Her gaze roamed his face, and she touched his cheek. “You’re bleeding.”

He also touched his cheek, then smiled at her again. “I’ve known you what . . . two weeks? And I’ve been beaten up twice. You should come with a warning label.”

“I’m sorry.”

He kissed her trembling lips. “I’m not,” he whispered. He straightened, then turned toward her legs. “Okay. Time to assess the damage.”

Max suddenly came bounding over, dragging one of the snowshoes. “Good boy, Max!” Luke said, quickly grabbing it when the dog nearly swung the three-foot-long snowshoe into Camry. “You found my boot! Go on,” he said. “Find more stuff, Max.”

Tigger whined and started squirming. Luke caught the dachshund just as she started slipping into the hole he was standing in. “Looks like you’re recovering okay,” he said, setting the dog on her feet and holding her steady. He let her go as soon as he saw her tail wag, then shot Camry a glare. “You tell anyone I gave mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a dog, and I’m going to post the cell phone picture I took of you in your wench’s costume on the Web.”

Before she could answer him, he moved back to finish unzipping the right leg of her ski pants. “I don’t see any bones sticking out,” he said with false joy—because he sure as hell saw that her foot was twisted at an unnatural angle.

He pulled out his multitool and opened the blade, then bobbed his eyebrows at her. “I’ve always fantasized about playing doctor on a beautiful woman.” He looked back down at her leg. “I need to slit your inner pants and long johns from the knee down, to see what’s happening in there.” He bobbed his eyebrows again. “Assuming I can see anything, since you haven’t shaved your legs in what . . . days?”

“Just do it,” she growled, stiffening. “And tell me if it’s broken or just sprained.”

Oh, he knew it was broken, all right; he just didn’t know how badly. He pulled her wool pants and long johns away from her leg and slit them open with his knife, exposing angry red skin swelling up from under her wool sock.

“Yup, it’s broken,” he muttered, carefully cutting the sock down to her boot. He stilled when she sucked in a hiss, and looked at her. “I can’t tell if it’s your lower leg or your ankle. I have to take off your boot, Camry. I’ll do it as gently as I can.”

“Leave it on.”

“No. Your foot’s swelling, and it’s only going to get worse.”

She closed her eyes. “Then do it.”

Luke carefully sliced her laces, then set down the knife in order to peel open her boot, wincing when she hissed again. “Easy now,” he crooned, lifting back the tongue of her boot. He slid one hand under her ankle, then grabbed the heel of the boot and slowly pulled.

“No, stop!”

He stilled, turning to see her take several gulping breaths before she gritted her teeth. “Okay. Do it.”

He held his own breath as he started pulling again, working as quickly as he could so he wouldn’t prolong her agony while being careful he didn’t do any more damage. The boot finally slipped free, taking her sock with it, and Luke closed his eyes. “I think your ankle is shattered,” he whispered. He looked over at her. “No blood, though. So I’ll just immobilize it as best I can. Then I’m digging out the sled, and we’ll get you to a hospital lickety-split. Where’s the closest house to here?”

She thought for a moment. “If we go down the tote road about ten miles, then cut across the bay, I think there are some year-round homes out on the point.”

Luke’s gut tightened. “Do you think the bay is frozen solid?”

“I-it should be.”

He glanced down at her ankle then back at her, and shook his head. “It’s not a life-threatening injury, Camry, as long as you don’t go into shock. So I’d rather not risk our drowning to save some miles. How far to your sister’s house? Doesn’t she live on this side of the bay?”

“Maybe eighteen or twenty miles from here.”

Luke gently laid her foot on the open leg of her ski pants and turned in the hole he’d been standing in the whole time. “If I can find the other snowshoe, I can get us there by midnight.” He got down on his knees and started rummaging around in the sled. He pulled out the sleeping bag and straw mattress, but didn’t see the rest of their gear. “The gear must have broken free,” he said, straightening with the sleeping bag, which he unrolled and laid over her. “I’ll try to find it. I’d like to at least have the headlamp for when it gets dark, and the first-aid kit.”

“How did you know where to dig for me?” she asked, helping him tuck the bag around her.

He grabbed the small mattress and tucked the corner of it under her shoulders. But before he lowered her head, he kissed her gently on the lips with a soft chuckle. “That damn transmitter started beeping, and Max and I followed the sound.”

She blinked up at him. “I don’t have the transmitter,” she whispered. “I-I threw it out onto the lake this morning, when I decided to . . . to see things your way,” she said.

“You threw it away? But I heard it. Max heard it, too. It’s how we found you!”

“That’s impossible, Luke.” She reached under the sleeping bag. “I don’t have it anymore.” She suddenly gasped, and her hand reappeared holding the transmitter. “Oh my God,” she whispered, holding it toward him. “H-how is that possible?”

Luke damn near started laughing hysterically when the tiny instrument suddenly gave a lively chirp. He took the transmitter from her and studied it. “This thing keeps turning up like a bad penny.” He looked at her. “It shouldn’t even have its own power source, so what in hell keeps making that noise?”

She turned her head away. “I have no idea.”

He gently turned her face to look at him. “Don’t try to live by my beliefs, Camry, at the expense of your own,” he softly told her. “I was wrong to pretend to go along with you and AuClair instead of telling you I thought it was all an act.” He held the transmitter up for her to see. “But this infernal thing,” he said with a crooked smile, “seems determined to make me believe.” He shoved it in his pocket, kissed her again, then climbed out of the hole.

He freed his boot from the snowshoe Max had found, sat down and put it on, then crawled over and lifted the edge of the sleeping bag off her right foot. “It’s still swelling,” he said, carefully covering her foot again. “I’m going to hunt for our gear before I immobilize it. I’d like to find the first-aid kit, because I tossed what was left of our pain pills in it. Are you comfortable enough?”

“I’m okay. Where’s Tigger?”

“She seems to be fully recovered, and is nosing the snow with Max. I’m giving myself twenty minutes to search, and then we’re out of here, gear or no gear. Just close your eyes and rest. I’m afraid you might be in for a painful afternoon.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you.”

He chuckled. “If you want to help, then picture our snowcat magically appearing while I go to work on my own miracle.”

Chapter Twenty

As “seemingly impossible tasks” went, Luke decided this one was a doozy. Getting back to civilization had appeared daunting enough when they’d both been hale and hearty, but getting Camry out of these woods with a broken ankle—without killing her in the process—might very well prove impossible.

Unless . . .

Luke shoved his hand in his pocket and touched the transmitter. How in hell did the damn thing keep turning up just when they needed it? He believed Camry when she said she’d thrown it away this morning—just as he had the other day, when he’d smashed it into that tree and watched it shatter into a hundred pieces. Yet here it was again, and they’d both heard it chirping just now.