on the rifle and lifted it to his
shoulder.
He had seen more than a few bear and the occasional moun-
tain lion, but something told him it was neither of those things.
Surely the smaller animals would have run hard for the other
side of the mountain if big game had wandered into his clearing.
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Fletcher quietly walked down the steps and trained his rifle on the spot the raccoon seemed so interested in.
The animal turned its black-masked face up to him, and now
Fletcher was puzzled. Why didn’t the raccoon try to run? Why
was it just sitting there? The expression of pure confusion on its face was almost human.
“Oh God,” Fletcher said.
Just as Fletcher realized what that sound was, he heard an-
other one: the unmistakable report of a branch breaking, a body tumbling, and a very human scream. The raccoon raced across
the yard, away from the sound, finally scared out of its little mind. There was a terrible thud, and another scream, cut short on an exhaled breath.
That tore Fletcher out of his astonishment. He broke into a
run.
He found the woman at the foot of the ravine. Even in the
moonlight, she looked pale as a ghost. Blood covered her fore-
head and a bruise was already flowering under her right eye.
Fletcher fought his way through the brush, dropping his gun
along the way—from the looks of her, she wouldn’t be a threat.
When he reached her, she was shivering hard from a combina-
tion of cold and shock. She looked up at him with frightened
eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, ripping at the branches
around her.
“F-f-f-fell,” she stuttered, her teeth chattering.
Snow had begun to fall again, and he watched as it caught in
her hair.
“I have to get you out of here,” he said. “You’re going to
freeze to death unless we get you to the house right now.”
S ix W eeks on S unrise M ountain, C olorado 49
Her teeth were chattering. Controlling her body seemed to
take a massive effort.
“H-h-house . . .”
“In the house. That’s right. What’s your name?”
A tear ran down her face. It froze on her skin before it could
reach her bruised jaw. “Jan—Janine.”
“Janine?”
She nodded with the slightest motion of her head.
“Okay, Janine. Can you stand up?”
All her movements were slow, as though she were underwater.
Fletcher thought it might have been shock, or worse, a head in-
jury from the fall she took. She balled her hands up into fists and stood up, obviously with more than a little pain. She was shaking hard. His own teeth were chattering from the cold. Once a
cold front rolled in, it came with a vengeance. The temperature had dropped a good thirty degrees since the sun went down.
“Can you walk?”
She stepped carefully, as if her legs might give way at any mo-
ment. The moonlight was just enough to help them make their
way up the lane without stumbling. Fletcher carefully navigated the porch steps, moved around the rocking chair, and pushed
open the door. Once they were inside, he led her to the bed in
the corner, where he admonished her to sit and not move.
Fletcher quickly strode to the fireplace and added more
wood, then more kindling for good measure. The fire flared
and crackled. In its mellow orange light, Fletcher turned and
looked at the woman. She needed a hospital. He had never felt
so inadequate.
“Tell me where you’re hurt,” he said. “Tell me what I can do
for you?”
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G wen M asters
It felt odd to talk to another person again. He was accus-
tomed to not speaking for days, his silences punctuated only by his talk to the raccoon, but the sound soothed him now, made
him less afraid.
“I’m so cold.” She was still shivering, despite the warmth of
the fire.
“Your clothes are all wet.” He knelt to the floor and pulled
off her boots, his mind racing. “You’ve got to get them off.”
Fletcher helped Janine sit up. When she struggled out of her
jacket, he saw the shirt she