Nothing to do but march, focus on survival. And ignore the niggling notion that this training mission was going way wrong.
Josh plowed ahead of her, his broad shoulders cutting the gale winds to half force. She longed to argue that they should take turns leading, but if he walked behind her she couldn't have heard his navigational calls over the shrieking storm. The niggle inside scratched harder.
Damn it, they were not going to die out here. Josh wouldn't die. She refused to let that happen. Death had already hammered at her world too often.
Much as she wanted to rage at fate for sending crummy weather ahead of time, authentic survival situations didn't promise ideal weather conditions, either. At least discussion of cotton thongs versus Scooby-Doo Santa boxers had ended.
How could Josh be so perfect and such an arrogant jerk at the same time? And now she would be spending one final night with him after all.
They couldn't reach the pickup point before dark since they were barely making pace. Radio connections had been staticky, but clear enough. Find cover. Hole up until morning.
She'd wanted to dig out a snow cave, but Josh insisted he remembered a marking from a chart indicating an abandoned mine within walking distance. Give it an hour and then they would try her way.
Fifty-two minutes and counting, Magellan. What she wouldn't give for a mug of eggnog to drink in front of a fire—with a garland-trimmed fireplace, please.
Sheets of snow and ice parted around him while she shuffled behind, too numb to be cold. His big body continued its brutal pace. Unrelenting. Unconquerable. And damn it all, she admired the determination and brains he packed under a thick head of jet-black hair and body ripped with muscles.
Right now, she wanted to complete this course outside of Fairbanks with her sanity intact and start her new job in Stan Eval—Standard Evaluation—giving check rides to other pilots. She looked forward to the challenge and even the routine after life at high-speed flying cover over Afghanistan, Iraq and Cantou. By the time she and Josh transferred to Elmendorf AFB in Anchorage, she'd been stretched to the max
professionally and personally.
A military brat, she understood the pressures of moving. Before her mother died, her parents had rattled the windows with their shouts over where to hang pictures.
Of course their fights had always ended with her father smiling, then her mother tearing through her purse to unearth five dollars for Alicia to walk her brother and sister to the corner shop for a soda and candy bar. And take your time, honey.
Teeth clattering, Alicia lifted her leaden leg, shivered. One foot in front of the other. March, soldier. She was pretty much feeling like a frozen wooden Nutcracker soldier this holiday season.
Hers and Josh's final fight hadn't concluded as well as her parents'. She was running scared, a pathetic fact from a combat recipient of a Silver Star and Distinguished Flying Cross.
Still, she couldn't be what Josh wanted. She'd thought if she ignored the past it would ignore her. If not, she could bluff when memories from eight years ago dogged her.
She'd known she shouldn't marry Josh, or anyone for that matter, not with her unresolved feelings about Ben. But she'd been so in love with this incredibly smart, sexy man tromping ahead of her, and he'd insisted they were right for each other. His confidence was infectious. She'd relented and now they were both paying the price.
Josh stopped at a small clearing filled with mounds. The front of her snowshoe landed on the back of his.
She wobbled, fell forward, grappled to brace herself with gloved hands the size of Ping-Pong paddles.
She slammed against the broad expanse of Josh's back. His arm shot around behind him to steady her.
Too late.
Swaying, she twisted to untangle herself from him before... They both landed in a heap against the hard-packed snow. This was supposed to be sexy, right— twined arms and limbs? He'd even angled to take the brunt of the fall for her.
But she had a face full of snow tingling her skin. Cold air lanced her lungs with every gasp. Lopsided snowshoes slammed against the backs of her thighs.
Definitely not sexy. Even if she wasn't pretzel-twisted, the extreme temps required too much gear for her to feel the enticing muscles banded across his chest. His washboard stomach, which she may have drooled over more than once in the past, stayed hidden somewhere beneath a parka, survival vest, snow pants, a flight suit, thermal underwear—not to mention Scooby-Doo boxers.
His hand knocked aside his snow goggles. "Are you okay?"
Emerald-green eyes burned like lasers at her with an unblinking, narrowed stare. Snowflakes drifted around wonderland-style, wind and drifts blocking the rest of the world until it was just her. Josh. And the intensity of his stare focused only on her, his mouth three inches away.
"Totally fine." O-kay. Now she understood the allure of a snow-swept embrace. Thank goodness her survival essentials included toothpaste, because in another couple of seconds she might well angle for a lip lock with her hunky hubby.
"Why'd you stop walking?" she asked, her minty breaths cloudier than could be attributed to simple speech. "I thought you were getting into this whole Lewis-and-Clark gig"
"Fifty-nine minutes." His full, sensuous lower lip enticed her as he spoke.
"What?" ChapStick. She'd applied it, right? Only for practical purposes, not because she anticipated a make-out session.