“Later. Key first.”
Sophia tried pulling the waistband up past his jeans.
“You need to unbutton the pants,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
She hesitated before fumbling at the button. Wonderful, Sophia, she chided. You’re coordinated enough to jump a dirt bike over Ranger’s Gap, but you can’t undo one button. An eternity later, she ripped the key from his waistband and unlocked the cuffs.
He groaned with relief, rubbing his raw wrists. Sophia realized she stood rather close to him, and he was a stranger. He was about six inches taller than her own five foot eight, and had arms like a professional quarterback. He looked about thirty, a few years older than her. Mitch claimed to be a federal agent, but she didn’t have any proof.
She remembered his injury and reached for the first-aid kit in her backpack but stopped. Her pack! She had left it by the airstrip. A quick mental scan of the contents made her relax. No personal information, but she didn’t have the kit, food or water.
He tapped his pockets. “Shit. They took my wallet, phone and gun. Do you have a cell?” Mitch rebuttoned his jeans.
“No signals out here.”
“Where then? I need to make a call. The sooner the better.”
She sighed. No other choice. Her house was the closest. “I have a landline.”
“Within walking distance?” A hopeful note crept into his voice.
“No. About twenty miles off-road.”
“And on the road?”
“Fifty.”
“Damn. I’m going to have to trust your night vision again, aren’t I?”
“Yep.” Buckling up the chest protector, she donned her helmet.
A queasy expression creased his sharp nose and he rubbed his hand along his five o’cloc
k shadow. Long black eyelashes matched his almost military-style short black hair. His uninjured blue eye stared at her in concern.
“Relax, Mitch. I’ll get us there in one piece. After we jump the chasm of death, we’re home free.”
“Funny,” he deadpanned. “I don’t suppose you have another helmet?”
“Nope. But if we do crash, I’ll aim for the right side to even out your injuries.”
He gave her a wry grin. “Enduring poor attempts at humour is better than being dead. At least, you have a decent bike. My fragile male ego wouldn’t be able to handle being rescued by a lady on a scooter.”
With a passenger on board, the trip to her house lasted twice as long as normal. Mitch clutched her waist with a vice grip. He cursed and muttered under his breath, but matched the rhythm of the bike’s motion.
When they arrived at her small log cabin, he slid off on unsteady legs. The bloodstain on his shirt had spread. Sophia tossed her helmet and gear into a pile. Leaving the bike next to her shed, she led him into the living room.
The place followed the standard mountain cabin decor -comfortable recliners, plaid-patterned couch, faux bear rug and animal paintings.
“Sit down before you fall down.” Sophia guided Mitch to the couch.
“Are you going to turn on the lights or did you forget to pay your electric bill?” he asked with a nervous edge.
She closed her eyes for a moment, summoning the strength for a difficult explanation. If there had been a phone anywhere else, she would have avoided this.
Working up the nerve, she said, “I can’t tolerate visible light.”
“Can’t tolerate light? Like a vampire?” His confusion turned into alarm.