Today's Reading
He scooped her into his arms and carried her back across the river. Her body hung limp with the long curve of her neck exposed as her head lolled from side to side against his shoulder. She was small and thin, the sharp angles of her bones protruding through her clothing. Reaching the other side, he hurried down a short path to his cabin and rested her gently on his couch. He pushed long red strands of hair from her face, noticing cuts on her cheekbones and along her jawline. Her full lips were slack and bloodless. Feeling for a pulse again, his hand brushed against her shoulder and came away bloody. Gently, he peeled back the collar of her shirt. A deep cut lined the edge of her shoulder.
He needed to avoid any infection, but right now the real threat was her declining core body temperature. He piled blankets by the hearth, rekindled the morning fire until it blazed. Gently, he removed her boots and socks and scooped up the warmed blankets and tucked them around her, exposing only her shoulder wound. He gathered basic medical supplies and cleansed her wound with antiseptic-soaked gauze before fitting a tight bandage. After stoking the fire, he piled more blankets on top of her, snugged up to her neck, until she was nothing more than a small face in a cocoon. Then he waited. And prayed. And wondered who she was and how she'd ended up on the bank of the river.
* * *
Emma fought through the thick fog in her mind and forced her eyelids open. She was in a cabin of some sort, on a couch, her body weighted down by blankets. She stayed still, turning her head slightly to scan the room, noting its simple kitchen with shelves stocked with dry goods, a crudely built table with two chairs, and a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Like Daniel's cabin, but...this wasn't Daniel's place. Where was she? How did she get here?
Fuzzy details resurfaced: the notebook, gunshots, the river, her backpack...Where's my backpack? She struggled to push herself upright, falling back again when the cabin door popped open. She remained stock-still, eyes open only a slit. A strange man came in, with short dark hair and wearing jeans and a long flannel overshirt, a bundle of wood in his arms. He dumped it near the fireplace and threw a couple of logs on the fire. Flames reared up, the wood hissing and cracking, and he stood back, shrugging out of his flannel and warming his hands over the fire.
The man who chased her through the woods?
A weapon. That was what she needed. Anything to defend herself. Her gaze rolled about the room and settled on a heavy cast-iron pan hanging from a rack near the sink. She slid one leg out from under the blankets, eased her body to sitting, then to standing. If she could get to it before he—
"Hey, you're awake. How are you feeling?" He'd turned around and was staring at her.
She froze, then tried to take a step, determined to get to the pan, but her feet tangled in the discarded blankets and the room spun. She blinked and tried to keep focus. The man was walking toward her now and fear gripped her.
"You'd better stay put for a little while," he was saying. "I found you by the river. You were suffering from hypothermia."
She sat back down and looked at her bare feet. Her boots were gone. Anxiety pricked her skin at the thought of him touching her. "Where are my boots?"
He pointed to the fireplace, where her boots stood on the hearth with her socks carefully spread on the floor. He eyed her for a couple of beats, and then backed up and crossed to the cookstove and poured a mug of coffee. "Here, this will make you feel better."
The mug trembled as she brought it to her lips. She sipped, then gulped, allowing the hot liquid to burn its way to her stomach.
"Logan Greer," he said, seeming to relax a little. "Like I said, you were on the riverbank suffering from exposure. Thank God that I found you when I did."
He continued fumbling his words while she sipped the hot coffee. Her mind started to clear.
"It's really a miracle," he continued. "I just happened to be in the right place at the right moment. I usually don't come out this time of year, and...uh, you're probably hungry."
He rifled through a cupboard and came back with a protein bar. After she'd taken a couple of bites, he asked, "What's your name?"
"Emma." She felt better. The dizziness had subsided. "Where are we? Is it still Tuesday?"
"Yes." He smiled.
She liked his smile, and his dark, sincere eyes, but his gaze was intense and a little unsettling. She didn't trust him. Not a bit.
"We're about a mile and a half from the West Trail access," he said. "Not far from the Blackwater River. That's where I found you, at a shallow point. River Falls is the closest town. It's about fifteen miles or so from here."
"In the middle of nowhere, then." How far was she from Daniel's cabin? The Jeep?
...
