and scoff down two pounds of food, sleep for five days, and be chasing girls again next week.”
But then she sat back on her heels, her expression suddenly guarded. “What were you implying when you said Tux mysteriously vanished after I worked on him? Do you think he spends most of his time at your cabin because . . . I scare him?”
“Nah,” Gunnar drawled. “He just likes that I dig out beer and popcorn when he comes over. So, am I going to live?” he asked, gesturing at his leg.
She studied him for several heartbeats, clearly trying to decide if she believed him or not, then turned her attention back to his knee without answering. Finally getting it trussed up to her satisfaction, she just as silently grabbed his multi-tool and got up and walked a couple of yards down the trail.
Gunnar decided not to broach the subject of Tux’s miraculous recovery again—at least not in the foreseeable future.
Ten short minutes later, and with all three of them heavily armed with pointy sticks, the ill-fated riding expedition turned hiking adventure was headed down the trail—which was uphill at the moment. Shiloh had insisted Katy also needed a sharpened stick, rushing to assure her it was only for backup in case one of theirs broke, because he and Mr. Wolfe would protect her if any more bears crossed their path. Or moose or bobcats or coyotes or raccoons—the latter being quite vicious, he’d explained to Gunnar, if they happened to be rabid.
Figuring a pointy stick could be just as lethal as a garden rake in Katy’s hands, Gunnar didn’t have the heart to tell Shiloh that if that bear showed its ugly face again, they would be hiding behind the nearest tree while Miss MacBain kicked its sorry ass.
But the kid’s bravado had thankfully gotten Katy smiling again, as well as her shoulders shaking in silent laughter when Shiloh told her not to be afraid, that he’d be right behind her. She would be in the middle, he’d proclaimed, and Mr. Wolfe would be in front. Because, he’d informed Gunnar, in wolf packs the weakest wolves always took the lead and set the pace, so they wouldn’t fall behind without the others noticing—only to point out to Katy that he’d just made a joke because Mr. Wolfe was injured.
But the pace Gunnar set was apparently too slow, as Katy called a halt to the forced march less than an hour later. He immediately stopped, not about to argue when he saw the trail rose steeply up ahead.
“Okay, this isn’t working,” Katy said as she guided him over to the edge of the trail. “Sit,” she ordered, all but shoving him onto a low boulder. She dropped to her knees in front of his legs, the left one fully exposed since he’d cut off the flapping material from where she’d thankfully stopped slicing halfway up his thigh. “Your limp has been getting progressively worse,” she continued, partially unwrapping the bandage and pressing her finger to the engorged flesh above his kneecap, then watching its reaction. “You’re blowing up like a balloon.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, glancing back then leaning against the tree behind the boulder. “Wrenched knees have a tendency to do that when you ignore their screams.”
She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes distressed. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts. But I don’t know what else to do.” A hint of a smile suddenly lifted one side of her lovely mouth. “If you were ten pounds lighter, I could probably piggyback you out.”
He reached up and slowly unsnapped his fleece while holding eye contact, glad to have her smiling at him again. “I’m pretty sure I could shed ten pounds if I stripped off.”
She slapped a hand over his with a laugh. “But you’ll gain twenty pounds of blackflies piggybacking on you the minute they see your big, broad, naked—”
“I sure am thirsty,” Shiloh said, hopping up on the boulder beside Gunnar.
Katy pulled her hand away, plopped down on the ground with her back to them, and stretched her legs out in front of her, then slowly rolled her feet with a groan. “Riding boots are not designed for walking.” She glanced over her shoulder at Shiloh. “We could all use a drink. I’ll go see if I can find a nearby source of water in a minute.”
Gunnar would rather she found a nearby source of beer.
“We can’t drink out of a stream,” Shiloh said. “It could have bacteria in it