Rescued by the Major (Winter Rescue)

2. Eva

2

EVA

My phone is dead. As dead as the car I’m currently stuck in. I blow on my curled fingers, relishing even the slight warmth from the futile gesture. The temperature outside is dropping fast, and I can hear the wind getting louder.

“You’re so stupid, Eva.” The words slip out from between my lips, an automatic recitation of what I’ve heard said to me for the last three years. Almost like I’ve absorbed them as truth myself.

I shake my head, as if I can shake away that awful voice that occupies my mind too much and wish for something else to listen to beside my own thoughts and the screaming wind. Something to drown out the things that frighten me when I’m alone.

The car rocks, and I freeze in my seat. Was that the wind or something else? A bear? A moose? The idea that I’m not even sure what animals live on this mountain makes me doubt my decision to come up here alone even more than I already have been. I could easily be eaten by a wild animal while just taking a walk.

The litany of thoughts berating myself is interrupted by a knock on my window. My heart thuds and I swallow against the fear suddenly lodged in my throat. A gloved hand swipes the covering of snow off the glass, and a face comes into view. Long dark hair peeks out from under the edge of a knit cap and his lips form a word as he leans closer.

“Eva?”

He knows my name?

The question occurs to me even as I nod in response, and something like relief flits across his face as he gives a small twitch of the lips that doesn’t quite make it as a smile. I’m struck by how sure he looks, peering in at me, and how happy I am to see him, even though I don’t know who he is. Thankfulness that I’m not alone settles in me, and I want to shove open the door, launch myself into his arms, and hug him.

“Livvy and Max sent me,” he yells through the glass and any remaining reservations I had about trusting this man evaporate. My friends wouldn’t ask anyone they didn’t trust to come find me. When I smile in understanding, he points down to the door handle. “I’m going to pull from this side, but the snow is deep out here, so you’ll have to push at the same time so we can get you out.”

I nod, and he grimaces as he leans back, putting his full weight into opening the door. I push with my shoulder, but there’s almost no movement that I can feel.

“Try again,” he says, shouting against the wind that I can hear is getting louder.

This time I twist in my seat, pulling my legs up and leaning back until my feet are pressed against the door panel. I can see him grit his teeth as he pulls back, and I push with all my strength against the weight of the snow that’s piled up around my car.

The door squeals but it moves, and we work together until there’s enough space for me to wiggle out with the small bag of items I kept beside me on the passenger seat. Identification, my phone that’s long dead, an empty bottle of water, and the remains of half a granola bar. I made myself stop eating because I wasn’t sure how long it would take before someone might find me.

I wiggle out and slip in the snow. A strong arm grabs me, holding me up as I regain my balance. The force of the wind dissipates as my rescuer steps in front of me, and again I want to hug him for his thoughtfulness. Dark eyes look down at me, running over my head and then down, assessing, and his lips turn down.

“Do you have a hat or gloves in your bag,” he asks, leaning in close to my ear.

I shake my head. When I decided to stay here, there hadn’t been any hint to expect bad weather. Max and Livvy told me to pack for any possibility, but I was in such a hurry, I didn’t take the time to find them.

“Here,” says the man, his voice gruff, as he pulls a knit cap out of one of the many pockets on his thick coat. He settles it onto my head, tugging it in place, and then brushes long strands of hair out of my eyes. “Hands next.”

I hold them up in automatic response, which earns me a quick grin, and he carefully slides each of my hands into heavy gloves. They’re too big for my small hands, but I don’t care. I’m just thankful to be instantly warmer, less of me exposed to the freezing air. That’s what matters.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, and he ducks his head in one short nod, silently accepting my gratitude.

He wraps a braided cord around my waist, the bright orange color easily visible even in the bad conditions, and then loops the other end around himself. When I look down in confusion, he answers my unspoken question. “Keeps us from getting separated. Blowing snow is a problem up here. I don't want to lose you now that I’ve finally found you.”

Those words dredge up some strange warm feeling in my belly, and a shiver creeps over me as this sense of being cared for swamps me. Even if he’s just doing his job, it’s been a long time since anyone has shown this level of concern for me personally. It feels good to matter.

“Try to put your feet where I step. I’ll break down the deeper snow as I push through and that should make it a little easier for you as we go.” He casts a look around and then stabs a finger in a direction that isn’t clear to me. “That’s the way we need to head. You ready?”

He glances at me over his shoulder, eyes questioning, and I nod. There's no other option, really, short of cuddling up together in my broken-down car. The image of that sends a shot of heat right through me, and I shake it off. He waits, as if my reeling thoughts are obvious to him, and I straighten my shoulders. Before he can take a step though, I reach for his arm to stop him.

“Wait, what’s your name?”

He grunts, and it’s actually a sound that makes me want to smile rather than flinch. “It’s Anders.”

“Nice to meet you, Anders.” He almost smiles at that, which makes my stomach flutter. What would it be like to see this man really smile? To accomplish that feat? “Lead the way.”

He gives a tug on the line holding us together, as if he wants to test the connection, then turns and plunges forward into the trees, pulling me along behind.