“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.”