Still, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what about this woman didn’t ring true. His brain must be numbed by the altitude—or testosterone. “I risked my ass to save your life. You can toss me a bone here. At least tell me what I should call you.”
She hesitated for an instant, almost imperceptible. Almost. Her fist clenched around the unopened granola bar. “My name is Sunny.”
“Sunny, huh?” Ironic, given her dark and evasive ways. Pointing that out would be counterproductive. He accepted the victory, even if she hadn’t supplied a last name. “So, Sunny, back to that whole ‘Free Bird’ joke of mine, are you not a big concertgoer or am I just that much older than you?”
And why did he want to know her age? Maybe because he didn’t want to find out he was hanging out under a blanket nearly naked with a teenager—who happened to also be a mountain guide.
“I’m twenty-seven,” she answered simply.
An adult. Thank God. “Chewie’s an interesting name choice. Should I keep my boots out of his reach?”
“Actually, he’s named for Chewbacca in Star Wars.” She combed her fingers through the dog’s coat. “Steven Spielberg patterned Chewbacca’s vocalizing after his malamute. Mine’s an Alaskan malamute and Siberian husky mix, and I can hear it every time he ‘talks.’”
“My boots are safe then.”
Chewie “answered” with a garbled howl.
So she wasn’t into concerts but enjoyed old movies. Interesting.
Sunny peeled away the wrapping on a second granola bar. “Here. My hand should have thawed it some by now. It’s full of peanut butter, so if you have a nut allergy…”
“I don’t. And I’ve eaten rabbit eyeballs and bugs, which were only marginally worse than the MRE—meal ready to eat—I have packed away in my gear. This will be manna from a goddess.” He also had glucose tablets and protein bars, but he would save those for later. He trusted his rationing skills better than those of this woman he didn’t know.
She passed one to him. “Rabbit eyeballs and bugs? Interesting. And gross. We can definitely save your MRE for later, if we absolutely need it. Tell me more about yourself.”
The storm howled outside while he thought about her none-too-subtle attempt to change the subject. He chewed the homemade granola—not bad, although it could benefit from some chocolate and marshmallows. No harm in telling her why he was here today. It would be a cold-ass, long night if neither one of them talked.
“I’m a pararescueman with the Unites States Air Force. You may have heard the job referred to as a PJ, since we used to be called parajumpers.”
“I’ve heard of it, and I guess the job title says it all, with the rescue part.” She stared over her peanut butter snack solemnly. “And in case I haven’t said so yet, thanks for risking your life for me.”
“Even if you didn’t need saving.” He could be sacked out in his apartment right now instead of quizzing an evasive woman he didn’t have time to date anyway. Besides, if he had this much trouble prying her first name out of her, a phone number was likely out of the question.
“Do you have a husband? Maybe he was with you today?” That would explain a lot about her standoffish attitude. He should have thought of it before now.
“I’m not married.”
Okay then. He’d pushed for her age and her marital status. He wasn’t fooling anyone, not even himself. She was hot and he was interested in learning more about her, not just to pass the time.
“What happened to separate you from your climbing group?”
***
Sunny hesitated for a second too long and she knew it.
She should have had an answer ready, but she’d allowed herself to be soothed by the rumble of his voice, a raw sort of sound, as if someone had taken sandpaper to his throat. Unique. Not some generic broadcaster’s type, but rather the weather-worn timbre of a man who spent most of his time outdoors in rough and untamed places.
Or up late in someone’s bed.
Damn. She shifted under the blanket, too aware of the crinkly coverlet against her nearly bare skin already tingling to life again. She almost blurted how the sorta-afghan felt so different, so alien in comparison to the organic fabrics she was accustomed to.
She should just go to sleep rather than risk saying anything more that could reveal the existence of her community or her reason for being out today. Thank God she’d already made the transfer with the sheriff’s deputy. Her two charges would be safely away by now. Unlike her.
The real answer to Wade’s question about why she’d been stuck out here? She’d let her emotions get the better of her and indulged in a useless crying jag. Frozen tears had wasted time, costing her precious seconds, which left her here rather than at home in her ordinary, happy loft apartment over her survival guide business.
Happy for how much longer? The fabric of her community, of her family, was fraying faster than the fire ate up the tiny pile of timber.
For the past two years, she’d escorted people off the mountain, people who’d appealed to the town council to leave their small off-the-grid community. Theirs wasn’t a cult. People could go.