Page 111 of One Last Shot

Moose nodded. “I know. We’ll find her.”

He stood up. “Now.”

“Settle down, Oaken. We care about her as much as you do—but the weather is turning. I can’t fly and I can’t risk?—”

Oaken pushed past him, grabbing his face mask.

“Oaken!”

He slammed outside. Stood for a moment.

The snowmobiles. He ran for the one with the sled and med kit attached to the seat.

“Oaken! Do not become someone we have to rescue too!” Moose, behind him.

He straddled the machine, fired it up.

Moose came out after him.

He gunned the machine and blew past the man, snow showering his wake.

“Oaken!”

But he didn’t care.

He bent over the windshield, out of the pelting snow, and headed out into the blizzard.

Don’t fall asleep.Don’t fall asleep.

The fire had died, the cold curling into her alcove, and Boo’s leg had started to ache again, something deep that found her bones,her cells, her mind.

She might not be going into shock, but exposure crept over her, turned her mind sluggish.

Don’t. Sleep. Oaken kept his promises. She could trust him.

Outside, the wind howled, the darkness falling like a shroud.

What if he couldn’t find his way back?

She closed her eyes. Fatigue swept over her, took her.

Nope. Bad idea.

Forcing her eyes open, she tried to move her legs and only earned a shot of heat and pain into her brain.

She had rationed the water in her bottle, now took a sip. It had formed some ice.

Some rescuer she’d turned out to be.

“God says that he will strengthen you and help you.”

London’s words, and sure, they sounded pretty and hopeful, but...

But there was the off chance that she didn’t even register on God’s radar.

That she was in this alone.

Her eyes fell closed again, and she realized she’d surrendered to sleep when Blake walked into her brain. When she opened her eyes to the memory of him in the tent, sitting up in his sleeping bag, his fever broken, the night still thick around them. Crickets and night sounds shifting outside.