idea. I suggested that we take it together.”

“And you randomly chose the Northwest Territories? Why not Hawaii? Or St. Moritz? I can think of a thousand other places on the globe where you would have fit in better.”

Her sigh was an admission that he had her correctly pegged. On a big game hunt she was as out of place as a rusty nail in an operating room. “My father and brother always went hunting together. Four weeks every year. It was a family tradition.” Filled with remorse, she closed her eyes. “Father hadn’t been hunting since Jeff was killed. I thought the trip would be good for him. I insisted that he go. When he hesitated, I offered to go with him.”

She expected murmurs of sympathy and understanding—perhaps even whispered praise for her unselfish and noble gesture. Instead all she heard from him was a grumpy “Be quiet, will you? I’m trying to get some sleep.”

“Stop it, Rusty.”

Her brother’s voice echoed through her dream. They were wrestling, as only brothers and sisters who either hate each other intensely or love each other intensely can. With Jeff and her, the latter had been true. They were barely a year apart in age. From the time Rusty took her first steps, they had been bosom buddies and playmates. Much to their father’s delight and their mother’s aggravation, they had often engaged in rowdy hand-to-hand combat and always came up laughing.

But there was no levity in Jeff’s voice now as he clasped her wrists and anchored them to the floor on either side of her head. “Stop it, now.” He shook her slightly. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop flailing around.”

She came awake and opened her eyes. It wasn’t Jeffs well-remembered, well-loved face she stared into, but the man’s. The Loner’s. She was glad he was alive, but she didn’t like him very much. What was his name? Oh, yes, Cooper. Cooper...? Cooper something. Or something Cooper.

“Lie still,” he commanded her.

She stopped thrashing. The air was cold on her exposed skin, and she realized that she’d kicked off all the furs he’d piled over them for the night. On his knees, he was straddling her chest and bending over her. Her wrists were stapled behind her head by his hard fingers.

“Get off me.”

“Are you all right now?”

She nodded. She was as all right as a woman could be upon waking up to find a man the size and shape of Cooper Landry—that was it, Landry—straddling her with thighs that rose like columns above her, coming together... She averted her eyes from that mouth-drying juncture. “Please,” she gasped. “I’m fine.”

He eased himself off her. She sucked in frigidly cold air that hurt her lungs. But God, it felt good against her hot face. It felt good for only a second. Then she shivered with a chill and her teeth started clicking together. Cooper’s brows were drawn together worriedly. Or crossly. She couldn’t tell. He was either concerned or annoyed.

“You’re burning up with fever,” he told her bluntly. “I left the bed to build up the fire. You were delirious and started shouting for somebody called Jeff.”

“My brother.” Her shudders were convulsive. She pulled one of the furs around her.

It hadn’t rained or drizzled anymore during the night. She could actually see flames and glowing coals beneath the sticks Cooper had added to the fire. The flames were so hot they burned her eyeballs until they hurt.

No, impossible. That must be the fever.

Leaving the fur covering her upper body alone, Cooper lifted the lower half of it off her leg. Once again he painstakingly unwrapped the bandage and stared down at the open wound. Rusty stared at him.

Finally he looked at her, his mouth set in a bleak line. “I won’t try to fool you. It’s bad. Infected. There’s a bottle of antibiotics in the first-aid kit. I was saving them in case this happened, but I’m not sure they’ll be adequate to take care of it.”

She swallowed with difficulty. Even her feverish brain could assimilate what he was telling her. Raising herself to her elbows, she looked down at her leg. She wanted to gag. On either side of the deep gash, the skin was raised and puckered with infection. Flopping back down, she drew in shallow, rapid breaths. She wet her lips, ineffectually because the fever was making her mouth drier than it had been before. “I could get gangrene and die, couldn’t I?”

He forced a half smile. “Not yet. We’ve got to do what we can to prevent that.”

“Like cut it off?”

“God, you’re morbid. What I had in mind was lancing out the pus and then closing the gash with stitches.”

Her face turned ashen. “That sounds morbid enough.”

“Not as bad as cauterizing it. Which it might come to.” Her face went as colorless as chalk. “But, for right now, let’s put some stitches in. Don’t look relieved,” he said, frowning deeply, “it’s gonna hurt like hell.”

She stared into the depths of his eyes. Strange as it was, rocky as their beginning had been, she trusted him. “Do whatever you have to do.”

He nodded brusquely, then went to work. First he withdrew a pair of her silk long johns from the sweater cum backpack. “I’m glad you wear silk undies.” She smiled waveringly at his mild joke as he began to unravel the casing of the waistband.

“We’ll use these threads for the sutures.” He nodded down toward the silver flask. “Better start on that brandy. Use it to swallow one of those penicillin tablets. You’re not allergic to it, are you? Good,” he said when she shook her head. “Sip the brandy steadily. Don’t stop until you’re good and drunk. But don’t drink all of it. I’ll have to sterilize the threads and bathe the gash with it.”

She wasn’t anesthetized nearly enough when he bent over her leg. The hunting knife, which he’d sterilized in the fire, was held poised in readiness over the infected wound. “Ready?” She nodded. “Try to keep still.” She nodded again. “And don’t fight unconsciousness. We’d both be better off if you passed out.”

The first tiny puncture he made into the red, puffy skin caused her to cry out and yank her leg back. “No, Rusty! You’ve got to lie still.”

It was an agonizing process and seemed to go on forever. He meticulously lanced the areas that needed it. When he doused the entire wound with brandy, Rusty screamed. After that, the stitches didn’t seem so bad. He used the sewing needle from the matchbook kit they’d brought with them. After soaking individual threads in brandy, he drew them through her skin and tied them, firmly pulling the edges of the wound together.

Rusty stared at the spot where his tawny eyebrows grew together above the bridge of his nose. His forehead was sweating in spite of the cold. He never took his eyes off his work except to occasionally glance down at her face. He was sensitive to her pain. Even sympathetic toward it. His hands were amazingly tender for a man so large, and for one who had a cold, unfeeling stone where his heart should have been.

Eventually that spot between his eyebrows began to swim in and out of focus. Although she was lying still, her head was spinning, reeling with pain and trauma and the anesthetizing effects of the brandy. Despite Cooper’s advice, she struggled to stay awake, afraid that if she went to sleep she might never wake up. Finally, she gave up the fight and let her eyes drift closed.

Her last conscious thought was that it was a shame her father would never know how brave she’d been right up to the moment of her death.

“Well,” Cooper said, sitting back on his heels and wiping his perspiring forehead, “it’s not pretty, but I think it will work.”

He looked down at her with a satisfied and optimistic smile. But she didn’t see his smile. She was unconscious.