Chapter 7
When she finished, she sat back against the wall.
The ledge suddenly seemed very small.
They had freed his foot, but the ranch was still four miles away through a blizzard.
Henrietta looked up the rope.
“We climb.”
Calvin gave a short laugh that held no humor. “You climb.”
“We.”
“You can barely stand here.”
“And you cannot stand anywhere.”
“That settles the question.”
“Yes. You go first.”
His eyebrows rose.
She unwrapped the rope from around his chest, fed the slack through a new loop, and made a crude harness around him. “I’ll push from below while you pull.”
“With what leg?”
“The one that is not broken.”
“You’re serious.”
“I rode four miles into a blizzard after a man who told me not to expect him to treat me as a wife. Does any portion of that suggest I have developed a sudden affection for sensible decisions?”
His expression went still.
Henrietta regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.
Not because they were untrue.
Because they were too true.
Calvin looked away toward the wall. “No.”
The single word sounded unlike him.
Henrietta tightened the rope. “Put your hands here.”
He obeyed.
They began.
The first six feet took an eternity.
Calvin could not use the injured leg at all. He hauled himself upward with his arms while Henrietta pushed beneath his hips and good boot, taking care not to jar the splinted limb. Twice his strength failed and the rope caught him.
Each time the pine root above groaned.
Each time Henrietta’s heart stopped.
“Again,” she said.
Calvin panted. “Give me a moment.”
“The cold is not giving us one.”
“My arms are done.”
“Then inform them they are mistaken.”
“You sound like a schoolmistress.”
“I had three.”
“Were they all cruel?”
“They were all thin. I distrusted them immediately.”
A breath escaped him that might have been laughter.
They climbed another foot.
Henrietta’s knee buckled.
She slammed against the wall.
Pain burst through her so brightly the ravine disappeared.
Calvin twisted around. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
“My knee.”
“What about it?”
“It remains attached.”
“Henrietta.”
She hated the concern in his voice because she wanted it too much.
“It has troubled me for years,” she said. “Cold makes it worse.”
His eyes dropped toward her legs.
Not toward her body in the old way. Not with that flicker of embarrassment or disappointment she had learned to notice even when he thought himself discreet.