Mountain Midwife. Cassie Miles
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arm and tugged. “They won’t be able to see us in the blizzard. The wind will cover our tracks.”
Great. He wouldn’t die in a hail of bullets. He’d freeze to death in a blizzard.
“Come on,” she urged. “I need you. Goldie needs you.”
He shouldered the pack again. Going downhill should have been easier, but his knees jolted with every step. At the foot of the slope, they approached an open area where the true velocity of the storm was apparent. The snow fell in sheets. His visibility was cut to only a few yards, but he figured they could cover more distance if they went straight ahead instead of weaving through the trees.
When he stepped into the open, he sank up to his knees. His jeans were wet. His fingers and toes were numb.
“Stay close to the trees,” Rachel said. “It’s not as deep.”
At the edge of the forest, the snow was over his ankles. He trudged through it, making a path for her to follow. One minute turned into ten. Ten into twenty. Inside his boots, his feet felt like frozen blocks of ice. The snow stung his cheeks. So cold, so damned cold. If he was this miserable what was happening to Goldie? Fear for the motherless newborn kept him moving forward. He had to protect this child, had to find shelter.
But he’d lost all sense of direction in the snow. As far as he could tell, they might be heading back toward the house.
Trying to get his bearings, he looked over his shoulder. He doubted that the bad guys were still in pursuit. Any sane person would have turned back by now.
As Rachel had predicted, the snows were already drifting, neatly erasing their tracks.
He couldn’t tell how far they’d gone. It felt like miles, endless miles. Needing a break, he stepped back into the shelter of the forest. His chest ached with the effort of breathing. His eyes were stinging. He squeezed his eyelids shut and opened them again. Squinting, he looked through the trees and saw a solid shape. A cabin. He blinked, hoping that his brain wasn’t playing tricks on him. “Rachel, do you see it?”
“A cabin.” Her voice trembled on the edge of a sob. “Thank God, it’s a cabin.”
He helped her up the small embankment, and they approached the rear of the cabin. No lights shone from inside.
The front door was sheltered by a small porch. Cole hammered against the green painted door with his frozen fist. No answer. Nobody home.
He tried the door handle and found it locked. He was carrying lock picks, but it was too cold to try a delicate manipulation of lock tumblers. He stepped back, prepared to use his body as a battering ram.
“Wait,” Rachel said. “Run your hand over the top sill. They might have left a key.”
“We need to get inside.” He was too damned cold and tired to perform a subtle search. “Why the hell would anybody bother to lock up and then leave a key?”
“This isn’t the city,” she said. “Some of these little cabins are weekend getaways with different families coming and going. Give it a try.”
He peeled off his glove. His fingers were wet and stiff, but he didn’t see the whitened skin indicating the first stage of frostbite. When he felt along the ledge above the door, he touched a key. It seemed that their luck had turned.
Shivering, he fitted the key into the lock and pushed open the door. He and Rachel tumbled inside. When he shut the door against the elements, an ominous silence wrapped around them.
RACHEL DISCARDED HER GLOVES and hit the light switch beside the door. The glow from an overhead light fixture spilled down upon them. They had electricity. So far, so good.
She unzipped her parka, glad that when she left the house this morning—an eternity ago—she’d been smart enough to dress for subzero weather. This jacket might have saved her life … and Goldie’s as well. She looked down at the tiny bundle she carried in the sling against her chest. The baby’s eyes were closed. She wasn’t moving. Please, God, let her be all right.
Cole hovered beside her, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.
Rachel slipped out of her jacket. Carefully, she braced the baby in her arms and adjusted the sling. Please, God.
Goldie’s eyes popped open and she let out a wail.
Rachel had never heard a more beautiful sound. “She’s okay. Yes, you are, Goldie. You’re all right.”
Looking up, she saw a similar relief in Cole’s ruddy face. He’d torn off his cap and his hair stood up in spikes. His lips were chapped and swollen. Moisture dripped from his leather jacket. In spite of his obvious discomfort, he smiled.
Grateful tears rose behind her eyelids, but she couldn’t let herself fall apart. “Are we safe?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Tell me what Goldie needs.”
The interior of the cabin was one big, open room with a couple of sofas and chairs at one end and a large wooden table at the other. The kitchen area formed an L shape. A closed door against the back wall probably led into the bedroom. The most important feature, in her mind, was the freestanding propane gas fireplace. “See if you can get that heater going.”
She held Goldie against her shoulder, patting her back and soothing her cries. The poor little thing had to be starving. There was powdered formula in the backpack of supplies, but they needed water.
In the kitchen, Rachel turned the faucet in the sink and was rewarded with a steady flow. This simple, little cabin—probably a weekend getaway—had been well-prepared for winter. No doubt the owners had left the electricity on because the water pipes were wrapped in heat tape. The stove was electric.
Cole joined her. “The fireplace is on. What’s next?”
He looked like hell. Hiking through the blizzard had been more difficult for him than for her. Not only did he go first, but his jacket and boots also weren’t anywhere near as well-insulated as hers. She wanted to tell him to get out of his wet clothes, warm up and take care of himself, but she didn’t want to insult his masculine pride by suggesting he wasn’t in as good a shape as she was.
“Help me get stuff out of the backpack.”
Near the cheery blaze in the propane fireplace, they dug through the baby supplies and put together a nest of blankets for Goldie. When Rachel laid the baby down on the blankets, her cries faded. Goldie wriggled as her diaper was changed.
Cole frowned. “Is she supposed to look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like a plucked chicken. I thought babies were supposed to have chubby arms and legs.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Rachel stroked Goldie’s fine, dark hair. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Yeah, people always say that. But not all babies are beautiful.”
“This is a golden child.” She zipped Goldie into a yellow micro-fleece sleep sack. “She’s beautiful, strong and brave—not even a day old and she’s already escaped a gang of thugs and made it through a blizzard.”
The baby’s chin tilted, and she seemed to be looking directly at Cole with her lips pursed.
He laughed. “She’s a tough little monkey.”
“Newborns are surprisingly resilient.” She held Goldie against her breast and stood. “I’m going to the kitchen to prepare the formula. Maybe you want to get out of those wet clothes.”
“What about you?”
Her jeans were wet and cold against her legs, and her feet were cold in spite of her lined, waterproof boots. “I’d love to take off my boots.”
“Sit,” he ordered.
Still holding the baby, she sank onto a rocking chair. The heat from