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She huffed. “Life isn’t.”
“But what you’re experiencing isn’t just life, it’s criminals taking advantage. I’m not going to stand by idly when I can help. It wouldn’t matter if it was you, or Sam, or Wiz, or Erin.”
Deb’s mouth quirked. “But the guys can help themselves?”
He smirked. “Or Ryan or Tom or whoever. I’m more than happy to help the good guys.” He stood, knowing anything else he said was likely to get him in more trouble. “Come on. We’ve got more work to do before we earn those showers.”
Michael opened the front door and peered out. Nothing moved. “We’re going to explore, and find some alternative routes away from here. Some will go back to the truck, but others we’ll just have to slog on foot. We’ll create some traps behind us, too, so if someone’s following, they won’t for long. Let’s go.” He left the porch and walked back down the long, rough road, looking for game and hiking trails. He’d do everything he possibly could to make sure Deb survived the wilderness so she could win the coming legal battles. Anything less than complete victory was unacceptable.
Chapter 10
Late that afternoon, Deb panted, trying to keep up with Michael as he sauntered across the steep, rocky hillside on the non-existent trail. She wasn’t built for adventure or stealth, especially outdoors. She was made to bake, to sleep in a comfy bed, and bake some more, while tasting her product. All this clambering, skulking, and marking trails in code was hard on her feet, legs, and brain. Even if she had time to look for Michael’s codes made of broken branches or groups of stacked rocks, she’d never remember what each variation meant.
He turned back to her, a neutral expression on his face while he waited for her to catch up. It wasn’t fair; he wasn’t even breathing hard, and there was no sign he was in pain. But his work was more physical than hers. Still, she was concerned. If he was hiding his limitations, his body might give out when he needed it most, and she had no way to help him.
“Do you think you can find the way here in the dark?” Michael pointed at the ground below his sturdy boots.
Deb shrugged, wishing she had boots rather than cushioned, smooth-soled tennis shoes. “I doubt it. I’ve lost track of how many paths we’ve gone down or how we got to each one.”
Michael shook his head. “So far, this is the only time we’ve gone away from the truck rather than towards it.”
She grimaced. “I know that much, but if I have to run back here in the dark, I’m toast.” Turning, she looked at the path to the cabin. Slippery snow, crumbling dirt, and lots of rock; it was a recipe for a twisted ankle and frozen feet. Something dark flashed at her right, and she spun to look up the hill. “There’s something up there. Is it a bear?” Dealing with wild animals was way outside her capabilities. She may as well surrender.
Michael shaded his eyes with his hand. “I don’t think so. I keep catching glimpses of a person above us. Woodland camo clothing, long beard and hair, moves fast, like he knows the area better than the deer do. I’d bet he’s a mountain man, someone who just wants to be left alone. I noticed an old mountain bike hidden off of the lowest trail I showed you. The trail that was a real trail, not just a game trail?”
The paths blended together in her head. “Maybe?”
“It had footprints, and rocks stacked for steps in places.” His brows rose as he looked into her eyes. “If you’re on that trail, can’t get to the truck, and I’m not there, the bike was hidden about fifty feet up the hill behind some boulders and bushes. Take it and ride. You can bring the bike back when it’s all over.”
“Right.” Deb couldn’t see how it could ever be all over. Those evil people weren’t going to give up.
“Come on.” Michael turned around, walking away. “There’s a bit of a trail here, too. I’m pretty sure it leads back to the road eventually, just down a switchback or two.”
At least there wasn’t any snow below them on the south-facing slope. Deb followed, stepping carefully, and after a hundred yards, the path joined a more defined trail.
Michael stopped, scanning the hillside above. The trees were large, but sparse, then thickened into a grove high above. Below, the trail was fairly defined, crisscrossing the rocky slope below, until it disappeared into thick brush, the sound of water rushing implying a stream hid below. He walked up the trail.
Deb sighed and followed. If he’d gone down, they’d need to come back up at some point. But her feet and legs ached. She trudged up the trail, almost running into his back, because she’d been looking at her feet and panting rather than watching him.
Michael crouched, looking at a log with rocks piled behind it, then twisted to look up at her. “Well, isn’t this interesting.” He turned back to the log. “I was going to set a trap here, but it’s been done already.” He pointed at a thin twig below the log, and followed a shiny wire up the slope. “A deadfall trap. You pull the wire, and the stick breaks or yanks away, then the log and rocks roll down the hill on the people below.” He moved his finger to point at the switchback below them. “That’s where the trail from the cabin joined this main trail.” He stood, dusting off his hands. “I’m not messing with someone else’s trap, nor do I want to go farther, invading someone’s territory. Let’s go back down, and hope that person doesn’t use it on us.”
Deb followed Michael down the hill, then back to the cabin and inside. He strode straight to the bathroom, while Deb stopped in the kitchen, inventorying their canned goods. The cabin cooled as the sun set, so it seemed like a good night for chili. She’d bought cornmeal, so she could make corncakes to go with it.
As she pulled the cans out of the plastic bin, Michael joined her. “Batteries are charged, and the water heater lights, so if you’d like a shower tonight, you can have one.”
Deb smiled. “Thank you, I’d love that.” She was sweaty and smelly; a warm shower sounded like heaven.
He took the can opener from her and attached it to a can. “The pressure tank is pretty small, and the pump very slow, so you’ll need to do a Navy-style shower. Wet down, turn the water off, soap up, rinse off.”
“Better than being stinky.” She was grateful for warm water even if she couldn’t stand under a deluge to relax.
Michael chuckled. “You don’t stink. But I agree that being clean feels better.” He dumped chili in their pot and put it on a burner.
Deb mixed cornmeal, baking powder, salt, a little sugar, oil and water together, then heated the frying pan with some butter. She dropped spoonfuls on the sizzling surface, frying the cakes quickly. Too bad she didn’t have her phone; she could make a video about “baking” on a hot plate. She snickered. Neither the recipe or the surroundings would fit into her bright, cheerful “make your day better by overloading on sugar and fat” branding.
They ate in silence at the table, the bland corncakes complimenting the zingy chili. When they finished, she cleared the table, and Michael lit a fire in the wood stove. The crackle and pop of burning wood was warm and comforting. He took the pans from her, putting them in the tiny bar-style sink. Water whooshed and metal clinked. “I’ll wash these. Go shower.”
Deb searched through the few clothes she had, and found sweatpants and a t-shirt to sleep in. She could wash her undies while she was in the shower. In the tiny bathroom, she found a wash cloth, towel, and some soap. While the initial blast of water was breathtakingly cold, it heated in seconds. She let it pour across her head, and down her body for a few moments, then reluctantly turned it off, soaping up quickly. She washed her undies, then stood under the cascade of hot water, rinsing, and turned it off long before she wanted to. The towel was rough, but dried her effectively. She pulled on clothes, wishing she’d had time to pack her usual facial routine and conditioners. Or anything from her normal life.
