Under the Northern Lights Page 14

  Exhaling heavily, Michael put his glove back on and looked around the forest again. “Look, Mallory . . . I don’t think we can make it back to the cabin. The storm’s picking up, and if we go the wrong way, we’ll get so lost out here we’ll never get back. Our best bet is to stay here. Once the storm passes, I’ll be able to read the land again—I’ll be able to find the trail home.”

  “Stay here? We can’t stay here, Michael. There’s no way to build a fire in this. We don’t have shelter. We’ll freeze. We’ll die.” My voice was coming out shaky, but I couldn’t help the reaction. Once again, I was facing my mortality. I was really tired of doing that.

  Michael seemed more okay with facing the end, probably because he was facing it on his terms . . . and not like his wife had, at the end of a barrel being wielded by someone else. He squatted in front of me and clasped both of my forearms. “We’re not going to die. We just need to ride out the storm. We just need shelter.”

  I raised my hands to the empty woods around us. “What shelter? There’s nothing here we can use, Michael.”

  A small smile cracked his lips; it seemed wholly out of place, given the circumstances. He lifted a finger to the sky. “We’re being provided with more of a shelter every second, Mallory.”

  My eyes widened as I grasped what he was saying. “You want us to bury ourselves? Under the snow?”

  “It’s actually a great insulator. Igloos hold a surprising amount of warmth,” he stated.

  “Except I don’t know how to build one,” I inadvertently snapped. “Especially without any tools. Do you?” Please say yes. Please tell me you took survival training courses before you came out here, and that was part of it.

  Michael shook his head, dashing my hopes. “No, I don’t know how to build one . . . but I can build a cave. We just need a deep-enough drift.”

  A cave? A snow cave? God, we really would be buried under the snow. But I supposed that was better than becoming human icicles. “Okay . . . what do we do?”

  Clasping my hand again, he nodded ahead of us. “We search for something deep enough to hold both of us. Then hope we can dig it out before dark.”

  Swallowing the lump of dread in my throat, I let Michael lead me onward, into the blizzard. The snowfall intensified as we walked, so much so that I could barely see Michael’s body as he stretched out in front of me. I clasped his hand like the lifeline it was; if I let go, if we separated, that might be it for me. Staying together was our only chance, and knowing that strengthened my belief that good or bad, right or wrong, humans needed each other. We weren’t designed to spend a lifetime alone. I had to make Michael see that.

  Just a few shambling feet from where we’d been, we came across a fallen tree surrounded by a snowdrift. Michael was smiling at me through his frosty beard when I stepped close to his side. “We can use this. We dig a hole until we reach the tree; then we carefully scoop out the inside, making it bigger. We can’t break the ceiling, though—otherwise it won’t work as insulation.”

  I nodded like I was in complete agreement with him, but I had no idea how to do everything he’d just said. Closing my eyes, I prayed for strength and luck. I had a feeling we’d need both for this.

  Removing our basket backpacks, we lowered to our hands and knees and began digging into the snow. It was icy, easily compacted, and that boosted my spirit. We might be able to scoop out the insides while leaving a sturdy shell that would block us from the elements. Michael wanted to keep the opening as small as possible, so once we had a space big enough to crawl through, he ducked inside to scoop out the rest. Fear and the chill assaulted me the entire time he was half-buried in the bank. I didn’t think it would hurt him if the cave collapsed, but it would mean we’d have to start over, and I didn’t want to scour for another place and try again. I wanted this to work. I wanted us to be safe.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Michael scooted out of the hole. Looking up at me, he nodded at the opening. “I think it’s big enough for both of us. Go ahead, but try not to touch any of the walls. You might accidentally break through.”

  Hoping against hope that this actually worked, I slid into the slim circle. There wasn’t a lot of room in the tiny cave or a lot of light. But it was protected from the wind and the snow and noticeably warmer. I pressed myself to the side to make room for Michael, being careful to not puncture anything. When he began scooting inside, I wasn’t sure how we’d both possibly fit. I was already curled into a tight ball. But Michael managed to squeeze into the space beside me. Every inch of us was touching, though, and for us to both fit, we had to tangle our legs and lean against each other’s torsos. We were cuddling for survival, and even though I was scared and feeling extremely claustrophobic, being this close to Michael was comforting.

  Taking off his gloves, Michael grabbed my hand. It was dark in the cave, but I could make out his outline clearly enough. He gave me a small, warm smile. “It’s going to be okay. It will probably blow over enough by the morning that I’ll be able to tell where we are.”

  I nodded, then pressed my head against his shoulder. As I watched snow cover the opening where we’d entered this tiny sanctuary, Michael rubbed his thumb over my glove. Adjusting my position, I removed my glove so I could feel our skin press together. I needed the contact and the reassurance that came with it. Michael let out a sigh that was strangely relaxed, then laid his head against mine. Our little space was so warm that I was no longer shivering. In fact, I almost felt too warm, but there wasn’t enough room to start removing clothing, so I just dealt with it.

  Pulling back, I looked up at Michael with a smile. “You were right about the cave. I’m actually getting hot.”

  Michael returned my grin. “Yeah, our body heat has a lot to do with that. I’m sorry I couldn’t make the cave a little bigger. I didn’t want to risk the walls caving in.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Cozy even. I think we should consider moving here.”

  He laughed, and the sound evaporated the rest of my anxiety. “Sure, if you don’t mind moving again in the spring when the snow melts.”

  Considering the fact that I was moving in the spring—moving home—his joke struck a nerve of sadness. “Yeah . . . spring . . .”

  His smile fell, and melancholy settled around us just as surely as the snow above was settling on the earth. Our gazes locked as I wondered what I could possibly say to this man. How could I convince him to leave? And how could I be okay with him staying? He’d die out here all alone. Maybe not right away, but eventually. Leaving without him felt like his death sentence, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to him. My vision grew hazy as I contemplated that very real possibility.

  Michael sighed as he searched my face. “Are you still scared?”

  “Only of leaving you,” I whispered. I bit my lip after I’d said it. I hadn’t meant to confess that, hadn’t meant to bring up the conversation that we were both avoiding.

  As his pale eyes continued examining my face, his hand tentatively reached up to touch my cheek; his fingers were surprisingly warm, and I closed my eyes at the wondrous contact.

  “I wish this were easier,” he whispered.

  Reopening my eyes, I saw the confusion on his face. “Wish what were easier?” I asked, my heart fluttering in my chest.

  Instead of directly answering my question, he said, “I wish I didn’t feel . . . this . . . for you . . . when I know I shouldn’t.” His gaze drifted down to my lips. “I’m still in love with my wife, and you . . . you’re going home. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t stop wanting . . .”

  As his thought drifted off, he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth. My heart was racing now, and all I could think about was his mouth on mine again. I leaned forward into the darkness, hoping I would find his lips, warm and responsive. Like him, I knew it was wrong . . . for both of us . . . but I couldn’t stop myself from wanting it too.

  When I felt his breath against my lips, faster than befo
re, his hand on my cheek shifted to my neck. I thought he might push me away, but he didn’t. He pulled me into him. He wanted me, wanted this, possibly just as badly as he didn’t want it. Our mouths met in the darkness, and an explosion of sensation struck me. The heat, the enclosed space, knowing that there was no place for us to go—no escape—it amplified everything inside me, made the kiss feel like a thousand sparklers were igniting inside my body.

  The kiss intensified, and nothing was going to stop it this time. Not ghosts of the past, not the bleakness of the future. All we had was this moment, and as my hand reached up to cup his face, I felt something crack inside me. Walls I hadn’t even known I’d been erecting were crumbling to pieces, shattering into oblivion, and all I was left with was . . . feeling, emotion . . . love. I cared for this man more than I wanted to admit, and broken and bruised as he was, I desperately wanted him to care about me too.

  As the passion tapered off and our kiss dwindled to soft pecks, I waited for him to tell me what a mistake he was making. The fear of his rejection tightened my throat, and I couldn’t speak; I could only search his eyes in between light kisses and pray that he wouldn’t hurt me. All I saw in his expression, though, was confusion and desire and something else, something stronger than interest. He cared about me—I could see it.

  After a few more soft kisses, the tightness of the space forced me to move. That tiny adjustment broke the spell, and Michael turned his lips away from my reach. “We should . . . rest . . . try and get some sleep. It won’t be easy . . . like this . . . but the more energy we conserve, the better off we’ll be.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was talking about our current situation . . . or the long run. And I didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to piece together the hidden message. I just wanted to enjoy the fact that we were stuck together in this close proximity, and neither one of us could flee from it.

  Telling him, “Okay,” I scooted even closer and laid my head on his chest.

  He sighed again, then removed my hat so he could run his hand through my hair. I fell asleep with the sound of his heart in my ear, the feel of his touch on my head, and the memory of his taste on my lips.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Everything ached when I woke up the next morning. Every muscle was sore; every tendon was tight. I wanted to stretch out more than anything, and I began straightening my legs before I remembered where I was and why I was scrunched up like a sardine. Fear instantly replaced the need to move. I had no idea how much it had snowed last night. I had no idea if it was still snowing. All I did know was I was buried inside a drift . . . buried alive.

  Panic started clawing at my body, begging for release. Keeping it at bay took a tremendous amount of willpower, and I think I was only able to do it because I felt Michael’s warm body snug against my side. I wasn’t alone in my misery. And that made all the difference.

  “Michael,” I choked out, stress making my voice tight. “Are you awake?”

  He stirred in the small space allowed to him and let out an equally pained grunting noise. “Yeah.” Thoughts of last night tried lifting to the surface, but anxiety beat them back. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the memory of his lips.

  “What do we do?” I whispered. We couldn’t stay here forever. It was morning, I had needs that had to be met. And as soon as my anxieties melted away, I was going to have to move. It wasn’t optional at this point.

  Michael tapped his foot against the opening that we’d crawled through last night. It looked like a solid sheet of snow, but it gave away at his touch. Just seeing a sliver of daylight made a rush of relief go through me. We weren’t buried alive, not truly. We had a way out.

  As Michael cleared more of the snow away, I listened for the telltale signs of a still-raging storm. Everything seemed quiet, though. Peaceful. “I think it’s stopped. I think we can go home.”

  Home. Nothing had ever sounded quite so wonderful. When it became obvious that the storm had indeed stopped, Michael began attacking the entrance with abandon. I reached out with my legs to help him, and it felt so good to finally get some blood flowing to my limbs. Once the opening was clear, Michael shimmied his way out; then he reached back inside the cave to help me. I was partially blinded from the glaring sunlight when I got all the way out, and when I could see, I was stunned. The amount of snow that had fallen last night was astounding. If we hadn’t made a cave, we most certainly would have frozen to death lumbering through the steep banks. For what felt like the millionth time, I owed Michael my life.

  Before I could truly think about what I was doing, I wrapped my arms around him in a gigantic hug. He staggered back from the force. “You saved us, Michael. Thank you.”

  He seemed unsure what to do in response to my fierce grip, and thoughts of our heated moment last night filled my brain. Wondering how he felt about that kiss, I looked up at him. “Are you . . . ?” Was he what? Okay? Physically, he was fine; emotionally, I was sure he was just as much of a wreck as I was. Maybe more of one. He was still grieving, after all. Pulling back, I felt like I should apologize. I’d gone too far again, and almost directly after he’d asked me not to.

  Like he understood my expression, Michael sighed as he took a step back. “It’s okay, Mallory. We made it, and we’re both . . . okay.”

  I wanted to ask him if we were more than okay, if we were more than . . . more . . . but I had a feeling I knew exactly what he would say if I asked, so I dropped my arms, stepped away, and didn’t bother asking.

  When it became obvious that I wasn’t about to start an awkward conversation about what had happened between us, Michael visibly relaxed. He looked around us with the eyes of a hunter, and I knew he was searching for clarity—some sign that would magically tell him where we were in relation to the cabin. It all looked like one giant cloud of white to me, so I hoped his years of exploration helped him successfully sift through the oneness.

  And it seemed to. With a smile, he tilted his head and studied a pair of trees leaning toward each other like lovers embracing. Looking back at me, he confidently said, “It’s this way.” Since I was completely lost, I took his word for it.

  After unburying our stuff, I followed Michael as closely in his footsteps as I could. The entire trek home, my mind was on the kiss we’d shared in the dark. Once again, it was the best kiss I’d received in my entire life. The softness of his lips, the tightness of the space, nothing but the sound of our quiet breaths filling my ears, the way my heart had pounded in my chest. Even though the situation had been completely wrong, the moment had felt so right. It made me ache for more. I just wanted to feel his tender embrace, to be consumed by this feeling for him that was growing steadily stronger. But he didn’t want that. And we weren’t meant to last anyway. But still . . . I wanted it. Desires weren’t easily shut off, especially not by logic.

  When we got back to the cabin, I was thrilled to see it and sad. Scary as it was, our adventure had brought us closer together. I didn’t want that part of it to be over with. I didn’t want to distance myself from Michael. I wanted to draw him closer, hold him tighter, cherish every last moment we had together . . . then convince him to leave here with me. He was just too wonderful to be alone for the rest of his life.

  Michael sighed as he took off his hat. “I’ll make something to eat. Are you hungry?”

  I was everything. Hungry, tired, thirsty, happy, sad, confused, conflicted. “Yeah . . . I’ll go get some water.” Michael opened his mouth like he was going to object, insist he would do all the chores today or something, but I interrupted him before he could. “It’s fine—I need to use the bathroom anyway.”

  Grabbing an empty five-gallon bucket, I trudged off before he could stop me, but I felt disappointed and disheartened. As great as it was, that kiss shouldn’t have happened, because now I wanted something I couldn’t have, and it sucked. It sucked hard.

  There was smoke releasing from the small chimney when I got back from my errand. The lazy curl drifting into the hazy-
gray sky promised warmth, a treat that sounded heavenly. Clutching the handle tight, I opened the cabin door and hustled through. I was breathing heavier when I sloshed the bucket into its place in the corner.

  Michael looked concerned as he rushed to my side. “That could have waited until you had something to eat.”

  “It’s fine,” I told him. “I needed air anyway.”

  I hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, but I did. Michael’s eyes filled with guilt, and his gaze drifted to the ground. “Because of me. Because I . . . because we kissed again? I’m sorry,” he said, returning his eyes to mine.

  Removing my hat, I walked over to my bed and set it down. “I know you are, Michael, but that doesn’t . . .” I turned to face him. “Being sorry doesn’t stop how we feel about each other. I know you think your heart is missing, or . . . it’s somewhere else, but from where I’m standing, it’s not as far gone as you think.” Walking over to him, I searched his face. “You said so yourself . . . you like me. You feel something for me. You want me. So your past aside, what’s going on with us?”

  Michael bit his lip, discomfort clear on his face. He nodded over his shoulder to the food steaming on the table. “Breakfast is ready—we should eat.”

  The smell of pancakes was making my mouth water, but a meal wasn’t what I wanted right now. “Don’t change the subject, Michael. Answer my question.”

  The look on his face grew frustrated. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t want anything to happen between us. I just want to be friends. But then, when I’m around you, when you’re close to me . . . you’re so . . . the way you smell, the way you talk, the way you move . . . I can’t help wanting you . . . even though I know it’s wrong.”

  He was breathing heavier as he stared at me, and my body practically purred in response. “Why is it wrong? Your wife wouldn’t want this life for you. She wouldn’t want you to hole up in this . . . prison that you’ve created for yourself, distant from everyone and everything. She would want you to live.”