Page 112 of One Last Shot

Inside, they were safe. A team. “Hey, Boo Bear.”

No.Nothis Boo Bear. She knew that even as she smiled at him. She wanted to stop herself from sitting up, from reaching out to him. From believing the smile in his eyes, the things he’d said to her while battling his fever the night before.

“I need you, Boo.”

“You’re the only reason I’m alive.”

Stop.

But no, she let him kiss her. Let herself believe his lies.

Let herself betray . . .well, herself.

She thrashed against the memory. “No—get away from me?—”

“Boo?”

The voice—not Blake’s. She shook, her entire body trembling as she fought to wake up.

“It’s okay, Boo. I got you.”

Hands moved over her, and she felt something tucked around her leg, then pressure.

She opened her eyes with a cry.

Gasped.

Oaken crouched over her—at least she thought it was him. It sounded like him. But his face mask was caked with snow and ice.

Then he looked at her, and her breath reeled out. Yes, Oaken, those blue eyes?—

“Sorry. I had to get a splint on you before I got you out of here.” There he was, and he wore such a tender expression. He pulled up his face mask.

Oh wow, she was in love with him. The sense of it swept through her, and she wanted to weep with the brutality of it. She could not love another man who walked out of her life.

But Oaken wasn’t a betrayer. He kept his promises.

“You came back.”

“Please,” he said. Winked. “I said I would.”

She nodded, looked away.

“Okay, listen. We have a long drive back. I got you a sled and a sleeping bag, but it’s going to be bumpy. You ready?” He met her eyes. “I got you.”

Then he put his arms around her, under hers, and around her torso and pulled her out of the cave. She tried to stabilize her knee and not shout.

He pulled her over to a snowmobile sled. “Where’s the snow machine?”

“I couldn’t get it into the ravine. But it’s not far.”

He eased her into the sled, into an opensleeping bag, then zipped her up. Bungie cords strapped over her held her in place. “Here we go.” He lifted the metal bars—he’d strapped another cord on the ends to make a sort of cross strap. This he put around his neck, the bars under his arms, held onto them, and started moving.

She tried to stay awake, but the hush of the sled and the swaying movement kept pitching her into sleep, only to be jarred awake when she hit a snag in the ground.

“Sorry, Boomer. I’m trying here.”

His voice felt so far away, but she clung to it. Because yes, she was so far beyond falling for this man.