Not Even for Love(42)

“We may walk out of it in a short while then. Come on, let’s get started.” He sounded calm and assured that they really weren’t in a predicament, but Jordan saw him eyeing the snow and calculating how quickly it was coming down. The wind was blowing harder now and the temperature seemed to be dropping each minute. Already a sheet of white had coated the ground.

Hurriedly, without speaking, they gathered up their things. Jordan hauled the camera case over her shoulder after remounting the backpack on her back. Reeves draped the blanket that had served as their picnic table over her head and shoulders. “Just in case you can’t take the cold.” He cuffed her under the chin and winked. He was trying to keep her from panicking, but she was still cautious and worried as they stepped from under the protective limbs of the tree and the full force of the storm hit them.

She let Reeves navigate. He plunged ahead and she trailed him as closely as her stumbling footsteps would allow her to. Every few yards he would glance over his shoulder to see that she was behind him. The wind ripped attempted words from their mouths, so they communicated with an improvised sign language.

Usually walking down the mountain trail wasn’t difficult at all. Now, however, the path was obscured by the first layer of snow. It had already frozen hard in patches and walking over them was treacherous. The wind lashed at their faces and stung their eyes, making it difficult for them to see.

Reeves waved for her to follow him under another pine that offered a modicum of protection. “Do you think we’re going in the right direction?” he shouted.

Jordan quaked at his question. She had been following his lead, not really paying attention to where they were going, concentrating only on putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to fall down on the icy ground underfoot.

“I don’t know, Reeves. I think so, but…”

She looked up at him so fearfully that he hugged her to him and said, “Hey, now, don’t worry. I’m going to get us out of this. Are you cold?”

“No,” she lied. She couldn’t complain about being cold when she was wrapped in the blanket and he only had on the thin windbreaker over his sweater. Only knee socks covered the lower half of his legs.

“Ready?” he asked. She nodded. “Tell me if you need to stop again.” She nodded again and then followed him back into the storm.

Jordan would never remember how long they trudged through the blinding snow, battling the wind and the icy pel-lets that beat against their unprotected faces. This wasn’t a gentle snowfall. It was a full-fledged blizzard, carrying as much icy sleet as snow in its frigid winds.

She was exhausted. Each breath became more labored and ragged. Her lungs were burning from the abuse. Her legs throbbed painfully and her muscles were cramped from the cold.

When she was sure she was about to drop, Reeves reached for her hand and virtually dragged her along behind him. She was about to object to their rigorous pace when she realized that he had altered their direction. They were now moving laterally. She raised her head and peered out from beneath the blanket. A dark shadow against the gray-white world took form. It was a shed.

She hastened her leaden footsteps. In a matter of moments they collapsed together against the weathered exterior wall of the small building. They gasped for air, waiting long minutes until their heartbeats had slowed considerably and their respiration was closer to normal.

Without moving his body as he leaned against the wall, Reeves turned his head and looked at her. “How are you doing?” He smiled, and that in itself warmed Jordan.

She rested her head on his shoulder and murmured, “I’m fine.”

“Let’s see if we can get into this… whatever it is.”

“It’s a tool shed. They dot the sides of the mountains,” she explained. “If a farmer has a pasture in the higher elevations, he uses these tool sheds to store equipment and supplies. That way he doesn’t have to haul it up and down the mountain.”

“Very ingenious. I could kiss our farmer.”

She laughed in spite of their grim circumstances.

Reeves tried the door and found that it hadn’t even been locked. “Trusting soul,” he commented as he went in first to check out the shelter. He swung wide the door and said, “Hey, this is great. Jordan come on in.”

She stepped through the low door and her eyes scanned the single room. Its walls were as rough as the exterior, but they were sturdy and snug. There were several hand tools stashed in one corner, a dismantled plow in another. A wooden bucket was hanging by a peg on one wall. On the wall opposite the door stood an ancient Franklin stove.