She nodded jerkily. She pulled off her sodden gloves and dropped them on the floor, but she couldn’t manage the snap and zipper at her neck. “My fingers,” she said.
He nodded. “We need to take a look at your feet first anyway.” He lifted her stiff, ice-encrusted boots into his lap. “What the hell did you do to get these so wet?” The laces were unmanagable. He flipped open the glove compartment and removed his knife.
“I . . . ran through a stream. Only fast way to . . . get to the spot I picked to . . . ambush him.” She shivered violently as he sliced her laces away and gently wiggled each boot off. “I’m so cold . . .”
He adjusted the vents to blow on her. The hot air was already blasting at top speed. He carefully peeled away her socks, sucking in his breath at the sight of the blotchy white patches mottling blueish skin. Jesus. How had she hiked through the woods like this? Under his hands the flesh felt like heavy clay that had been stored in a refrigerator. “Oh, darlin’,” he said.
“Is it bad?” He looked at her. “Tell me the truth, Russ.”
“It doesn’t look like frostbite, but we’re going to have to soak your feet in cool water and bring ’em up to temperature slowly. Here, let’s get those pants off you.” He tried to be gentle, but he had to tug and wrestle the stiff, wet khaki off her, each jerk and twist causing her to gasp. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Clare.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s good. It’s burning. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Means the blood is coming back.” The skin on her legs was alarmingly cold and pale, but there were no signs of frostbite there, either. He cocooned her feet and legs in one of the blankets. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch when you get circulation going. Like when your leg falls asleep, but lots worse.” He kept her legs resting on his thighs while he went to work on the parka, unbuttoning and unzipping. Underneath, her woolly turtleneck was dry. He wrapped the second blanket around her, chafed her hands between his own. “How do they feel?”
“Cold. Like the rest of me.”
“Can you feel this?” He ran his fingertips lightly down her fingers and across her palm.
She looked at him. Her eyes were huge and dark. Her fingers flexed over his. “Yes,” she whispered. The hot air roared past him, stirring staticky cobwebs of her hair. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. She raised her free hand as if she would touch his cheek, then let it fall. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. She blinked against the watery light in her eyes. “I was such a jerk last night. I’m sorry, you were right, you were right about everything.”
He dropped his gaze to her hand, picked up the other one and began rubbing them vigorously. “Maybe. But I shouldn’t have been such a hard ass about it.” He smiled at her. “And I wasn’t right about everything. Ballistics came back negative on their gun. We’re still waiting to hear about the hair and fiber samples from their cars.” He looked at her extraordinary face, laced by angry scratches and chafed raw by the snow and cold. He squeezed her hands hard. “I was right about one thing, though. This isn’t any business of yours. Jesus, Clare, you could have died out there!”
She smiled waveringly. “Not me. I’m too smart.”
He released her hands, swinging her feet to the floor. He reached around her and buckled her in. “Let’s get you someplace warm, smart girl.”
The truck strained and groaned before lurching from the ditch and turning slowly back down the road. “What about the man who attacked me?” Clare asked.
Russ kept his attention on the road. “What about him?”
“Aren’t you going to try to find him? Or at least find his vehicle?”
He spared her a glance. “Do you have any idea where he is? Or where his truck or snowmobile is?”
“No.”
“And he doesn’t have any boots on?”
“No.”
“You said you couldn’t see his face?”
“No! He had one of those face masks on, and I tried to get it off, but the damn thing was stuck!” She snorted. “Then he started to wake up and I thought I’d be better served getting the heck out of there.”
“Good girl. And the answer is no, I’m not going after him. I could turn out the National Guard and we’d still never find him in this weather. My first priority is to get you thawed out. We can be at the Glens Falls Hospital in half an hour if the county’s gotten the plows out.”
“No. No hospital. I don’t like hospitals.”
“You go to hospitals all the time, for Chrissake!”
“Not for myself!” She had an edge of hysteria to her voice. He shut up. “Just take me home, Russ,” she said. “Please.”
“Okay, darlin’. Home it is.” He downshifted in preparation for churning the truck out of the snow and leaf-filled gully. And then I’m going to get someone to take a look at you if I have to knock you down and sit on you to do it.
CHAPTER 26
They didn’t talk much on the ride back to Millers Kill. Clare leaned back against the seat, exhausted, her mouth thinning occasionally when they went over a bump. He knew her legs must be hurting. Despite his sensible words, he was sorely tempted to round up as many men as he could and scour the mountain for the sonofabitch who had done this to her. But he had been right, it would be a waste of time at this point. Either the guy had found his way back to his vehicle or he was losing his feet to exposure someplace.
He glanced over at Clare. Knocked him down with a tree and bashed him with a rock. Jesus. He smiled a little.
When they pulled into her driveway, he said, “Keys?”
“I left them in my car. But don’t worry, it’s—”
“Unlocked. Of course.” She didn’t argue when he opened her door and picked her up to carry her inside. He grunted as they went up the steps. “Don’t make a habit of this, Clare, or I’m going to have to buy a truss.”
Inside, he deposited her blanket-wrapped form on the sofa and cranked up the thermostat. “Okay,” he said, “You need dry clothes, a tub of tepid water to soak those feet in—” She groaned loudly at the suggestion. “—and something warm to drink. Not coffee, the caffeine’s bad for your circulation.”
“Hot cocoa?”
“That’s fine. Where can I find stuff?”
She gave him directions. Her bedroom was spartan, nothing but bed, dresser, and her Army sweats tossed over some wooden kneeler-prayer-thingy in front of the uncurtained window. He grabbed the sweats and dropped them next to her on the sofa before hitting the kitchen to find the cocoa ingredients. No bags of instant, of course. He put the milk on to heat and rummaged beneath the sink for a plastic tub, which he filled with lukewarm water.
“You decent?” he called from the kitchen.
“Yeah.”
He walked slowly, careful not to slosh the water. “Stick your feet in there,” he said, settling the tub in front of the sofa. She pulled the legs of her sweatpants up a bit and complied.
“It feels warm.” She looked surprised.
“That’s because your feet are so damn cold. I don’t have to do anything like hand-grate imported bittersweet chocolate and hazelnuts for this hot cocoa, do I?”
She made a face. “Just sugar and cocoa. Oh, and a drop of vanilla extract is nice.”
“I have to introduce you to the Kreemie Kakes Diner version of hot chocolate.” He found everything quickly. Like her office, her kitchen was orderly and well-organized. She was a woman who had her priorities, no doubt about it.
“Here you go.” He put two mugs on the coffee table, then crossed to the front window and tested to see if the tops locked.
She craned her neck to see what he was up to. “What are you doing?”