Free Alphas in the Wild by Ann Gimpel Page A

without all the pain and hurt and endless arguments.
    Hope I live long enough to find out.
    She grabbed the sleeping bags, shouldered her pack, and moved through the storm to the supply tent. It would be a tight fit, with the four of them and most of the community gear, but until she was certain the coyotes would be satisfied with the sacrificial mule, she wasn’t taking any chances.
    When she got inside, battening the door against wind that had to be gusting at close to forty miles an hour, she saw Tim bent over Mitch. “What’s wrong?”
    “Hypothermia, frostbite. Too much booze and dope. Not enough food or water. Probably has some kind of viral hepatitis to boot. He’s pretty yellow. Whichever MD cleared him for this work detail should have his license suspended.” Tim sounded angry—and troubled. “I got his clothes off and wrapped two down bags around him with hot water bottles inside, but he’s delirious. I need him awake enough to eat and drink since I obviously don’t have any IV equipment here.”
    Wending her way among stacks of gear, she dropped her pack and the sleeping bags on a cot. An unpleasant odor from Mitch’s unwashed body permeated the already stale air in the tent. She could only imagine what it would be like by morning. She walked over to Tim and peered down at Mitch. He thrashed weakly on a cot. His color was horrid, face a ghastly shade of gray. The whites of his eyes were lemon-colored.
    “I’m surprised he made it back here,” she said.
    “Yeah. Me too.”
    “There should be either a full EMT or paramedic pack in with the supplies. Do you want it?”
    Something painfully close to hope flared in Tim’s eyes. “That would be great. Any medical supplies are better than what I have, which is nothing.”
    Turning up the beam of her headlamp, Moira rummaged through boxes stacked along one side of the tent. It took her a few minutes, but she located the crate of medical supplies and carried it over to Tim. “Where’s Jake?”
    “Bringing stuff from the other tents. Did you talk to the Park Service?”
    “Uh-huh.” She stopped, trying to figure out which piece of bad news to deliver first.
    “And? Come on, Moira, don’t make me work to get information. I’m having a hard enough time.”
    She felt instantly contrite. “Sorry. No chopper till after the storm, and that’s at least two days—”
    “What?” Blue eyes flashing, he got to his feet, took her arm, and pulled her away from Mitch’s cot. “Barring a miracle, he’ll be dead long before then.”
    “Him and the others out on the trail,” she muttered.
    Tim raked his hands through his hair. “I feel goddamned helpless.”
    She put her hands on his shoulders and met his gaze. “We aren’t helpless. This is what happens when you leave civilization. You have to rely on your wits. If you’d somehow missed meeting up with me, you’d be in a world of hurt. Not dead, but headed in that direction.”
    “That’s not helping.”
    “Maybe not, but you need to hear it anyway. Modern life has lulled us into a sense of complacency...” She felt like she was being patronizing, so she shook her head and started over. “Things are more...real out here. More immediate. But more dangerous too. You realize what a slender margin separates being alive from falling prey to something that can kill you. It puts a finer edge on things—”
    Jake shoved his way into the tent, his arms full of clothing and sleeping bags. “Whew. Stinks in here. How’s Mitch, Doc?”
    “Not good.”
    Jake dropped his things onto a pile of clothing. “Shit. I was afraid of that. He was pretty far gone when I found him. But he sort of rallied. And he knew who I was. Damn.” He hunkered next to his friend. Tugging an arm out of the sleeping bag, he took Mitch’s hand and stroked it.
    It was such an oddly tender gesture from the burly mountain man that Moira felt the quick bite of tears. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t afford to be emotional. The