Chapter 7

Mauston worked over the course of the next hour gathering wood from the forest, and exploring our surroundings. The process was slow, with me unable to help and the fact that he had to take frequent breaks or risk badgering his broken ribs and battered muscles. I had never felt quite so helpless, or so useless, in my life. I hated watching Mauston working on his own, and his pain had little to do with it. I wanted to show him that us 'Hollywood' types were perfectly capable of handling a situation with this...that I could pull my own weight. It still angered me whenever I thought of his cold statement from earlier, so I made an effort to avoid thinking of it. After all, I could always slap him for it once we were out of this god-forsaken wilderness.Until then, it'd be wise to keep the peace as much as possible.

"There's a stream a couple hundred yards to the west." Mauston's breathless voice sounded as he materialized from the woods, depositing a small armload of wood in the pile with the rest. He assessed his collection and must have found it satisfactory, for he sat down for a break. "That's a blessing."

"Good." Having a source of water nearby was one less thing we had to struggle for. I watched as he began to peel away pieces of birch bark from a log he'd scavenged. "How are you going to light it?" I was genuinely curious.

"I keep a little survival pack on the plane. It has some flint in it." Mauston shrugged. "And if the pack didn't make it, I can't manage with sticks and my boot lace. We'll have a fire, don't worry."

I frowned. "I'm not worried. I was just curious."

Mauston kept at his task of creating kindling. "You should be worried. The temperature will likely fall pretty significantly tonight. We were lucky yesterday, what with the cloud cover. It'll be clear and cold tonight from the looks of things."

The air was crisp, cooler than I was used to but not unbearably uncomfortable yet. I hadn't quite thought about spending another night in this place, a little piece of my heart having held on to the hope that we would be rescued before it came to that. I thought of my suitcases and tried to go through the wardrobe I'd brought with for the trip in my mind. I had packed a few sweaters, a couple of pairs of jeans, and at least one hooded sweatshirt that I could remember. I'd also packed some dress clothes that I'd planned on wearing to attend Dad's funeral. I wondered if he was still alive, or if he had passed as expected. My eyes started to burn, and I blinked back the onslaught of tears. The last thing I needed was to be a crying mess in front of Mauston, who would undoubtedly chalk it up to weakness.

I didn't recall having packed anything heavier than a dressy peacoat, and definitely no mittens. I hadn't expected to need them...winter wasn't expected to rage in Alaska for at least another month, and I hadn't exactly expected to be spending much time outdoors, anyway. We had to get rescued before winter really settled her cold fingers into the land...or I surely didn't have a chance. Mauston probably didn't either...I doubt he'd packed much in the way of clothing himself for the short trip he'd been planning on.

"Alright. That should be enough kindling." Mauton had used his pocket knife to chip away small timbers, adding them to the pile of shredded birch bark that he'd accumulated. "We need to go through our supplies. I'll grab when I can while I'm getting the flint."

I glared down at my useless leg. "If you get me a stick big enough to support myself on, I can help..."

Mauston glanced at me as if I'd lost my mind. "Absolutely not. There's no way your muscles are ready to support you yet. You'll fall."

I didn't bother arguing...as hard as it was to admit, I knew he was right.

*********

It didn't take Mauston long to get the fire going. I knew I would have been lost in the process, but he handled the flint as if he'd made fire this way many times. One spark was all it took, and the fuel-soakedkindling ignited. Mauston nutured the flames by feeding them small pieces of birch bark until they'd strengthened enough to accept the small logs he'd found on the forest floor. The heat felt blissful on my skin, and I had scooted myself as close to the flames as I'd dared, not having realized just how chilled I'd become.

Currently, Mauston had laid out the contents of the bags he'd retrieved from the wreckage. His small survival pack had made it, and contained the flint, a protein bar, some gauze pads, one of those odd silver emergency blankets, and some Tylenol. There were two flares that came standard in the plane, and Mauston had laid them next to the other supplies.

I was rather surprised at the things that he'd kept on board, though I really shouldn't have been; he was an avid outdoor enthusiast after all. He had laid out a large canvas sleeping bag, though apparently there had been a large pup tent aboard a well, for Mauston was pretty upset that it was no where to be found. He'd also set some broken pieces of a fishing pole near our supplies, and though I could tell he'd hoped it would have made it through unscathed, the pieces might prove to be useful. He'd also found a small bag of jerky, a small bottle of water, and two dented cans of chili, camping fare he'd carried in case of emergency. I wondered if he had ever thought the meager supplies would actually be necessary.

We'd lost one of my suitcases, likely spilled somewhere between our location and the top of the ravine. The smaller one had dumped open during the impact, but Mauston had gathered what he could find of it's contents for me. A sweater, a pair of dress slacks, a small bottle of shampoo, and my peacoat. The laptop had not survived in my carry on, and my cell phone had been no where to be found. Neither item would have been of use here, anyway, so I didn't consider it to be much of a loss. The remaining candy bar I'd purchased at the airport was laid next to the other food Mauston had managed to salvage from the wreck.

Mauston didn't have much left by way of extra clothes. A flannel and a pair of jeans had been laid next to the sleeping bag, and his jacket had been spread out next to the fire to dry. He had found it a few yards away from the wreckage, soaked by torrential rain the night we'd gone down. He didn't seem too worried, though, grateful to have found even the little amount that he had. "We should count ourselves lucky. We've got a lot of useful stuff here."

I nodded in agreement as he picked up the last treasure he'd found: a dented thermos that had contained his coffee. He carefully poured the little bit of fuel we had inside. "Hopefully it doesn't have to be useful for long." I commented.

Mauston picked up the candy bar and stripped it from it's packaging. He split it in two, and offered a piece to me. "Here. We should probably ration out what little food we have." I took the candy, my stomach growling in demand of the nourishment in my hand. I couldn't honestly remember the last meal I'd eaten. I forced myself to eat slowly, taking small bites and savoring the the sweet taste of the chocolate on my tongue.

"You think we'll be here a while, don't you?" I asked him after he'd settled himself down next to the fire.

He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments before meeting my gaze. "I think it's a very real possibility, yes. I think we're a lot further off course than I'd originally thought, and the tree cover really is a disadvantage." He picked up a stick and poked it at the fire, stirring the embers until the flames raged a little higher.

"It won't be long until it snows." Even I could hear the hopelessness in my own voice. "What if they don't find us by then?"

"No, it won't be." He popped the rest of his candy into his mouth. "We need to stay by the wreckage for as long as we can. They'll be looking for it, and we both need some time to heal up as much as possible. We do need to prepare for the possibility that we might be forced to walk out of here, though."

I didn't want to consider that possibility. I knew it would be almost impossible for me to cover any significant distance with my leg in the condition it was is in. "My leg won't be healed enough by the time the snow flies. I'll never be able to hike up the ravine." I nibbled at what remained of my candy, trying to quell the feeling of unease that his plan invoked.

"I know. We'll figure it out." Mauston looked up at the darkening sky. "We'd better get ready to bed down for the night. It'll be dark soon." He rose and went about the business of putting our supplies away, shoving as much as he could into my small suitcase. He then laid the sleeping bag next to the fire, unzipping it. "I'll try to make us a lean-to tomorrow...something to block the wind. We'll be okay tonight, I think."

I glanced at the wreckage of the plane. It was on it's roof, but it would offer some protection from the cold. "What about the plane? We wouldn't be as exposed." I quirked a brow at him. I wasn't very eager to get back into the crumpled metal shell that we'd almost died in, but it sure seemed like a better idea than being out in the elements.

He shook his head. "I'm not strong enough to carry you there right now and I don't want you attempting to get there yourself. The last thing we need is you opening that head wound again." He had pulled a small bottle from the first aid bag, and was shaking two pills into his palm. He handed them to me with the water. "Here. It's Tylenol."

I plucked the pills from his calloused palm and downed them, then handed the water back. "Thank you." Mauston nodded, then downed a couple of the pills himself before putting the items away.

"It's going to be close sleeping quarters." He informed me as he extended a hand to help me up. "Bend at the knee, don't put any weight on that leg." He added.

My muscles felt like fire as I was pulled upright, and the pain from my leg was enough to take my breath away. I was instantly dizzy, and stumbled against the muscled wall of Mauston's chest almost immediately. His arms shot out to steady me, catching me before I could rebound back to the ground. He hissed under his breath, and I realized I must have hurt his wounded ribs when I'd fallen against him. "I'm sorry!" I said weakly, closing my eyes as the dizziness began to dissipate. "Did I hurt you?"

"I'll be fine. Lean on me. It's just a few steps to the sleeping bag." Despite what he said, his voice sounded strained. I had no choice but to obey him though I could tell I was hurting him.

Mauston helped to lower me to the sleeping bag, then went about the business of laying more logs on the fire. One hand rested on his side and his face was drawn in pain. "Thanks for helping me...again." I muttered, really hating being so dependent on him. Especially when I knew he couldn't be feeling much better than I was.

"Really, it's nothing. I told Ben I'd get you to Fairbanks in one piece. The destination might have changed, but the sentiment still stands."

When he was finished with the fire, he sat next to me and began to remove his boots. I slipped off my Doc Martens and laid them next to the sleeping bag, making slow work of the task to prolong the inevitable. Survival situation or not, it was still going to be awkward sharing a sleeping bag with this rather large, intimidating stranger...and it sure didn't help that I wasn't particularly fond of him, either.

It didn't seem to bother Mauston any, though. As soon as his boots were off, his fingers were unbuttoning his flannel. He slipped out of the over shirt, then shucked out of his tee shirt as well. I glanced over my shoulder before I was completely aware of what he was doing, then snapped my gaze away, flustered. "What are you doing?!"

"I'm rebinding my ribs. That okay with you?" There was annoyance laced in his voice.

Frowning, I turned to face him. "Sorry. I thought...well, I guess I don't know what I thought." I muttered, watching as he untied the fabric that bound his middle. He must have torn apart one of his shirts to make my splint and to bind his ribs...the fabric matched, and it was nothing I owned. As he pulled the fabric away, I caught a glimpse of the garish bruises that adorned his skin, and tried not to wince. The man had to be good with masking his pain...there was no way that he could be that banged up and not be feeling every bit of it.

"Well, I wasn't planning on stripping down to my normal bedtime attire, if that's what you're worried about." He grunted as he pulled the fabric tight against his body, trying to tie it while simultaneously trying to maintain the tension. He must have been going through a great deal of pain, for I could see a thin film of sweat shining on his brow in the waning twilight.

"Here, let me help. You'll never get it tight enough on your own." Even if I still harbored some anger about our spat from earlier, I couldn't very well sit here and watch him suffer. Besides, I hadn't been able to contribute to much of anything...it was only fair that I help out where I could.

He looked at me skeptically for a moment, then must have decided that I was right because he handed me the remnants of the shirt and lifted his arms to allow me access. I scooted a little closer, passing the fabric around his trunk. At this proximity, I was completely aware of just how built this man was, despite my efforts to keep my focus on the job. I figured he had to be at least in his mid thirties, and yet there was no indication of his age by the condition of his body. His bronzed skin was smooth over his taut mass of muscle. Each perfectly sculpted muscle seemed to blend to the next, and I somehow knew that he had not achieved such a body in any gym or from the work of a weight bench. Only years of hard work could have produced that kind of raw, lean power. His broad chest was peppered with fine, dark hair that traveled down his flat stomach and disappeared into the waist of his jeans. Even worse, I realized that his scent was utterly masculine, yet somehow fresh. Like mountain air, really, yet somehow more rustic...more primal. Enough to make any woman lose her train of thought, really.

I swallowed hard, physically forcing my eyes away from his body, training them purposefully on my own hands as I pulled the fabric of the shirt tight around him. "Jesus, kiddo!" He hissed, his body tense.

"Sorry. But if you call me 'kiddo' one more time, your ribs are going to be the least of your worries." I threatened, scowling as I knotted the fabric quickly.

"Habit, I guess." He passed a hand over the bindings as I scooted as far away from him as the boarder of the sleeping bag would allow...which wasn't very far. "Hey, you did a pretty good job with this." He sounded surprised.

I snorted. "Yeah, I guess us Hollywood types pick up on some useful skills on occasion, huh?" I was frustrated with him all of the sudden, and my words were venomous. In a way, I felt almost offended by the way his body had caught my attention, as ridiculous as it was.

"Let's forget about that, alright? I was being an a*s. I admit it. I'm sorry." He had slipped his tee shirt back on, taking care when he stretched his arms over his head. He didn't put his flannel back on, though, opting instead to shove it into the sleeping bag.

I looked at him warily, half expecting a smart a*s remark to follow on the tail of his apology. When one didn't come, I shrugged, looking away as I slipped into the sleeping bag. The chill in the air was growing uncomfortable now that the sun had set, even with the fire blazing near us. "Alright. Truce." I nodded towards where he'd stuffed his flannel. "Aren't you going to freeze without that?"

He slipped into the sleeping bag, his body heat bringing instant warmth. "No. I don't want to  take the risk of sweating during the night. When it gets cold like this, sweating is one of the biggest dangers you face. It'll bring your body temperature down and makes hypothermia more likely." He flipped to his side, back towards me as he settled in. "So, if that sweater of yours is as thick as it looks, I'd think about taking it off if I were you."

My sweater was thick...really thick, actually. And I did have a cami on underneath...but I couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable with the idea of shedding clothes with Mauston present. As I was pondering the situation, he looked over his shoulder at me. "You've got a tank top on, for Christ's sake. And believe me, you've got nothing to fear where I'm concerned."

I gaped at him. "How would you know I have a tank top on?"

His graveled chuckle answered. "Well, would you rather I didn't look you over to make sure you were alright after the crash?"

My faced reddened as I thought of his hands on me while I was out cold, examining me for injury while I'd been buried in my pain. "No, I guess not." I mumbled, trying to force away the image.

In the end, I left my sweater on, just for spite.