Vic's boots crunched over the freshly fallen snow as she stomped her way across the pristine expanse of Walt's front yard. He hadn't been answering his phone for the last few hours and Cady, who was currently aggrieved with a hellacious case of walking pneumonia, was nearly beside herself with worry. There was a winter storm raging through the area and everyone in Durant was pretty much hunkered down for the duration, and although he'd been known to disregard phone calls from time to time, his only child seemed convinced that this time something was truly wrong. Vic, who had spent the last few months attempting to ensure that Walt Longmire and his whereabouts were not on her list of priorities, had effectively managed to distract and placate her friend until about forty-five minutes ago when the sun went down and Walt still hadn't returned the younger Longmire's calls.
It was then that her own sense of unease began to unfurl deep in her belly.
Walt knew that Cady was sick, and Vic knew him well enough to know that he would not purposefully allow his daughter to worry about his whereabouts in her current condition, which meant he had not received the numerous messages she'd left on his answering machine.
Vic trudged through the calf-deep snow drift near Walt's front porch and refused to acknowledge the small knot of anxiety that had solidified in her gut.
Damnable man was probably passed out in a pile of empty Rainier cans, she chastised herself, silently.
Reigning in her temper, Vic stomped her feet on the welcome mat just outside the front door, more to stimulate heat into her frigid extremities than to dispel excess snow. She had no intention of entering that cabin. She hadn't been back there since the day she'd been called to the scene of a "disturbance" at the out-of-the-way little abode.
Seeing Donna Monahan in Walt's living room that day, in a questionable state of dress, no less, had been enough to dissuade her from ever wanting to set foot in the place again. Even now, months later, she had to tamp down the bitterness and anger that readily bubbled to the surface as she recalled the look on his face when she'd stepped through the remains of what had once been his front door.
He'd looked guilty. Which meant all his clueless guile was an act used to cover up the simple truth.
He knew exactly how she felt about him.
He just either couldn't, or more probably wouldn't, acknowledge it.
She took a deep breath to ease the sudden pressure in her chest and blew it out slowly, willing the hurt and anger to leave her body. Her breath was visible in the cold night air, and she imagined the ache within her evaporating into the darkness along with the fading vapor.
Since that day with Dr. Monahan, she and Walt had maintained a level of civility, but things had never been the same between them. At best, they functioned at work, and they avoided each other at all cost everywhere else. If Vic came home to Cady's and Walt was there, he was just stopping by. If Walt stopped by The Red Pony and Vic was there, she was on her way out. She'd added an extra mile-and-a-half to her usual run just so she could avoid the possibility of him passing her on the way to his favorite fishing spot. She knew there were things she needed to say to him if she ever hoped to get on firm ground with him again, but she honestly hadn't decided yet if it was worth it or not. She still wasn't entirely sure she was going to stay in Wyoming, and if she decided to go, then what was the point?
Yet, here she was.
She'd like to think that, left to her own devices, she wouldn't be out here tonight. Cady had been a good friend to her, though, especially these past few months, and she owed her at least this much. The sweet-natured redhead had given Vic a place to stay when she'd needed one, had become her friend when she'd needed one, and had even given her a kick in the ass when she'd needed one.
"Don't let my dad's hang-ups tie you up in knots, Vic. It's not you, it's him. Trust me."
She'd offered this advice from the doorway of Vic's temporary bedroom, where she'd stood observing as Vic stared morosely at an open suitcase. The case was empty except for a single photograph.
The Photograph.
She knew she should burn the damn thing, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it.
She'd slammed the lid closed and glared silently at the unwelcome presence that stood darkening her doorway.
"You have to stop moping around my house, or I'll be forced to tell my dad how worried I am about you."
Vic had opened her mouth to protest, ready to offer any form of supplication necessary in order to spare her that particular indignity, when she'd caught the wicked twinkle in Cady's blue eyes.
Her lips had twitched despite her attempt to keep a straight face.
"And here I thought we were friends, Cady Longmire," Vic had replied, attempting a light-hearted affect.
Something in her tone must've revealed the rawness of her emotions though because Cady's eyes had softened and her head had tilted in a sympathetic way that had Vic's eyes burning and feeling uncharacteristically moist.
"We are friends, Vic," she'd offered, sincerely.
Vic had bit her upper lip and blinked rapidly a few times, nodding her acknowledgement.
Then, after a beat, Cady had wondered aloud whether Walt might qualify for a handicapped placard based solely on his level of emotional retardation, and Vic had begun to laugh despite herself.
She'd laughed so hard that she'd cried, and then she'd kept on crying, and Cady had stayed.
At a time in her life when she'd been feeling pretty friendless, Cady Longmire had been a Godsend.
So, she supposed she owed her at least this much.
"Walt?" she called. "Come on, Walt, open up," she entreated, knocking on the front door. It was new, the wood smooth and unfinished, and it remained firmly closed despite her polite request. Growing impatient, she tried again, louder this time. "WALT!" She pounded with the side of her fist, applying an open-up-or-I'm-coming-in amount of force.
The cabin remained silent, though, the whistling of the wind and the creaking of the porch's floorboards the only reply to her insistent knocking. Sighing, she turned up her collar against the cold and made her way around to the rear of the cabin, peeking in windows as she went. There was a light on in the living room, and it was easy to see that, unless he was passed out in the dark bathroom, he was not inside. Her gut twisted a little as she rounded the corner to the back of the cabin. When she'd arrived, she'd parked behind Walt's Bronco. If he wasn't inside…
In the surreal brightness that only occurs when a full moon lands on fresh snow, it was easy to make out the set of size thirteen boot prints leading away from the back door of the cabin. The prints were softened by the continuing snowfall, deeper near the house and then nearly disappearing further out where the wind was whipping along the open field between Walt's place and the woods. The prints had obviously been there for some time. Vic debated for all of ten seconds about whether to go back and radio the station for help or set out on her own.
Ferg was alone at the station, and she'd hate to call him all the way out here in this weather for nothing. Walt was a smart man, and he wouldn't have gone far alone in this weather, not on foot.
He could be laying out there right now. Cold. Alone.
She felt the ache in her chest intensify.
Decision made, she scanned the horizon, picking a specific point on the distant ridgeline to use to orient herself, and then she headed for the tree line.
She followed his boot prints, making good time for the first quarter of a mile or so before the density of the forest made finding the next print difficult. It was much slower going after that. The incline was gradual, and Vic was in good shape, but the deepening snow had her panting for breath after another half mile. Finally, there was a break in the trees that opened into a clearing, and she was able to see again. She'd lost the exact trail about thirty yards back, but she was determined not to go back to the cabin without Walt.
She'd promised Cady she'd make sure he was okay, and that's what she intended to do.
For Cady, she told herself, silently. For him, her subconscious supplied, propelling her forward.
For you, her heart reminded her.
"WALT!" she called, her voice echoing off the mountains in the distance. "WALT! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
She scanned the tree line along the perimeter of the large open space in which she'd found herself. She didn't see any signs of life. Though she knew the cabin was a little less than a mile away, it felt as though she was alone on some foreign planet. She was from the city. She was not built for this type of solitude. She was more the alone-amidst-a-sea-of-people type. Besides, he had to be close by. He would not have gone up the mountain in this weather, and she was only about a quarter of a mile from the base at this point. In fact, she should be getting close to the—oh, God.
The lake.
No sooner had she thought the words than an audible pop rang out in the cold air, followed by a ripping, cracking sound that sent a bolt of fear straight down her spine. She shifted, ready to sprint for the trees, but it was too late, the ice gave way beneath her feet and she was plunged into the icy water below.
Cold. It was so bitingly cold. Every muscle in her body shortened simultaneously, contracting to the point of pain. She was completely submerged, and she wasn't positive she knew which way was up. Trying not to panic, she thrashed toward what she thought was the surface, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, her clothes saturated and heavy, weighing her down. Her lungs burned, but she fought the urge to breathe, knowing full well that one lungful of this icy lake water would mean her death.
Finally breaking free of the surface, she gasped, pulling in large lungfuls of thin but precious mountain air. Her hands searched clumsily along the jagged edges of broken ice, struggling to find purchase. Each time she attempted to hoist herself from the water though, the ice broke and plunged her momentarily back into the dark water.
Do not panic, Vic, she told herself, sternly. Focus.
Seeing no other option, she began using her elbows to break the ice. Time after time, she brought one arm up over her head and then brought it down hard, elbow first, over the edge of the ice, breaking off pieces and moving toward the tree line and, she hoped, the shore. Her arms ached but she kept going, alternating. Left, right, left, right. Reach, break, reach, break.
Slowly, she became aware that she was making some sort of noise, some cross between crying and gasping. It was involuntary, and she'd never heard herself make such a sound before.
It scared her.
The tree line was still so far away, and her feet still hadn't touched bottom. Her movements slowed.
She was getting tired.
Just as she was beginning to think that maybe resting for a second seemed like a good idea, she heard his voice.
"VIC!"
He sounded far away, and she thought for a minute that maybe her mind was slipping away into the ether.
"VIC! HOLD ON!"
But then she realized he wasn't that far away at all. He was just behind her, or rather, to the side of her. He was about twenty feet away, crawling toward her on his belly. Each time he called her name the wind seemed to carry it away, making his voice sound deceptively distant. She realized, distractedly, that the same must have been true when she was calling to him. It didn't matter though, because she'd found him now.
Now, she could rest.
Her eyes were really heavy, and she was finding it difficult to focus on him, despite the fact that he was much closer now. Almost close enough to touch.
"Vic! Can you hear me? I said, hang on! VIC!" he sounded a little panicky, and his fear triggered a renewed surge of her own terror.
She started thrashing, using her elbows once again to break the ice and move herself in his direction.
"STOP! Vic, stop! Don't break the ice!"
She stopped, more in response to the proximity of his voice than his actual words.
"Good girl," he said gently, his hands finally reaching her and curling around her biceps. "I've got you."
She wanted to weep in relief, but she was using every ounce of her strength to stay alert and focused on the directions he was giving her. He'd slipped a length of rope around her body, just under her arms, and cinched it in a knot. Further up the length of the same rope was a looped section that circled his own chest, just below his arms. The longest part ran about forty feet away where it was attached harness-style to a dark mare, standing on what Vic presumed was the shore.
"Okay, get ready," he told her.
She watched his lips carefully, trying to take in what he was saying to her.
"When I lift you up, I want you to stay flat, okay? We have to lay flat or the ice will break again. Do you understand?"
She tried to nod, but she honestly wasn't sure if she succeeded or not.
"Okay, here we go," he said, slipping his arms under hers and holding on tight. Before she realized what he was going to do, he yelled, "YA! G'IDDUP!" and almost instantly she was pulled free from the water and could feel herself sliding along the snow-covered ice.
Fear kept her completely immobilized, but she could feel his arms around her, and for the moment that was enough. For the moment, it was everything.
When they finally stopped moving, and Walt sat up, tugging at the rope that was secured just above her breasts, she realized that her body was completely numb. She tried to sit up, but only managed to roll sideways, lamely. She attempted to help him with the knot, only to discover that her fingers were drawn up tightly to her hands as if someone had tugged her tendons tight like laces in a pair of sneakers. Her bones ached, and none of her muscles were cooperating with her commands. She was startled to realize it was actually colder here on land than it had been when she was fully submerged in the water. Some part of her brain knew that this was not new information, but the fact surprised her nonetheless.
In a matter of seconds Walt had given up on the knots and used his pocket knife to cut them both free of the rope. The dark colored mare stood nearby on the shore, eyeing them warily. It was the horse he'd rescued from the illegal rodeo case, she realized.
"Come on, Vic," he said, tugging gently at her shoulders. "You gotta get up."
"I d-don't th-think I c-can, W-walt," she chattered. She was shivering in a manner she could only describe as violently. Her basic first-aid training told her that she was hypothermic, and she desperately needed to raise her body temperature.
Seeming to read her thoughts, Walt rose up onto his knees and began running his hands up and down her arms, coaxing blood flow back into them.
Following his lead, she crossed her arms over her chest and began to move her arms up and down as best she could, creating friction.
Appearing satisfied with her ability to care for her upper body, he moved on to her lower extremities, running his large hands up and down the tops of her thighs, massaging the musculature there and forcing blood return into the tissue. He moved down to her calves, massaging them with his strong fingers, before bending her legs at the knee and helping her plant her feet firmly in the snow.
"You ready?" he asked. "Come on, we've gotta get you up." He stood, hoisting her to her feet. Her legs wobbled, but with his help she was able to remain standing. He led her over into the tree line, out of the direct path of the wind, and began stripping off her outer wear. He stood very close, so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her face.
"Walt…" she began, unsure of what he was doing. There was no cover out here. As bad as wet clothes were, no clothes would be even worse. She was lucid enough to realize that, at least.
"Just trust me, Vic," he said, softly. "I've got you."
And as mad as she'd been at him lately, as much as he'd hurt her with this callous words and his thoughtless actions, she found that she did still trust him. With her physical safety at least. So, she relaxed into his touch, as much as her rigid muscles would allow, and let him continue removing her wet clothes. In moments, she stood before him in just her tank top and jeans; her coat, flannel, and t-shirt discarded on the ground between them. Quickly, he shrugged out of his heavy winter coat and wrapped it around her, stuffing her arms into the warm, faux-sheepskin interior and dexterously buttoning it all the way up to her chin. He turned up the collar and then cupped both of her hands in his larger ones and raised them to his lips. He breathed hot, moist air onto her frozen fingers and then quickly tucked each of her hands into the fleece-lined pockets at her sides.
It felt like heaven.
She didn't argue with him about the coat. They were only a little less than a mile from the cabin, and she was much worse off than he was with regard to the cold. Walt was a man who prepared for things. She would be willing to bet he still had on at least three layers without his coat, one of which was undoubtedly comprised of thermal material.
He slipped his cowboy hat onto her head, frowning when it listed to one side, loosely. He righted it, and it came to rest low around her ears. Despite the ill fit, the immediate lack of ice cold wind on her wet scalp felt so good that she closed her eyes in relief.
She started to ask him what he'd been doing out here, but the sound came out only as a violent clattering of her teeth. The force actually had her worried about her dental health.
Walt looked concerned, too. "Come on, let's get you back to the cabin before you freeze to death," he said, leading her in the direction of the large, dark brown horse. The mare stamped her foot in the snow, but didn't move away. "What were you doing out here, anyway?" he asked her, suddenly sounding angry.
She wanted to say that she could ask him the same thing, but speaking around the uncontrollable spasms of her jaw muscles seemed too much of an effort. Instead, she remained silent. However, when they neared the mare and Walt made a move to lift her onto the large animal's back, Vic gave him a look that was full of trepidation, and managed an audible, "N-no."
"We don't have time to walk it, Vic. It's too far," he said, shaking his head. "She's safe, I promise," he swore, his eyes conveying his sincerity, their fear-filled depths pleading with her to cooperate.
The wind picked that particular moment to blow harder, and she sucked in a breath, nearly crying out in pain as the cold air knifed across her still-wet body. Nodding her assent, Vic reached up and fisted her trembling hand in the horse's mane as best she could, allowing Walt to mostly-lift her onto the animal's back.
Using the makeshift rope harness for leverage, Walt swung himself up onto the mare's back, scooting forward until his front was pressed tightly against Vic's back.
The moment might have been awkward if she wasn't so grateful for the blessed warmth that his body provided. A particularly violent tremor ran through her in response to the cold wind, which seemed to be blowing even harder at this new elevation. She felt Walt bend forward, curling himself around her body and tucking her against him.
"G'iddup," she heard him call to the mare. She felt his thighs flex as his boots tapped the animal's flanks, gently but firmly, and they were off.
"Walt!" she yelped, as they lurched forward and she struggled to hang on. Her fingers were still painfully knotted by the cold, and her legs hung limply on either side of the mare, providing absolutely no sense of stability or balance.
"You're okay," he said, softly, his voice drifting down from somewhere above her right ear. She could feel the rumble of his deep voice against her back, and she pressed herself into the vibration and the warmth that emanated from him. She felt his right arm wrap around her waist, his large hand coming to rest on her left hip like a human safety restraint. "I've got you."
She closed her eyes and concentrated on absorbing as much of his warmth as she could.
He must have known these woods like the back of his hand because within minutes they were on some sort of rough trail, its presence made obvious by the clear break in the undergrowth. Once the mare was on sure footing Walt urged her into a trot and then a full gallop once they broke free of the lower tree line. Icy wind bit at Vic's skin as they flew across the open field, but she had little energy left to react to the stinging assault. Their ride was mostly silent, interspersed with his occasional entreaty for her to stay awake. She struggled to oblige, but it was more difficult than she would have thought, even for such a short length of time. What had taken her nearly an hour to traverse took the large mare less than ten minutes. Still, by the time they reached the cabin, Vic's head lolled drunkenly against Walt's shoulder and she was having difficulty keeping her eyes open.
When they reached the back of the cabin Walt dismounted before the horse even came to a complete stop. He pulled her down from atop the animal's back, supporting most of her weight as her feet stumbled clumsily and her heavy limbs hung uselessly at her sides. He looped the lead rope around a small, bare tree near the back door and then led her quickly into the cabin.
The interior was disappointingly cool. There was an obvious lack of wind, which made a dramatic difference, but still, she had been hoping for a nice seventy-degree welcome. She remembered, belatedly, that Walt's cabin did not have central heat. She dragged her tired eyes to the fireplace and stifled a groan when she noted the low-burning coals resting in the grate.
Seeming to understand her disappointment, Walt said, "I'll have it going in no time, I promise."
He led her over to the couch and sat her down, tugging the afghan from its place atop the cushions and wrapping it around her shoulders. Turning, he made quick work of adding two large logs to the fire along with a handful of old newspaper as tinder. He stoked the embers until the paper caught and the fire roared back to life. When he stepped aside she could feel the heat on her face, even from several feet away. "I'll be right back," he said, moving toward his bedroom.
Moments later he returned with an armful of linen. He tossed it beside her on the couch and then reached forward, removing his hat from her head. There was slight resistance as it pulled away and she realized, distractedly, that her wet hair had begun to freeze where it had been exposed to the wind. She shivered, involuntarily, and closed her eyes as he slipped a soft towel over her head. His fingers worked gently, massaging her scalp, coaxing the moisture from the lengths of her hair. She hummed her pleasure, but the sound was drowned out by the noisy chattering of her teeth.
Seeming satisfied that her hair was acceptably dry, he motioned toward the stack of dry clothes he'd set beside her. "Here are some dry things. You'll warm up faster once you're out of those wet clothes."
She reached out numbly for the soft-looking thermal, but her fingers wouldn't cooperate enough to grasp the material. She tried twice and on the second try the shirt slipped from her fingers and onto the floor between them. She blew out a frustrated breath and bent forward to retrieve it, but Walt's hand on her shoulder stilled her movements. Wordlessly, he picked up the shirt from the floor, placed it on the couch, and knelt down in front of her. Reaching out, slowly, he peeled the afghan from her shoulders, allowing it to fall around her waist. He paused then, his fingers brushing just below her chin as they prepared to remove the large winter coat he'd wrapped her in. He watched her eyes, waiting for permission. Once granted, he made quick work of the shiny, silver buttons. His eyes remained respectfully on his hands, as much as possible. When he finished unbuttoning, he moved to sit beside her on the couch, pressing his palm against her back until she shifted, turning away from him.
Her back to him, Vic bit her lip in response to his attempt to respect her privacy.
Quickly, but gently, he peeled the heavy winter coat away from her body, slipping it down her arms, and allowing it to fall into a heap on the floor. She felt a slight tug as he curled his fingers into the hem of her damp tank top. There was a momentary pause then, until a loud pop from the fire seemed to jar him from whatever hesitation he'd been experiencing. The backs of his fingers skimmed along her sides as he pulled the shirt up and over her head.
Her arms felt abnormally heavy as she lifted them, but she managed to help at least that much. Her heart stuttered just a tiny bit in her chest as she felt the gentle pop of her bra slackening. She held her breath as his fingers slipped the straps forward over her bare shoulders. The scrap of lace and cotton landed in her lap, and she stared down at it, silently, wondering how today had managed to stray so profoundly off course.
She felt extremely exposed, despite the fact that her back was to him. Within moments though, Walt had reached around her, tugged her arms free of her bra, and placed them inside the sleeves of the white thermal top. It was obviously one of his; it was quite large and the material was soft due to multiple washings. He helped her raise her arms, and then tugged the collar over her head, smoothing the hem down until her bare skin was swallowed up in warm, dry cotton. He moved then, kneeling once again at her feet. Lifting one foot, he tugged firmly at her boot. It made a sucking sound as he pulled her foot from inside it. He repeated the process with the other boot and then peeled her soaking wet socks from her feet one at a time. Reaching forward, he grabbed the afghan from its resting place and draped it loosely around her hips.
He cleared his throat as he tugged the blanket down over her lap and reached beneath the folds in order to grasp the button on her jeans. "I'm just gonna," he nodded in the direction of her saturated blue jeans.
Unable to do much more to assist him than lean back, she nodded her assent and shifted her weight back onto her elbows.
As quickly and efficiently as possible he popped the button, loosened the zipper, and curled his fingers into the waistband of her jeans. A handful of wet denim and cotton at each hip, he tugged firmly until the cold, heavy material slipped over thighs, down her calves, and finally over her bare feet.
The sight of her panties clinging tenaciously to the inside of her discarded jeans had heat creeping into her cheeks, which, she supposed, given the circumstance, was a good thing. She wasn't sure if he'd intended to remove them along with her jeans or not, but if he noticed at all, he gave no outward indication. It was as if he'd slipped into some sort of clinical mode that allowed him to divorce himself from the situation, completely.
She followed his example and pretended to be at the gynecologist's. She stared silently up at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact as he slipped her legs into a pair of soft thermal underwear and slid them up over her hips.
Clinical detachment. Apparently, that was the key.
She could be detached.
When his warm palms began to massage her cold feet, however, she felt a sudden and surprising surge of emotion well up inside her. As he carefully tugged a pair of large, droopy tube socks onto her feet, she had to blink her eyes against the stinging prick of unwanted tears.
It was a completely irrational response.
She blamed the adrenaline.
Seeming satisfied with his handiwork, and completely oblivious to her newly emotional state, he tugged the afghan away from her body and spread it out on the wood floor, near the fire. Reaching back, he pulled two more blankets from the pile on the couch and spread those out as well. Then, tucking his hands under her arms, he half-lifted her from the couch and supported her weight as he urged her onto the blankets. Once she was seated, he grabbed the last few blankets from the couch and draped them in layers over her shoulders.
For the first time since he'd dragged her from the icy lake, he stilled his movements.
If he noticed a change in her he did not address it. Staring hard at her for several long seconds, he seemed to weigh his options, before finally speaking.
"I need to go put the horse back in the barn," he said. "Will you be okay? I'll be right back," he promised, earnestly.
Despite her emotions, the heat from the fire was already working its magic, and though she continued to tremble and her teeth continued their seemingly endless chatter, she could feel her adrenaline waning. She nodded at him with jerky imprecision, and said, "C-call C-cady, W-walt."
He hesitated, but she nodded toward the phone. "D-do it. She's w-worried," she insisted, gaining slightly better control over her words this time.
"When I get back," he agreed, reaching for his discarded hat and stuffing it hastily onto his thick, wind-blown hair. In three long strides, he was out the door.
Once he'd left the cabin, Vic took a deep, trembling breath and scooted herself even closer to the fire. Much closer and she wouldn't be safe from singed hair, but she was cold in such a bone-deep way that a few singed hairs seemed like a miniscule price to pay for some warmth. Rolling awkwardly onto her side, she lay facing the fire. She drew her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them, tucking her hands beneath her chin, determined to conserve every bit of body heat that she could.
Within minutes Walt was back, removing his hat and toeing off his boots by the back door.
"Hey, Punk," she heard his deep voice rumble, and she knew he must've stopped by the phone to call Cady, though her heavy eyelids had slipped closed again, so it was entirely possible that she was asleep and was merely dreaming that he'd returned.
"I'm sorry," she heard him murmur. "Lady wandered out of the corral and I had to go round her up before the weather got too bad. Took awhile to convince her to come back with me." She kept her eyes closed, listening as his deep voice drew closer. She heard a rustling of fabric and then, "Yeah, Vic is here. We're okay, but she's gonna stay the night." He paused, and then, "There was a mishap up at the lake, but we're both okay. Listen, Punk, I gotta go, okay? Me too. Okay. Bye."
The floorboards creaked directly behind her, and before she could turn to see what he was doing, Walt had untucked the blankets from around her back and slipped beneath them, pressing himself tightly against her. He pulled her to him, his strong arms tugging her back until the entirety of her body fit perfectly within the curve of his. His chin rested on the crown of her head, and her legs relaxed slightly, allowing his knees to tuck firmly into the space behind hers. Due to his proximity, she could tell he'd shed most of his layers as well. He now had on what felt like thermal underwear like the ones he'd dressed her in. The thin, cotton material allowed his body heat to flow nearly directly into her skin, and an appreciative noise rose unbidden from the back of her throat. He rocked her slightly in response, the movement soothing, and presumably meant to create friction and warmth, which it did; however, it also induced a profound sense of well-being. He slipped his arm beneath her so that her head was cradled against the solid warmth of his bicep, and he rested his own head on a cushion he'd pulled down from the couch. His other hand busied itself rubbing firmly up and down the length of her hip and thigh.
She wondered about the fact that this all seemed okay somehow. She chalked it up to circumstance.
His touch was a relief.
It wasn't sexual. It was necessary. It was a gesture meant to comfort, and it did.
Sighing, she relaxed into his touch, allowing his much larger body to coax hers back into a state of thermoneutrality. As she let his heat curl its way into her muscles and begin to thaw the ice in her bones, she allowed her mind to wander.
So, he'd been chasing Lady up the mountain, huh? The horse's name was Lady. Figures.
She chuckled silently to herself.
He must have interpreted the movement as a tremor because he held her tighter and rubbed his hand a bit more firmly against her thigh.
She worried her upper lip with her teeth.
"Y-you were chasing Lady," she tried to explain, though in light of her trembling jaw it came out sounding more like ladies, which made her want to both laugh and cry.
After a moment he replied, "She took off just as it started to snow." His hand stilled, coming to rest on her hip, and his next words came out slow, weighted. "I know she was wild once, that she can take care of herself…" His fingers flexed around the sharpness of her hipbone. "But I just couldn't stand the thought of her being out there on her own."
She pondered his words. Her mind was a little fuzzy, but she was pretty sure they were talking about more than just the rescued mare.
The ache in her chest flared back to life.
She thought of how she'd trusted him implicitly when he'd pulled her from the lake earlier, despite everything that had happened between them these past few months.
She remembered how she'd felt two years ago, driving back to Chance Gilbert's place alone, not knowing what she'd find when she got there.
And she remembered what it felt like to fall apart in his arms the next morning.
"She wouldn't have stayed gone forever, Walt," she whispered. "She would've come back."
There was no hesitation when he reached for her. There was just the feel of his fingers threading between her own.
He'd reached for her hand once before. They'd been sitting on the bench outside his office, and he'd just reached for it, easy as you please, like he had every right to do so. He'd cradled it, examined it, and then he'd let her take it back.
And the day he'd been shot. That day he'd reached for her, too. He'd taken her hand and drawn her whole body into his arms. He'd held her and comforted her, and he'd drawn comfort from her. He hadn't hesitated that day either.
Just like he hadn't hesitated today.
The only times they seemed to move forward were in those rare moments of bravery.
"What were you doing out there today?" he asked, his soft words falling directly into her ear.
She sighed, but she did not hesitate.
"I was chasing you."