Towering - By Alex Flinn Page 0,42

like something from a book, but this time, I was the heroine! Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I found another foothold, then another, going much faster than before.

Ouch! A rough piece of wood jabbed my arm. I cried out, but my cry disappeared into the woods.

“Almost there!” he said. “Come to me!”

I had to go on. Ignoring the pain in my arm, I took two more steps, pulling myself up. I felt his hand, reaching out for me, but I was afraid to take it. I wanted to climb inside by myself.

I reached for the windowsill, and found one last good foothold, a tiny outcropping. I pulled myself up. I lifted myself inside. My heart felt as if it might burst, but good.

“I made it!”

“You did. You’re okay!”

I saw, now, that we were tied together. If I had fallen, would he have tumbled out the window as well?

I was breathing hard, my heart pounding. I threw my arms around Wyatt and felt his heart throbbing beside my own. “You saved my life,” I said.

“Did I?” His voice was in my ear. “That’s perfect. You saved mine, so I owe you.”

We stood there a moment, both panting, both shivering. I knew he was the man I had dreamed about. How could he not be, for he was the only one who had come? But did he know?

Finally, we broke apart. I said, “Perhaps you should warm yourself by the fire. I’ll get a blanket. Then, you can tell me what you are doing here.”

He walked to the fireplace and sat beside it, then took the poker and used it to rearrange the logs. His shirt was wet and clung to him. I thought, perhaps, I should suggest that he remove it, to hang it by the fire. But would that be too presumptuous? Yes. I noticed him touching it, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Yet, there was nothing I could do, nothing but gaze at him with the fire’s light caressing his face, unable to believe he was actually there.

“Will you tell me what you are doing here as well?”

I came out of my trance. “What? Oh, the blanket. I forgot.” I rushed to the closet and took down the bright green blanket. I returned and draped it over his shoulders.

“Thank you.”

“Perhaps . . .” I stopped.

“What?”

I looked away. “Perhaps now that you have the blanket to cover you, you should . . .” I felt my cheeks grow warm. I spit it out. “Your shirt would dry more quickly if you draped it by the fire.”

He didn’t respond for a moment. Then, he said, “Oh. Oh, I suppose it would.”

“I will not look,” I whispered. I crossed the room, back to the window. Outside, the air was cold, so I closed it up, to keep the heat in. Then, I gazed out. The hole in the ice had filled with snow, so it was barely visible.

“Rachel?”

The sound of my name startled me. Yet, I loved it. “Yes?”

“Since you saved my life, and I saved yours, I feel really, like I’ve known you. Like we’re sort of closer than other people who’ve known each other an hour. Will you tell me how you got here? I’ve been hearing you, or something. A voice from the woods. I’ve been hearing it for days. But I don’t think anyone else can hear it. I didn’t know if you were real.”

I turned to face him. He was wrapped in the blanket, his shirt draped on the mantel, warming. He had removed his shoes, but he still had on his pants. The green in the blanket brought out the green in his eyes. I walked closer.

“I think I am real,” I said, though I wondered. Could you be real if no one saw you, if no one knew you were there?

He reached out his hand to me. “I think you are too.”

And the next thing I knew, I was sitting beside him, and his lips were on mine. Mine were on his, and all the loneliness of my life was over, evaporated, as if it had never been there at all. He tasted like the breeze, the snow, the pine trees, and I worried that I would wake to find that it was all a dream, all a lovely dream. But his hands on my hair, his lips on mine let me know he was real. He was real.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to. It’s