Sixteen-year-old Tash: (rolling eyes hard and huffing)
Alan: There was a But, right?
Sixteen-year-old Tash: Ugh. There’s always a But.
Alan: Let me guess. “But... you’re going to have to wait until you’re older for a weekend trip to Palm Springs with your friends. Why don’t you see what’s happening a little closer to home, and the girls and I will go with you. Just to drive you, you don’t have to hang out with us.” How’d I do? Did I get it right?
Sixteen-year-old Tash: Mia never lets me do anything fun. She’s such a—
Alan: (military-officer voice) Stop and think before you say another word. Mia is the best thing that ever happened to both of us, and you damn well know it.
Yeah, the voice was very effective. There was little to say in response besides, “Sir, yes, sir.”
Of course, like Alan, Tash was no idiot herself, and she’d learned how to use it, too.
It was soft in volume, but with an energy—an attitude—of absoluteness.
Tasha used that voice right back to Thomas. “If you get tired, don’t forget that I’m here. I can help you stay awake.”
She cringed as she realized the potentially sexually tinged subtext of her words, but Thomas was Thomas, and he clearly chose by talking as the unspoken end of her sentence, rather than the classic fortune cookie add-on, in bed.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be okay.”
“I’m still worried about your head,” she pointed out.
“I’m fine.”
“You didn’t see them hit you.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. “I didn’t. But I’m in my body right now, Tash, and I’m pretty good at assessing my own medical needs. You’re going to have to trust me—that I’d tell you if something was wrong.”
“I do trust you,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said. “Try to close your eyes. I’ll wake you if I need you.”
Tasha nodded, but of course he couldn’t see her, so she murmured, “Okay.” And as she closed her eyes and curled up around the fading warmth of her firepit rocks—she was pretty sure he’d given them all to her—she knew he wouldn’t wake her.
Chapter Nine
Monday
The silence was ominous.
In the night, despite the temperature hovering in the hospitable mid-forties, Tasha had started shivering. Her winter jacket was “city” warm—the appropriate amount of quilting and fill to hurry from one indie bookstore to the next. But here in the Wilderness™, it wasn’t even close to good enough.
Keeping her warm took priority over his own discomfort, so Thomas had wrapped himself around her and covered them both with layers of brush. Some hours ago, after muttering more about spiders and ticks and worms, she’d finally fallen asleep in his arms.
The morning twilight had been slow to brighten the still overcast sky, and he had known even from beneath all those branches that the cloud coverage would hinder the helos sent to extract them from the mountainside. So he’d waited and listened.
The world around them was silent.
Still, when the dawn finally took hold and it was undeniably a new day and there was still no sound of approaching gunships, Thomas had to seriously consider his Plan B.
Plan A was clear-cut and simple. Survive the night, and when the military helos arrived at dawn, use Ted’s lighter to ignite some of this brush, then wait for the sharp-eyed pilots to spot the smoke and drop the necessary ropes and basket to haul them safely aboard. Have a breakfast of MREs and bottled water on the flight back to the nearest military base. Then, a hot shower was at the top of his to-do list, after putting Tasha’s well-being securely back into her uncle’s capable hands.
Thomas had even worked out what he’d say to her. “While I’m not even remotely glad that happened, it was good to get this chance to meet you again—to get to know you as an adult. You’ve grown into an exceptional young woman, Tasha. I’m proud of you, and I’m grateful that you’ve found someone who loves you, because you deserve to be happy.” And then he’d hug her and walk briskly away toward the blessedly less-colorful and far more emotionally stable rest of his already too-complicated life.
Plan B was far more problematic and complex.
Because he was a SEAL, he’d spent the night anticipating disaster and figuring out what he’d do if the helos didn’t show or the pilots couldn’t spot them. He’d gone over Plan B—and C and even D—again and again. Not because it kept him from thinking about the literally in-his-face sweet smell of Tasha’s hair, or the way that