see the cabin. There was only one way he was going to make it.
Rocking up into a sitting position, his frozen hands no better than crude clubs, he hammered away at the bindings of his makeshift snowshoes. He kept it up until the first came loose, and then the second.
Kicking them off, he rejected a lotus-laced voice enjoining him to close his eyes, just for a moment—just long enough to regain his strength. Rather than succumb, he forced himself to stand.
Though he had no strength left whatsoever, he still managed to stumble forward. The snow was deep, but free of the snowshoes, his steps felt wonderful. It was a minuscule relief, but reward enough to keep him going. At this point, anything that got him to the cabin was welcome.
Based on the feeling in his extremities, coupled with his collapsing vision, he knew hypothermia was setting in. Part of him was beginning to doubt that he could make it to the cabin at all, but he shut that part right down and banished it from his consciousness.
He told himself that his mission was to make it to that cabin. His life depended on it. He had come too far to fail. He would not fail. He would make it. Success was the only option.
Gritting his chattering teeth and wrapping his arms around his shuddering body, he picked up his pace.
As the cabin got closer and closer, he spun wild fantasies of what was waiting for him inside. The first thing he imagined was a roaring fire. Next was a warm bed. After that, he saw a long wooden table set with all kinds of food. At its head, he saw Lara—sweet, beautiful Lara, wearing a sundress, with a glass of white wine in her hand, just like his favorite picture of her, taken on his dock and kept in a silver frame in his bedroom back in Virginia.
He was well aware that he was losing his mind. But the image of her kept him going, so he allowed it to continue.
Nearing the cabin, he saw Lara standing at the front door, smiling. Her hair was tied back, showing her long neck. He wanted so much for this vision to be real.
He felt the ground rising beneath his boots. The cabin was uphill from the riverbank. It made the trek even more difficult. He struggled to stay upright, not to lean too far in any direction and topple over into the snow. He knew that if he did, he no longer had the energy to get back up.
Keeping his eyes on Lara, he battled forward. She looked so gorgeous. And just beyond her, through the open door, he could see that she had a big, beautiful fire going. She had been cooking as well. He could smell it. It smelled like roast beef.
There was also music. She was an opera fan. It sounded like “Nessun Dorma” from Turandot, which she played over and over at home.
As he arrived at the entrance, Lara stood back and beckoned him in. The table was fully set. A bottle of wine had been opened. She loved fresh flowers, and in the center was a pitcher filled with irises. He assumed she had picked them herself from someplace nearby.
Stepping up to the threshold, he paused for a moment to lean against the door frame and catch his breath. She stood patiently and waited for him. He had made it.
She smiled in that way that drove him crazy. She could have been a model—tall, with a beautiful body and the most captivating eyes he had ever seen.
She beckoned him to join her and get out of the cold. Placing his hand upon the door handle, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
The wind rushed in behind him, chasing away the scent of cooking and extinguishing the fire. It blew away the flowers, the table settings, and the wine.
All that remained was Lara, sitting by the hearth, wrapped in furs. He closed the door behind him to seal out the cold and went to her.
“The fire has gone out,” she said from her chair. “You need to relight it.”
He watched as she pointed to an old metal box. Inside were matches. From the stacks next to the fireplace, he gathered up tinder and kindling. When he had them going, he added several logs to the fire.
“Take off your clothes,” she commanded, in that voice that drove him wilder than her smile.
He didn’t want the dream to end, so