Only 06 - Winter Fire

them into thick wool ponchos.
    â€œPut this over your jacket,” he said, holding out one of the ponchos.
    â€œBut—”
    â€œDo it without arguing. Just for the hell of it. Just once.”
    He jerked the poncho over her hat before she could object again. Their breath mingled when he bent and tugged the poncho in place.
    It hung down below her knees.
    It was warm.
    â€œThank you,” she muttered.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” he said mockingly.
    â€œHow anyone can tell me to go to hell and never actually say the words is amazing.”
    â€œShouldn’t be. You manage it with a look.”
    With that, Case yanked his own poncho over his jacket, grabbed the shovel, and set off up the jumble of debris once more.
    Sarah was right on his heels.
    Snow began to fall. The first flakes were soft and airy, swirling like apple blossoms on the wind. Then the wind quickened. The flakes came thicker and faster, clothing the land in a clean white silence.
    â€œWe should go back,” he said as soon as he reached the top of the mound.
    â€œWhat for? Only rain is dangerous in these canyons.”
    â€œWhat if drifts pile up?”
    She shook her head. “Not here. Maybe on up in the high country.”
    â€œWhat about freezing to death?” he asked sarcastically.
    â€œIt’s warmer now than it was before it started to snow.”
    â€œHell,” he muttered.
    â€œAt least we won’t have to worry about an ambush,” she said matter-of-factly. “You can’t see more than twenty feet in front of your face.”
    â€œFor these small things, Lord, we are grateful. I think.”
    Case turned on his heel and looked up the south side of the canyon again. Though falling snow blotted out most landmarks, he remembered how the wall had looked through the spyglass.
    â€œStay off my heels,” he said. “If I fall, I don’t want to knock you down.”
    â€œDoes your leg hurt?” she asked anxiously.
    No, but my dumb handle sure does , he thought.
    He could still taste the heat of her startled breath when he had bent over her to pull the poncho in place. Like her scent, her movements, her simple presence, the knowledge of her warmth haunted him.
    â€œJust stay clear of me,” he said through his teeth.
    Twenty minutes later he levered himself up over a chest-high lip of stone. The ledge he found beyond was less than six feet deep. The overhang barely gave a man room to sit upright.
    More a crevice than an alcove, the ledge ran for about thirty feet before tapering away into a nose of rock. At one time the nose had been a tall red finger of stone, but frost and water had eaten through the softer rock at the base and tumbled the pillar into the canyon. It was impossible to say whether the pillar had tumbled yesterday or a thousand years ago.
    A low wall and several storage compartments were built into the crevice with native rock. At first glance, and even at second, it was hard for Case to be certain that the remains of the walls weren’t just random debris. The native stone naturally broke into roughly rectangular shapes that required little finishing by man to become small building blocks.
    â€œAre we there yet?” Sarah called up from just below him.
    â€œSuch as it is.”
    Kneeling, he set the shovel aside, turned, and reached down to help her up onto the ledge. As he did, he spotted what looked like a twisted piece of wood poking out from behind one of the low walls. Turning his head, he looked more closely.
    The remains of a buckle were attached to the oddly shaped scrap.
    He gave a soft, soundless whistle.
    â€œGrab hold,” he said. “It’s warmer up here out of the wind.”
    â€œAre they really ruins?” Sarah asked impatiently. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell at a distance.”
    â€œJudge for yourself.”
    Saying nothing more, he lifted her onto the ledge.
    She crouched on the cold rock and looked around eagerly.
    â€œWatch your head,” he cautioned.
    The first thing she saw was something poking out from behind a crumbling wall. She reached for it so quicklythat she banged her head on the low ceiling despite his warning.
    She hardly noticed. Her fingers were curled around an ancient leather strap. It had been dried to the consistency of wood by the alternating fire and ice of the stone desert.
    â€œIs it as old as I think?” she asked, her voice awed.
    â€œI don’t know. I do