Читать книгу Blood on Copperhead Trail - Paula Graves - Страница 11

Chapter Five

“Should I call off this search until the weather improves?”

Laney looked behind her. Doyle had been smart enough to bring a cap with him in his pack. It was keeping the snow off his head, though his uncovered ears blazed bright red from the raw cold. His weatherproof coat was covered with snow, and he looked cold, miserable and worried.

“We were assigned one of the highest points on the mountain, so we’re the ones getting the snow. Most of the other parties are below the snow line. They’re just getting mist and rain.”

“Are you still okay? Warm enough?”

He seemed genuinely concerned rather than asking after her comfort as a way to express his own discomfort. She decided to show him some mercy and dug a spare set of earmuffs out of her pack. “Here. Put these on.”

He looked at the bright green earmuffs for a second, his thought processes playing out candidly in his conflicted expression. On one hand, he wanted warm ears. On the other hand, sticking bright green fuzzy earmuffs on his ears would be an egregious assault on his masculinity.

Comfort won out. He took the earmuffs and put them on, replacing his cap. He looked ridiculous but warmer.

“Smokin’ hot,” she said under her breath.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

He gave her a suspicious look.

She turned back to the trail, grinning to herself.

As they neared the Cherokee boneyard, she decided to keep that fact to herself. He wouldn’t be able to see much from the trail with snow falling this hard. They were already struggling to stick to the trail as it was. They were in near whiteout conditions, and she was beginning to think he had been right to question the wisdom of trying to search the mountain in this much snowfall.

“Maybe we should go back,” she said, turning to look at him.

But he wasn’t behind her.

“Doyle?” She started back down the trail, her boots slipping on the snow-covered path. She couldn’t see Doyle’s tracks behind hers for several yards. Then she spotted a churned-up disturbance in the snow near a short drop-off.

She edged carefully to the lip of the drop and saw Doyle flattened out against the steep incline, inching his way back up to the trail. Had he called out to her when he’d fallen? The whistle of the wind and the sound-deadening effects of her earmuffs must have hidden the sound of his mishap. She took the offending ear protectors off.