Quick as a flash, she stood and raced back to where they’d spent the early afternoon working to get the log to the stream. Both their outer shirts they’d taken off were still hanging from a branch. Thankful he had something dry to put on, she sprinted back to where she’d left him.
By the time she got back, he’d managed to get his pants and shirt off. He was sitting on the ground in nothing but his soaking-wet boxer briefs. In any other situation, Zoey would’ve been thrilled and ogled him, but at the moment, all she could think about was his health and well-being.
He tried to get up on his knees to take off his underwear, but was having trouble staying upright. Zoey dropped their shirts on the ground and reached for him. “Let me help,” she ordered.
“I c-can d-do it,” Mark insisted.
“Bullshit. Mark, you’re shaking so bad you can’t even curl your finger around the waistband. Lay down,” she said. Zoey wished he could keep his underwear on, but they were soaking, just like everything else. And the last thing he needed was that wet cotton against his most vulnerable parts. He had to get everything off, get dry, and get warm.
Swallowing down the panic that threatened to overwhelm her, Zoey concentrated on doing one thing at a time.
Frowning, Mark lay back. Zoey slid her fingers under the cotton—and jolted when Mark chuckled.
“What the hell are you laughing at?” she groused.
“I w-wanted you to p-put your hands on m-me, but never imagined it w-would happen this f-fast.”
“Shut up,” she told him, secretly thrilled he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.
“P-Please remember w-what c-cold water d-does to a m-man’s dick, Zo.”
At that, her gaze went up to his—and she was surprised to see a hint of concern in his eyes that he tried to hide with humor.
Shaking her head, she looked back down at what she was doing. “You have nothing to worry about, SEAL Man. I’m more concerned about your blue balls right now than the size of your package.”
He burst out laughing, and it made Zoey feel good that she could give that to him. There was certainly nothing funny about their current situation.
She couldn’t help but see Mark’s dick as she helped him remove his underwear. Even almost frozen, he was still impressive.
She quickly stripped off her long-sleeve shirt, immediately shivering in the cool afternoon air, but she ignored her own discomfort, knowing Mark would feel twenty times worse after his dunk in the glacier-fed water of the stream. She shoved her shirt at him. “Here, use this to dry off as best you can. You can put on your dry flannel and use my fleece-lined shirt to cover your legs. When you’re done using that shirt to dry off, it can stand in for underwear for the time being, as well.”
It wasn’t enough. Zoey knew that. He didn’t answer, was awkwardly doing his best to dry himself off with her shirt. His movements were uncoordinated and stiff. She shifted to her ass and started fumbling with her shoes.
“W-What are you d-doing?” Mark asked.
“Taking my socks off. You need them more than I do. The last thing you need is to lose any toes.”
“I’m n-not t-taking your s-socks,” Mark said gruffly.
“Yes, you are,” Zoey told him without looking up.
“Zo, l-look at m-me,” he stuttered.
She refused. She stripped off her socks, then quickly shoved her feet back into her boots and tied them once again. She stood and grabbed both long-sleeve shirts and brought them over to where Mark was sitting. Snatching the shirt out of his hands, she quickly finished drying his back and ran it over his hair as well, trying to get as much moisture out of the strands as she could. Thank God it was short; long hair would take forever to dry out here. She helped guide each shaking hand into a sleeve of his warm flannel shirt and sighed in relief.
“Lift up,” she ordered, pushing on his shoulder. Mark obliged by shifting until one of his perfect ass cheeks was lifted from the cold ground. She shoved her now-damp long-sleeve shirt under his ass, and went to his other side to do the same. With that done, she did her best to nonchalantly tie the sleeves around his waist, covering his manly bits in the process. Then she draped her own fleece-lined shirt around his waist in the front. Finally, she went to his feet and stretched her wool socks over them. They didn’t exactly fit, but they’d do.
“Don’t move,” she ordered, before standing once more.
“I’m okay, Z-Zo,” Mark stuttered.
“I know. You’re a SEAL. This is nothing for you,” she said, the words more for herself than him. But deep down, she knew this wasn’t like Hell Week. He’d told her lots of stories about what they’d been through, but the difference was, there wasn’t any bell to ring to quit this hell. No medics standing by just in case. There wasn’t a hospital just around the corner that someone could be brought to if something went wrong. There was only her. She wasn’t going to let him down.
The bottom line was, Zoey knew she couldn’t survive out here on her own. Therefore, it was in her best interest to do whatever it took to make sure Mark got warm as soon as possible.
Without another word, she raced away from Mark toward the tree line. She ignored how he called her name and concentrated on the task at hand…namely, gathering as much wood for a fire as she could. The most important thing right now was to get Mark warm. No matter that she was running around in a tank top and no socks. For once in her life, she didn’t feel cold. She felt absolutely nothing but determination.
She went back and forth from the tree line to where Mark sat at least a dozen times, ignoring the way he demanded she slow down and take a breath. She’d found some moss hidden inside a tree that seemed relatively dry, which was a minor miracle. She gathered small sticks, medium ones, and some big ones as well. Most of the bigger branches and logs were damp, but that couldn’t be helped right now.
After dumping the last load of wood, she nodded in satisfaction at the pile near Mark.
“Zoey, s-stop a second and l-look at me,” Mark begged.
Taking a deep breath, she did as he requested. He was still sitting on her shirt, but had managed to bring his knees up and under his oversized shirt. All she could see of him was his feet sticking out—covered in her purple wool socks—and his head. She wished she had a hat for him; it was a well-known fact that people lost most of their body heat from their head. His lips were still blue around the edges, and he was still stuttering, which wasn’t good.
“I’m okay,” Mark told her.
Zoey shook her head. “No, you’re not. You’re freezing. I knew that stupid log was a bad idea. Shit!”
“Zo,” he said firmly.
Zoey couldn’t stop. Couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t listen. He’d just try to tell her that he was okay, and she knew he wasn’t. She went over to his pants lying nearby and rifled through the pocket where she knew he kept the flint. Pulling it out, she sent a prayer upward. Please let this work. His hands are shaking too badly to be able to light the fire. It’s up to me.
She quickly arranged the fire as close to Mark as she dared. They were in a small clearing near the stream, and while she would prefer to be under the trees, in a shelter, this was going to have to work for the moment.
Mark seemed to finally understand that she couldn’t talk right now. That she had to do what she had to do, and him talking would distract her. Goose bumps rose on her arms as she worked, even as sweat dripped down the side of her face. She was both hot and cold at the same time. Zoey ignored everything but setting up the fire.