“Of course I did.”
“But you might consider that God uses our wounds to heal us. Make us stronger. And give us compassion for those who are also wounded.”
“I’m not wounded anymore. I’m fine.”
Ham raised an eyebrow.
“See. This is why I can’t work for you. You’ll have me on my knees and praying before every mission.”
“And during, and after, I hope.” Ham picked up the pot and poured the hot water into another thermos.
“I’m not wounded.” But he was angry. Except, maybe not so much right now. In fact, talking with Jenny had felt oddly freeing.
Although a little breezy. As if he’d opened his chest, his emotions hanging out there in the wind. “Sometimes I think I’ve never left the mountain.”
Oh for Pete’s—
“Which means you’re here when someone needs you.”
Okay, maybe. Like yesterday, when he’d crouched over her body, when he’d added his strength to hers. He could nearly taste the old adrenaline. Fast roping down into a war zone, or pulling someone out of a freezing ocean.
So that others might live.
Ham was grinning at him. “I’m really going to like having you on my team.”
“Don’t start embroidering shirts yet.” Orion fished out the tea bag and dropped it into the carry-out bag. He tested the tea, then added snow to cool it. Capped the thermos. “Another couple hours and then we’ll move out.”
He was turning away when the screaming erupted from inside his tent.
“What the—” Ham said, but Orion was already to the door, on his knees, fearing the worst.
Fearing Sasha in the throes of delirium, her high-altitude cerebral edema already taking hold. Already pressing so hard against her brain, it had turned her mad.
But it wasn’t Sasha. Jenny thrashed in her sleeping bag. He couldn’t make out her words, jumbled together, but something had ahold of her.
It happened often that the lack of oxygen produced such vivid dreams, they felt real.
And terrifying.
He scrambled inside, dropped the thermos, and climbed over her, his knees straddling her, his hands on her shoulders. “Jenny! Jenny, wake up!”
Her head thrashed, and she struggled against him.
“Jenny, it’s Orion. Wake. Up. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe!”
Her eyes opened, but they stared at him, unseeing. Widening.
“Shh.” He didn’t know what else to do so he leaned over and pressed his forehead against hers, hoping some human contact might—
Her arms snaked up around his neck and suddenly she was pulling herself against him, into his arms.
Sobbing.
What—?
But he closed his arms around her, pulling her up, holding her. “Shh. It’s okay, it’s just a dream.” He smoothed her hair, her cap having fallen off her head.
He was right—it was silky and smooth even days without a shower and shoot, he shouldn’t be thinking about her hair right now, but it was either that or the feel of her body against his, shaking, holding so tight to him he really hoped she was awake and not dreaming.
“Jenny, wake up, please.”
“I’m awake.” She loosened her hold, just slightly, and nestled her head against his shoulder. “Sorry.”
He didn’t let her go. “It’s all right.”
She reached up and wiped her face with her hand. Leaned back.
Tears still glistened on her other cheek and he used his thumb to wipe them away. Offered a tentative smile. “That was a doozy of an altitude dream.”
She nodded. “I was . . . I was in Afghanistan.”
Oh. And he didn’t want to ask, but maybe . . . well, maybe he’d find out what had happened that had made her—
“And I was watching you fly away. You were sitting on the deck, your weapon across your knees . . .” Her breath hiccupped. “And then suddenly you fell out, and you were just falling, and falling . . .” She shook her head. “It was just a dream.”
But, about him. He stared at her. “You dreamed I fell?”
She nodded. “You don’t think, I mean, it’s not . . .”
“A sign? That I’m going to fall? No, it was probably just seeing me, the shock of it, and then the altitude, you know?”
She looked back at him, caught his gaze a long, long time. Then, finally, she nodded. “Probably.”
“Probably.”
He knew it was wrong—an emotion wrought from the stress of the past few days, the coziness of their tent, and the very warm proximity of her body, but his gaze roamed her face, down to her mouth. Back to her eyes.
Which had widened.
She swallowed.
His hand touched her cheek. “Jenny?”
She caught her lower lip in her teeth. Drew in her breath.
Next to them, Sasha moaned.
Jenny looked over at her. Back at Orion. “I was screaming pretty loudly, wasn’t I?”
Huh? “Um, yeah.”
“And she didn’t even wake up.”
Oh. He looked at Sasha. No. “We need to wake her up. Get some fluids in her.”
Jenny pushed herself away. “Or she could go into a coma.”
He helped Jenny prop up Sasha, uncapped the thermos, and brought it to Sasha’s mouth. “C’mon, Sasha, work with me.”
And for the first time in years he wanted to pray.
God, we take our troubles to you . . .
Aria had lied to Jake on so many levels. And not just about her pain.
She’d wanted to scream when he took her ankle and probed it, his hands gentle, but heat spiking up her leg until she knew, if he moved it, she would cry out.
He’d figure out that maybe it wasn’t just a sprain.
It was possible that sheer will had gotten her down the mountain yesterday, because every movement of her ankle sent fire up her leg.
Then there was her body—she might not be bleeding internally, but everything ached from the violence of her falls.
She just wanted to curl into the fetal position and stay in her warm down bag. She’d only been slightly kidding when she told Jake that she needed a strong man to carry her pack.
She’d let Aria speak the truth when she told him that she wasn’t brave. Was scared to death as she hung over that crevasse.
For a moment, when he’d taken her hand, when he told her she was okay, that he was going to get her off the mountain, something pulsed between them. Something honest and raw and . . .
It scared her nearly as much as hanging over a cliff. Because Aria could see herself falling for Jake Silver, cowboy dancer and all-around hero, with his sweet I will rescue you demeanor, the concern in his pale blue eyes.
Hello, trouble.
Her inner Kia came to the rescue. Fast-talking, witty, flirty—her sister had emerged again and saved her from turning into a blubbering mess. Because who was she kidding—he knew how to talk to women. Knew how to make them feel strong and beautiful. Knew how to flirt. “Five beautiful, smart, independent, nosy sisters who would think you are pretty brave.” He was probably just giving her a pep talk, something to keep her from quitting.
Please, let her quit.
She lay on her side, watching Jake sleep, trying to tell herself that she wasn’t being creepy, but he had a delicious softness in sleep, long dark lashes, the laugh lines around his mouth eased, his dark blond hair tousled. He lay with one muscled arm up, under his head, and his words landed, found room in her heart. “I was a Navy SEAL.”