Breaking Her No-Dating Rule

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT IF YOU’RE not back in half an hour, when they come out of the warm water? And isn’t that weird, a doctor moonlighting as a rescuer?” She’d always considered Mira to be an unusual doctor—fabulous and outdoorsy—so Anson seemed like an anomaly. He had the bossy bit down, at least. But he could be safe and inside during this weather, or out driving his four wheel drive and … smoking cigars. Whatever people did in four wheeled drives, she wasn’t sure.

“Dry them gently and wrap them in loose gauze.” He answered that first, then added, “I don’t moonlight. I work in the ER six months of the year, and the rescue team is my life during ski season.”

His admission surprised her. Adrenaline junkie? Extreme sports wackadoo? Both those fit the idea of returning to the outdoors in this weather. Once more, her gaze was pulled to the glass doors. The snow, already heavy before they’d returned, had picked up even worse since. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better for you all to wait until the storm passes?”

The sharpness that came to his green eyes shut down that thought process completely. Right. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Anson turned to his crew instead. “Five minutes.” He pulled a plastic baggie from his pocket and extracted some kind of jerky to give to the big shaggy dog.

One of the group asked, “Where are we going?”

“Blue Mine and South Mine,” Anson answered, then looked at Ellory. “Why are you not dressed for the weather?”

“I haven’t bought clothes for being home yet, and all the winters in the past decade, I guess, have been in warm places. Before New Year’s Eve I was in Peru. It’s summer there right now. I wasn’t sure if I was going to stay, so I didn’t want to buy clothes I might not wear very long. It’s wasteful.”

He shook his head. “Rent a snow suit when you’re going to be out in the elements … what’s your name?”

“Ellory. And I have one.” It’s the one thing she did have, but it was old, hopelessly out of fashion and not nearly as well suited to the winter as the suits these people wore because she didn’t wear manufactured materials. So it was bulky, and kind of itchy. And she left it at her parents’ after every New Year … so it was musty from storage and …

She didn’t need to share that with Anson. He was covered in layers of modern insulating materials, and while she could understand it and tried not to be jealous of his warmth and mobility, he wouldn’t understand if she explained. Not that his opinion should matter. “I wasn’t going out to stay in the weather earlier, just to meet you all. And I have thermal underwear under this.”

Like he would think well of her if she’d been wearing wool and a parka in her short jaunt into the weather to meet them. She was a flake. That’s how normal people viewed her. So today she was a flake who didn’t dress properly. What else was new?

“Go put it on.”

Ellory didn’t know how to respond to a direct order like that. And she really didn’t like it that the bossiness made her tingle again … Wrong time, wrong place, wrong feelings.

She wanted to blame them on her nerves too, like being nervous amplified all her other emotions, but she couldn’t even lie to herself on that. Ruggedly handsome wasn’t a look the man was going for—he just had it. Some combination of good genes, lifestyle and that voice gave it to him. She tried to ignore that, and the squirmy feeling in her belly she got when his mossy hazel eyes focused on her.

“Anson.” She went with his name, in an attempt to reclaim some power. “It’s not just blowing more, it’s falling thicker. If you guys get all … frozen and stuff, then you aren’t going to help find—”

“There’s still time.” He cut her off. Again.

Rude. Curt. Terse. That should make him less attractive. That should definitely make him feel like less of a threat to her stupid resolution …

He had flaws. The bossy thing, which shouldn’t be hot. What else? He probably wasn’t even half as strapping and impressive as his winter wear made him seem. It was just the illusion of beefy manliness from the cardinal rule of winter: loose layers kept you warmer. It somehow amplified the squareness of his jaw and the scruff that confirmed the dark color of the hair currently hidden by his knit cap.

Her heart rate accelerated and her hands waffled at her side. This was not going the way she’d pictured it while waiting and watching through the windows. She didn’t anticipate having to try and convince someone not to go back out in the storm, and for some reason she knew he wouldn’t care that she was more afraid for the crew than for the missing man.

She could just lock the door and keep everyone safe inside. Except she hated confrontation, and if he told her to give him the key in that bossy gravel voice of his, she’d give it to him. And possibly her undies too.

She could really think of a good way to distract him. It definitely violated her Stupid Resolution parameters, but it was in the name of humanity and keeping people safe. Surely that was a good reason for an exception.

Through all this stupidity, the only communication Ellory managed was skittish hand motions that made her jangle from the stacks of thin silver bangles she loved. Sentinels probably didn’t jingle.

He glanced down at her hand and then back up, impatient brows lifting, urging her to say something else. Only Ellory didn’t know what else to say.

Winter was his job after all. And, really, she’d spent most of the past lots of years in places where her weather awareness had mostly consisted of putting on sunscreen and seeking high ground during the rainy season. She probably wasn’t the best judge of snow stuff.

When she failed to form any other words he started talking instead. Instructions. Things she’d already learned from studying Mira’s medical books when reading up on treatment for frostbite and hypothermia. But it was good to hear it from someone who really knew something about it. Anything about it.

He even gave her additional explanations about signs of distress, outside the cold temperature illness symptoms she’d read about—other stuff to look for that would require Mira immediately, and he capped off the instructions with a long, measuring look. “If you’re not up to the task, tell me now. I’ll get Dr. Dupris down here.”

“I’m up to the task.” She was, she just wished she wasn’t. “Are you? Your shoulder is hurt. I’ve seen you roll your arm in the socket at least three times since you came inside and you’ve been rubbing it too.”

He closed the bag of dog treats and stuffed it into his pocket. “I’m all right. We’ll call if we get stuck. And we’ve got survival gear on the ATVs.”

Movement behind her made her aware that the team had all moved toward the door, ready to go wherever Fearless Leader told them to. They all either ignored what she’d been saying about the danger of going out in the crazy falling snow or were busy building an imaginary snow fort of denial.

Anson held the door and looked at the dog. “Max.” One word and his furry companion scampered right out behind them.

It would be okay. People who risked their lives for others had to build up good karma. The team would make it back, and maybe their karma would extend to the still missing skier. Until then she’d do her best—manage the lobby/exposure clinic, keep the fire stoked and the water heated and flowing, and keep those who’d been out in it warm and safe.

After the team returned, and when the head count was official, then she’d get Mira.

Anson Graves’s snowmobile crept through the falling white flakes. Theoretically, there should be another couple of hours of daylight left, but between the dense clouds and miles of sky darkened by falling snow it felt more like twilight. Zero visibility. He was half-afraid he’d find the missing man by accidentally running him over.

A trip that normally took fifteen minutes was taking forever.

Anson knew only too well how much longer it would seem for the man who was stuck in the cold, counting his own heartbeats and every painful breath, wondering how many more he’d have before the wind froze him from the inside and winter claimed him.

That’s what he’d done.

The blonde at the lodge hadn’t been wrong, he’d just wanted her to be wrong. At least half an hour had passed since they’d started the trek to the third-closest abandoned silver mine, and they weren’t even halfway there yet. She should be getting Chelsea’s feet out of the water and bandaging them by now. He’d forgotten to tell her not to let Chelsea walk … though maybe she wouldn’t try.

If they hadn’t had to take the long way they’d be there by now. But this was the safest route with the snow drifting the way it was.

If the wind would just stop …

The wet, blasting snow built a crust on his goggles, his eyes the only places not actively painful and cold from the wind. He shook his head, trying to clear the visor, but had to use his hand to scrape it off. He didn’t even want to see what was becoming of Max in the back. Snow stuck to his fur like nothing Anson had ever seen.

The only thing he felt good about right now was leaving the four rescues with the hippie chick. Her choice of attire showed a distinct lack of common sense, but she’d picked up on his shoulder bothering him. She was perceptive and paying attention. And he’d seen her hug his frostbite patient. She cared. They’d be safe with her, especially considering the detailed instructions he’d given. She’d be watching them with an eagle eye for any slight changes. Getting Dupris should an emergency arise would be a simple enough task for anyone.

His stomach suddenly churned hard, a split second before he felt an unnatural shifting of the snow beneath him.

He reacted automatically, cutting sharply up the slope, and didn’t stop until the ground felt firm beneath him. Damned sliding snowdrifts.

He’d only reacted in time because he’d been waiting for it to happen. After his harrowing experience, snow had become an obsession to him—learning the different kinds of snow, what made it slide, what made blizzards, all that. And since he’d bought Max and had him trained, he’d probably spent more time on the snow than anywhere else in his life. His instinct was honed to it, and he knew to listen to his gut.

Especially when he couldn’t see the terrain well enough to judge with his eyes …

But he couldn’t trust that his crew would have the same ability, especially with how tired they already were.

Conditions had just officially gotten too bad to continue.

His team had stopped when he’d pulled his maneuver—quickly enough to see how he’d survived it before they tried to follow—but he didn’t want them to try it. They’d follow where he led, but he couldn’t have any more lives on his conscience.

Grabbing the flashlight off his belt, he clicked it on, assuring that they’d see the motion even if they couldn’t clearly see any other details, and gave it a swirl before pointing back in the direction from which they’d come.

Retreat.

He waited until they had all turned around and then started up the slope in a gentle arc to bring up the rear. Not ideal. The best formation had him at the front—taking the dangers first—but at least from this vantage he’d be able to see if anyone fell behind or started having difficulty.

He felt shifting against the cage at his back. Max huddled behind Anson, strategically placing himself to get the least of the cold wind that blasted around his owner, even as the machine crept along.

If it were just him, he’d stay out on the mountain, looking until it was impossible to do anything else, but there were five other human lives under his protection, not to mention his hard-working, life-saving dog.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said to the wind.

They had to go back.

He’d have to tell the others they couldn’t reach the mine. Yet.

They hadn’t gotten far enough to find anyone or signs. Those they’d rescued earlier would just have to understand.

His gut twisted. He’d lost people to avalanches, recently even. But he’d never lost someone to a storm and not found them alive.

Worse, he’d have to lie to those people who’d been through so much. Say he was certain they would pick up the trail again as soon as the snow and wind let up. But the only thing he was certain of was the fear and guilt tearing through him—colder than the Colorado cyclone buffeting them about the mountainside.

Just as Anson had expected, Ellory was doing the job she’d been assigned. She’d been fast out the door when they’d first arrived, but not when they returned.

As quickly as they could, the team shut down their machines, climbed off, and hurried inside. They hadn’t been out in the weather that long compared to their hours of searching for the group, but the wind speeds were now enough that the awning over the front doors sounded like thunder as it rippled in the wind. That, coupled with exhaustion, made it impossible to keep warm.

He stepped through the ornate doors to the comforting heat and the smell of burning wood. The fireplace in the lobby still burned actual wood, something that had surprised him when he’d returned to Silver Pass. It was good. Wood fire dried out the air and cut through the damp better than anything but a shower. Anson loved the crackling and the temperatures for those times, like now, when he just couldn’t get warm enough. The dancing flames. The red coals. The warm golden light, so hopeful … Hopefulness he wished he felt.

Max looked up at him, made eye contact, and then headed for the fireplace at a trot. He always did that and Anson still didn’t know whether it was him asking for permission to do something, or he was just giving Anson a heads-up that he was going.

His crew hit the hot beverages first, the fastest way to heat up your core, leaving Anson to check on his patients and deliver the news.

Ellory had positioned his frostbite patient close to the fire, having transferred her to a fancy brass wheelchair that matched the décor—the lodge kept a few on hand for the really bad skiers—and now sat at Chelsea’s feet, gently patting them dry. She’d kept them in the hot water bath longer than he’d told her to. Not great. The tissue was fragile and being waterlogged wouldn’t do her any favors.

A hot plate sat on the floor about a foot away, which was new. Somewhere closer to keep the water hot for the footbath.

She was taking that temperature range very seriously at least. Probably keeping it better than the whirlpool baths at the hospital.

“Chelsea’s toes are pink now,” Ellory called, on seeing him. It almost helped. “Well, almost all the way pink. A couple of her small toes have a bit of yellow going on. We had a little trouble with the water temperature at first, but once we moved the hot plate closer, it got easier to keep it in the range.”

“It’s not hurting as bad now,” Chelsea added in quiet tones, swiveling in her chair to look the lobby over.

She was looking for her fiancé, as they all were, but she was the one who’d be hurt the most if the man didn’t make it back.

Anson stepped around and crouched to look at her toes. “No blisters have formed yet, so that’s good. You’ll likely get a couple of blisters soon, when they start swelling. But we’re going to take good care of you, and when the storm passes we’ll get you to a hospital.”

“What about Jude?” Chelsea asked, letting him know what she was interested in talking about but not whether she’d heard him at all. Someone would have to repeat the information to her later.

Anson straightened so he could address the group. “The storm has gotten to the point where it’s impossible for us to continue searching. I want to be clear: this is just a suspension of the search, not the end of it. I’m sorry we haven’t found your fiancé yet.”

“Jude.” Chelsea repeated the name of the missing skier, stopping Anson with one hand on his arm.

“Jude,” he repeated, his pulse kicking up a little higher. He knew why it was important to her, but saying the man’s name made it harder to maintain the distance he needed to be smart about this. “Just because we have to postpone going back out to look for Jude, it doesn’t mean it’s time to give up hope. So don’t get ahead of us, okay? You’d be surprised what someone can survive. Those mines are a pretty good shelter. There are also some rocky overhangs between here and where we found you. And some of those might actually be better.”

“How could they be better? You’re closer to the snow,” one of the rescued asked.

He contemplated how much to actually tell them about his experience with this kind of situation. I know these things, I killed someone with snow once wouldn’t inspire anyone to trust him. This had to be about them, not about his fear or guilt. “Small spaces hold the warmth your body makes better, and the wind can’t get into it as fully as it does in the mines, which have a bigger entrance and room for the wind to move around inside. He might still show up here before we get out to him, but as soon as the storm lets up we’ll get back out there. It’s not time to give up hope.” He repeated that, trying to convince himself.

It was time to bandage Chelsea’s toes … and hopefully him moving on would make them take the hint not to ask more questions. He didn’t have any answers or much of a mind left for coming up with more empty words of comfort. He was too busy trying to ignore the similarities between this storm and his storm.

Pulling off his cap and gloves, he squatted beside Ellory at Chelsea’s feet, struggling to hold his calm for everyone else. “Do you have some gloves for me to use?”

Ellory ducked into the bag of supplies she’d packed and fished out the box of gloves. One look at them confirmed they wouldn’t do. Small. He could squeeze into a medium at a pinch, but large were better. “All right, this job has been passed to you.”

To his surprise, she didn’t argue at all, just grabbed a couple gloves from the box and put them on. Crouched so close he was enveloped in a cloud of something fruity and floral. The woman looked like summer, and she smelled like spring. Warm. And distracting. He scooted to the side to give her room.

“What is the job?” she asked, looking at Chelsea’s toes and maneuvering herself so she could gently cradle the patient’s heel in her lap.

He handed the gauze to her and began ripping strips of tape and tacking them to the wheelchair, where she could get to them. “Part of the healing process is just keeping the site dry and loosely bandaged.” He gave short, quick instructions, and left her to it.

She unrolled the gauze carefully and began wrapping. He watched, ready to correct her, but she did it as he would’ve: a couple of passes between the two toes to keep them separate, controlling the moisture level better, and then loosely around the two together.

No matter how out of her depth she looked, she was anything but incompetent. There might even be some kind of medical training there. The cloud of floral scent stole up his dry, burning sinuses and almost made his mouth water like a dog’s.

Awesome priorities. Reveling in attraction to some woman while the lost man was freezing. Maybe dying. He definitely didn’t have the warm comfort of a fireplace and a wench-shaped blonde to take his mind off his failure to get back to the lodge safely, didn’t even know his friends had been saved, so he suffered that additional torment—worry for them in addition to himself.

An inferno of shame ignited in his belly.

Hide it.

At the very least he owed them all a confident appearance. Calm. Strength. Determination.

Meltdowns were something to have alone—a luxury that would have to wait until he was no longer needed.

CHAPTER THREE

ELLORY HAD READ about frostbite treatment so she could anticipate Dr. Graves’s needs for that, but she had no idea what his other needs were. She’d kind of pegged the search and rescue team as attracting the kind of adrenaline fiends in it for the thrill, but Anson looked almost as devastated by returning empty-handed as Chelsea had.

With the bandage applied, she switched off the hot plate, scooted it out of the way and stood. What came next? She didn’t know, but certainly there would be something she would need to do, and being on her feet would help her react that much faster.

“They still hurt, I know,” Anson said to the woman, looking at the toes now hidden by the gauze, the patch of yellow skin surrounded by angry redness hidden. “But most of this might not even be frostbite. The yellow area is, but the good news is that we got to it in good time and it’s very unlikely to leave any lasting damage. I won’t be able to tell for a couple of days if it’s frostbite or the lesser version, which you all have on your fingers and toes … frostnip. We’re going to treat yours as if you have frostbite, just to be safe. I’ll see what kind of antibiotics Dr. Dupris has in her inventory, and some pain medication.”

Good news. She’d take whatever kind of win they could get.

Anson asked the standard allergy questions, got whatever info he needed, and nodded once to Ellory—a kind of do it nod. She had been promoted: triage to assistant, or nurse … or whatever that position was.

“I can check with Mira. Which antibiotic do you need?” If she had to, she could no doubt find in Mira’s books which kind of antibiotic was good for skin infections, but she’d rather he tell her. She wasn’t a doctor. Not by a long stretch. But she knew enough to know that antibiotics were a tricky lot—some worked for everything, some worked best for specific things, and these days a frightening amount were resistant to stuff they used to be awesome at fighting.

“I’m sure she’s got some of the broad-spectrum ones, but I don’t know how well the drug cabinet is stocked for anything obscure.” For some reason she wanted him to think well of her, and she felt more competent even saying the words “broad spectrum.” Like proving to him she wasn’t a complete idiot was important. Probably something to do with the lecture she’d gotten about her clothes …