I did need him, I did. But I’d been so hurt, so angry. And most of all, I’d needed to set him free. And that was all in the past . . . wasn’t it?
“Audra—”
“If I’m going to wash my hair, I guess I should do it before the sun gets any lower and before this storm kicks up any more than it is.” The snow was finding its way through the small breaks in the canopy of evergreen and swirling in the air.
Dane was quiet for a moment, looking as if he was considering something. But then he smiled and it was gentle. “Come on, let me help you. It’ll be quicker.”
I nodded. Something about letting Dane wash my hair felt overly intimate, vaguely dangerous. And yet the lure of clean hair was frankly too great. The lure of feeling halfway human again was too great. “Okay.” Dane took the water off the fire while I gathered my shampoo and comb.
“Sit in front of me and tip your head all the way back,” Dane instructed as I knelt on the garbage bag I’d used earlier and he came up behind me. He put a dry shirt around my shoulders to protect my jacket and the back of my neck, and then began pouring the water over my hair. The wet heat felt incredible against my scalp and I moaned very softly. “Feel good?” he asked.
“Ahh, yes.”
Dane made quick work of using the shampoo to work a lather through my hair, using his fingertips to massage my scalp. I almost moaned again, louder and more blissfully, but held it back, instead closing my eyes and relishing in the sensations. I’d always loved my scalp being massaged. When we were first married, we’d taken baths together and Dane had washed my hair, just like this. I wondered if he remembered, wondered if this brought up memories of that time for him like it was doing for me. He’d been an unselfish lover, even as a young man, taking pleasure in pampering me as part of our foreplay. I didn’t realize until then how much I’d missed being touched. Dane’s touch had always melted me. Always. My stomach felt fluttery and my muscles felt languid, despite the frigid air. And despite that I’d been so tense only minutes before.
Dane rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and then rubbed a small amount of conditioner through, massaging my scalp again, finally rinsing that out as well. He used the shirt on my shoulders to rub my hair dry, his hands gentle yet strong as I rotated my neck. I remembered back to the way my body had ached in agony after the crash and a wave of gratitude washed through me. I laughed softly, somewhat surprised that there was anything to feel grateful for in this situation. But there was. Oh, there was. Fire, loose muscles, clean hair . . . and not being alone.
“What?” Dane asked, dragging the comb through my hair.
“I was just thinking of the things I’m grateful for right now. I was being very optimistic—not like myself at all.”
Dane laughed. “It only took being stranded on the side of a mountain in winter to bring out the Pollyanna in you?”
I laughed, turning to him, momentarily surprised to see such softness in his eyes as he held and stroked a length of my hair. “I guess so. Who would believe it?” I angled my head so my hair was getting as much of the heat from the fire as possible, hoping it would dry quickly. It was too cold to leave it even partially wet when I stepped away from the fire.
“Me, actually. The small blessings are what get you through situations like this one.”
“Yes, I guess so.” I smiled.
We ate our measly dinner, sitting in front of the fire as my hair dried completely. The sun disappeared, bathing our mountain in darkness. But the fire danced and flickered, melting the falling snow and casting shadows on the rocks surrounding us.
We both began yawning at the same time and retired to our shelter with a bottle of cooling water to sip from during the night. We got under the blankets, shivering momentarily in the cold air. But soon enough, the warmth from the fire found us, our body heat combined under the blankets to form a comfortable cocoon, and Dane gathered me to him, holding me around the waist as had become our sleeping position. “We can take turns getting up to add branches to the fire to keep it going,” I murmured, snuggling in to him.
“No, I’ll do it. You sleep.”
I turned in his arms. “No, Dane—”
“Shh, let me take care of you tonight, Audra.”
I thought about arguing, but I could tell it meant something to him to care for me—perhaps after I’d cared for him for days as he healed, or simply because that was who Dane was—so I nodded, turning back around.
“Thank you, stubborn woman,” he whispered teasingly in my ear, causing me to smile in the dark.
As I drifted toward sleep, I thought about what Dane had said about recognizing small blessings in the midst of challenge, wondering if I’d ever managed to do that until now, wondering if I’d even really tried. Questioning if, in the end, those things helped, or made everything that much more painful because they were all you had.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dane
The storm raged for two days as we hibernated in our tiny shelter, leaving to add wood to the fire, eat the fast-dwindling, miniscule meals of rationed food, and to use the bathroom when desperate. Occasionally, we left to sit outside near the cliff where we’d spotted the plane before, wrapped in blankets, but still assaulted by the whipping wind and sub-zero temperature for as long as we could stand. Our second fire pit would have to wait until the storm died down. In the meantime, Audra would hold the People magazine in her lap and sketch distractedly in the blank spots. I wanted to look at what she was doing as we sat under a bleak winter sky, only each other and our roaming thoughts for company, but I didn’t. Something told me that to mention it would cause her to stop, and it seemed to calm her. Plus, she’d told me she didn’t sketch anymore but here she was doing just that. I hoped she’d tell me why she stopped. When we were so freezing, our teeth were chattering and our noses were bright red, we’d return to our cave-like space near the fire, snuggle together, our limbs still shaking, to sleep once more in an attempt to pass the time.
I was thankful we’d both had a chance to bathe before the storm arrived or the ridiculously close dwelling might have been even more unbearable. Another one of those small blessings, I guessed. As it was, I slept with my nose pressed to Audra’s clean, smoke-tinged hair, reacquainting myself with the feel of her in the dark. We whispered about random things, telling each other the details of our current lives, but I wanted more. I wanted to talk about the subjects that really mattered between us. I wanted to bring up all the old hurts and study them in this safe and intimate space where it was only us. Where I could hold her as we spoke and learn all the secrets of her heart. But she changed the subject whenever I started venturing there, and that, combined with two days of very bleak conditions, was wearing on me.
And realizations were rolling in, like the snow flurries surrounding us. I had thought my feelings for Audra were twisted and tangled—too messy to unravel. Too complicated to even try. But lying there with her, about as close as two people could be, up on a mountain in the midst of a churning storm, nothing was complicated. Nothing. There was only clarity . . . and the simple truth that I loved her. That I always had. Probably always would. And I still didn’t know what the hell to do about it.
On the third day, the storm passed. I woke alone and crawled outside, stretching my neck and looking around, breathing in the crisp, piney air and noting that the fire danced gently, and no wind lashed at my face.
The fire spit and crackled as I added the last of the branches we’d collected the night before. This would keep it going for another hour or two. We’d need to collect more if we wanted to stay warm, which I most certainly did. I’d actually slept surprisingly well the night before, with the now-familiar warmth of the fire seeping into our shelter, the reduction of the wind, and the soft heat of Audra’s body wrapped around my own.