He carried me over the threshold and back into the hotel lobby like some frozen, ice-covered bride. Instantly the wind stopped. I still had no feeling in my arms or legs or face, but somehow I knew we were back inside.
“Did you clear the chimney?” he asked, staring down at me. My arms were wrapped around his neck, my head resting against his chest. My throat didn’t work. I barely had enough strength to nod, as the others came rushing over.
“I already got her,” Boone said, halting them in their tracks. “Start the fire.”
Jeremy paused and opened his mouth. “S—She alright?”
“Yes.”
“But—”
“Start the fire or she’s gonna freeze.”
Shane jumped on it. I was only vaguely aware. There was a spark, then a flame, and then I was being laid out on a sleeping bag right before the hearth as a big, bright, beautiful fire began roaring in the ancient fireplace.
It felt so good I wanted to cry.
“Holy shit…” Jeremy said, echoing everyone’s thoughts. All three guys were huddled around me, pushing their hands against the flames for warmth. “This is the best thing in the whole fucking world.”
Shane fed the budding flames with another armload of kindling. The flames grew taller, hotter, even more intense.
“Her clothes are soaked,” said Shane. “Get her out of them.”
The other two hesitated for a moment, then went about making that happen. Something in the back of my mind vaguely screamed for me to resist, but the logical part told me that modesty was right out the window.
“Are you alright?” Jeremy asked after a time. My hair felt soaked. He stroked it back over both ears.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I—”
My throat felt constricted, like someone was standing on it. It was difficult to speak.
“I thought I heard…”
“Easy,” said Boone. He was kneeling over me, and I noticed he?
??d taken off his T-shirt too. He was completely bare-chested now, the warm flames reflected against his beautiful, glistening chest. “Don’t talk if you can’t—”
“I thought I heard a helicopter!”
All three guys kneeling over me looked at each other. Shane leapt to his feet.
“A helicopter?” He reached for his jacket. “Where? Which direction?”
“I— I’m not sure.”
“Think, Morgan!” He took my hand. “Point! Show me where—”
SLAP!
A hand clapped loudly over his wrist, attached to a thick, tattooed forearm. I watched Shane’s gaze follow that arm upwards, to where Boone was staring back at him coldly.
“Leave her alone man,” he snapped. “She’s still in shock.”
Shane twisted his wrist sideways and jerked his arm back. His expression was murderous.