Sam belonged to Sierra. More, Sam’s hero gene was probably twice the size of the average male’s. Of course he’d be giving off vibes of protection.
“Ten more feet. You’re doing great, Willow!”
Sam, encouraging her as he leaned over the edge of the cliff.
The harrowing part—where she scaled her way down the cliff one scrubby hold at a time—was over. Now, she wore a harness attached into a self-belay system, using the cams in the equipment pack to secure herself as she climbed back up the face. The emergency pack hung from her shoulders and was clipped around her waist.
This could have been the easy part if her shoulder wasn’t sending fire through her body, burning tears into her eyes, tempting her to let out a groan.
But she couldn’t slow down, couldn’t surrender. Not with Sam leaning over the cliff with such agony in his pale blue eyes, looking like he might do something crazy.
Like climb down after her, drag her up to the top.
She’d never had anyone look at her like that before—like he had to forcibly hold himself back from rescuing her—and frankly, it undid her a little.
Not unlike his Superman leap for her as he dragged her out of the van.
They needed to get back home, and fast, before her heart started to skew all this focused, devastating attention and convince her it was something more.
Sorry, Sierra. Willow shouldn’t even allow herself to think of Sam as anything but taken—should not be having memories of his arms around her last night, the heat of his body keeping her own alive.
And especially not while she fought to find a grip for her left foot, her hands grimy and sweaty, slipping a little on the tiny lip of a handhold.
She curled her thumb over the top, trying to add reinforcement to the bare hold, looking down to find a groove or a slit—
“To your left there’s an indentation.”
“My legs aren’t that long.” Still, she reached out for it and nearly slipped off her current hold.
“Sorry!”
“I’m okay, Sam.” Even if she did fall, her last cam was only a body-length away. She wouldn’t go far.
It might, however, hurt.
She brought her knee up, found a groove, and used it to leverage herself up to a pocket in the rock for her left hand.
Eight more feet. Sweat dripped down her back, along her forehead. The wind had turned brittle despite the warmth of the sun. She guessed they might be in for another storm.
They couldn’t spend another night on this ledge. Especially exposed.
The fact that she’d again risked the lives of her youth shook her to her core. Thankfully, they were in good hands—when she’d left, Josh had them circling to pray for her.
That was the kind of leader they needed, someone safe, who didn’t risk their lives.
Willow found a nice thick jug hold for her right hand. She pulled up, put her foot in the previous lip.
Four more feet, and now Sam did lean down, put his hand on her pack.
“Sam, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
But her words didn’t seem to matter as he practically hauled her up over the edge of the cliff.
Dragging her to safety beside him.
He was breathing hard, his face grim, sweat around the edges of his hairline.
“You okay?”
“That has to be the worst two hours of my entire life,” he said bluntly. “Are you okay?”
With him looking at her like that—as if he’d tear his heart out of his chest and give it to her if she asked? Um, yes.
“That was scary brave, Willow, and I’m a little sick for letting you do it. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were thinking that I knew what I was doing. Now, help me off with this pack.” She reached for the belt, but her shaking hands gave her away.
Sam reached over, unbuckled the pack. Eased it off her shoulders. Quinn and Gus stood behind him, and now Quinn grabbed it from him.
She sat there, her legs drawn up, her arms circling them, her head bowed, just breathing.
Sam didn’t move. When she looked up, his blue eyes were in hers. He gave a little smile. “You did good.”
Her heart gave a traitorous leap of joy.
“Now we have to get these kids down.” He stood up and headed over to the pack. “But first, we clean you up. And secure Vi’s ankle.”
Vi whimpered, but she played the trouper as Sam dug out a cravat from the pack and wrapped it around her ankle, securing her foot.
“That should keep it from moving. Try not to bang it.”
He moved over to Willow. “Your turn.” He touched her chin, angling her head to take a good look at her wound. “I’m afraid of grinding the glass into the wound, so I’m just going to irrigate it, then cover it with a bandage.”