Wild Men of Alaska 01 - Impact

that, but she was nagging him when he obviously hurt. They were both wet and cold and probably hungry. She certainly was. Hunger could explain her bitchiness. She hadn’t had breakfast because her nerves had been too jittery knowing she was going home, and there was a good chance she’d see Skip. Lunch had consisted of the measly peanut mix and a small glass of artificial punch the airline from Anchorage to King Salmon had given everyone.
    God she hoped he knew where the plane was. Her feet were so cold, and she was in danger of losing digits. Then suddenly there it was. So close she almost ran into the door Skip opened for her.
    “Hurry. We don’t want it wetter inside than we can help.”
    She scampered into the upside down plane, having to crawl around the seats in the cockpit. Skip struggled to follow her. He shut and latched the door, but the wind whistled through the broken front window.
    “Get out of your wet clothes,” Skip said, following behind her, shrugging off his coat. “See if you can find my bag. If we don’t get dry, I don’t have to tell you how much trouble we’ll be in.”
    Hypothermia. Number one killer in the state of Alaska.
    She headed into the tail of the plane. “What does your bag look like?”
    “Blue and gold.”
    She should have known. Trooper colors. Also the colors of the state flag. “Eight stars of gold on a field of blue.” She bet his uniform was in his bag. Damn he looked good in his trooper uniform. She’d never admit it, but her good intentions would weaken to mush when he was all gussied up. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d never had good intentions back then. She barely had them now.
    She found his bag, and under it were boxes of food. Lots of food. Someone had gone to Costco!
    “There’s food!” Her stomach growled. She turned and tossed Skip’s bag toward him and then swiveled back to the food.
    “Change your clothes first,” Skip said.
    She glared at him from over her shoulder. “You knew there was food?”
    “Yes.” He bent, and one-handed, unzipped his bag.
    “You couldn’t have said something?”
    He paused and looked at her from under his brows. “Been kinda busy with other things.”
    “But I’m hungry.”
    “You’re cold too. You’re probably so cold that you don’t feel it anymore. Now, get out of those wet clothes, or I’ll have to warm you up myself. And there will be nudity.”
    A fiery blush heated her cheeks. She shivered, and hoped it was the cold and not the image his words invoked. She knelt, or fell as her knees gave out, next to her suitcase and rummaged through her clothes. She needed layers. Lots and lots of layers. She didn’t care that he was watching her this time, didn’t even ask him to turn around. The blush must have jumpstarted her thermostat because her body started to shake, and her teeth to rattle. She was freezing. Thinking of them naked, next to each other, started to sound very appealing. And not just in a sur vival nature.
    She whipped off her jacket, tossed it aside, and lifted her sweatshirt. Her Under Armour felt dry so she went to put on another sweatshirt.
    “Take it off,” Skip said.
    “It’s dry.”
    “If any part of it is wet, your body won’t warm up. So, be safe and take it off.”
    Was it wrong that there was a big part of her who wanted him to say that in a less impersonal way?
    “Fine.” She struggled out of the Under Armour. The cold sucked the breath out of her. She shivered into a long-sleeved t-shirt and followed that with another sweatshirt. Her jeans were next, and the Under Armour pants. Goose flesh was red and splotchy on her legs before she covered them up with a pair of black heavy sweats with Bristol Bay printed down the side of one leg. Wool socks followed. She was feeling much better when she turned to face Skip.
    He was a mess.
    Much like a two-year-old who’d just learned to change himself, his jeans were off and he was struggling into another pair. They weren’t going on easily with only one good arm and his skin being wet. He still had on his soaked shirt. She should have thought how hard changing his clothes would have been before she’d changed her own. Now she felt like mud on the bottom of his boots.
    “I’m sorry, Skip.” She reached out to help pull up his jeans. He sighed with what she assumed was relief and let his good arm drop away, letting her take over.
    She buttoned the jeans and went to pull up his zipper. Well ... he hadn’t lost his balls out