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rusty metal Quonset hut filled the area, apparently abandoned. Leaving her with no other excuses to avoid the rest of her discussion with her husband.
    Josh rechecked his newly fashioned lock on the door inside the Quonset hut. Not exactly the Hilton in Hawaii, but more welcome.
    He wedged a piece of wood against the door, which was pounded by battering winds and sheeting ice that picked up force and speed with each passing minute. He'd managed the best he could with security and was fast running out of tasks to keep his mind off Alicia behind him preparing to wash. Taking off her ice-caked clothing and draping it over fishing wire strung across the lone room.
    Focus on survival, not the sound of rustling clothes and water trickling into a metal basin.
    Padding along the wood floor in his bare feet, he surveyed the twenty-by-ten-foot metal shelter, which looked more like half a rusty metal cylinder dropped onto the ground. But it blocked the howling snowstorm kicking back up full force. The single door also made guarding their backs from intruders a helluva lot easier, not that anyone would be coming their way until the renewed blizzard passed.
    The woodstove already snapped with a fire, cranking the temp inside up to a balmy fifty degrees while melting a second basin tub of ice. The open grate allowed the flames to cast a low haze of light through the room, along with dwindling sun through the thick Plexiglas window in the door. They would be able to conserve their flashlight batteries.
    Luckily law enforcement and other government agencies kept such buildings stocked with rudimentary survival supplies, a routine part of the state budget. Rarely were the places looted. There wasn't much to take, anyway, just a small box of dehydrated foods, a couple of aluminum washtubs, a woodstove welded to the floor with stacks of wood beside.
    And four sleeping-bag bedrolls.
    He'd think about the bed part later.
    The fishing line swayed under the weight of the drying winter gear, his parka and snow pants as well as hers, creating a makeshift curtain to conceal Alicia while she washed.
    Except it didn't block all of her from view.
    Her feet shuffled in a semicircle—in toe socks patterned with reindeer sporting neon noses. The festive garb seemed out of synch with the stark setting and yet so...her. Somehow that view of her tempted him as much as if the curtain vanished.
    Exhaustion swamped him. He must be near dead on his feet, otherwise he wouldn't be standing around gawking at her socks.
    Nothing left to do but strip down, too. Survival first. Clothes damp from snow and sweat were killers out here. He peeled off his flight suit, socks, thermal shirt and pants. Washed, shaved. Dumped in more buckets of ice to melt. And still Alicia hadn't come out.
    What was taking her so long? Damn, but he hated not knowing what to say to her. He scooped his hands through the lukewarm water, splashing up on his face and over his head until he saturated his close-cropped hair and admitted to himself he'd delayed thinking as long as he could.
    Finally, he let his mind settle on what she'd told him. She didn't still love the other guy after all. The bastard had hurt her. How much, Josh couldn't even let himself think about yet or he would go crazy from inaction.
    Why the hell hadn't he considered it before? The reason for her reticence made perfect sense. He wanted to pound his head against the wall for his own idiocy.
    He watched her reindeer socks shuffle until he couldn't wait any longer to do something for her.
    "Are you all right back there?" he asked, for now and the past.
    "Yeah." Her voice drifted over the line, husky from so long in the stark elements. Please God, not from crying. "Just trying to balance everything until I finish up."
    Too easily memories of helping her bathe in the past came to mind. They'd lucked into a joint TDY, staying in a bed-and-breakfast with an incredible spa tub. She'd been so slick and hot and all over him.
    He hadn't