Northern Exposure by Debra Lee Brown

were—
    â€œStop!” He bolted toward her, onto the bridge, his gaze narrowing past her.
    The walkway rolled. She glanced behind her and saw what he’d seen. Too late. His weight caused a swell the size of a tsunami. She slipped and landed hard, vaguely aware of Joe letting loose with a couple of choice swear words.
    The next thing she knew she was sitting on the bridge, grabbing for the cabling, one leg plunging between two icy slats, one of which had come loose from the walkway and was dangling free over the river below them.
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    â€œIf you’d waited until I’d gotten across, everything would’ve been fine.”
    Joe dropped his pack onto the wet ground on the other side of the suspension bridge and dug around inside it for the first-aid kit. “Yeah, just dandy. So now it’s my fault.”
    â€œYes, it’s your fault. It’s entirely your fault.” Wendy sat gingerly on the waterproof tarp he’d spread on the ground for her, then rolled up her pants leg. “I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t come after me.”
    â€œIf I hadn’t come after you, you’d be dead now.” The thought of it made his gut clench.
    Their gazes locked. She knew he was right, but wouldn’t admit it. She was the most stubborn, pig-headed…
    â€œHere.” He pushed his warring thoughts and ridiculous emotions aside, and tossed her the first-aid kit.
    â€œYou’re bleeding, too.” She nodded at his right forearm. “There, where the frayed cable cut you.”
    â€œIt’s nothing.”
    â€œIt’s not nothing. Come here, let me see it.”
    He shrugged off her help. “Deal with that scrape on your leg, and I’ll see to myself.”
    â€œFine.”
    They spent a few minutes doctoring their own wounds, which were minor, considering what could have happened. Wendy had slipped through a broken slat on the walkway, sustaining a scraped calf that he suspected didn’t sting nearly as badly as her behind, which had landed hard on the walkway when she’d fallen.
    He spent a second thinking about that behind. A second too long.
    â€œWhat now, Warden?” She looked at him as if he were the one responsible for her current state.
    Which he was, he reminded himself.
    What had happened today had completely reinforced his world view.
    â€œWe’ve lost too much time today already, and the trail conditions are bad. No use trying to reach the next cabin. We’ll log a couple more miles, if you’re up to it, then make camp for the night.”
    She looked at him as if he’d suggested they stand on their heads and sing. “We’ve got to keep moving! If we don’t make better time, if we don’t reach the caribou habitat soon, I’ll never get my photos and get back to New York before the magazine’s deadline.”
    Joe shook his head in disbelief. The woman nearly buys it, and all she can think about is getting her damned snapshots. She was something else, all right.
    â€œThat’s not my problem,” he said, zipping the first-aid kit and tossing it into the pack. “What is my problem is getting you out of here. Alive.” He got to his feet and offered her a hand.
    â€œSo it’s the tent again, tonight.”
    â€œThat’s right.” His hand remained outstretched, waiting for her to take it. With pursed lips and a resigned look on her face, she did, and he helped her up.
    Only after they’d made camp for the night, a few miles down the trail, once she was safe and warm and he was by her side, did he allow himself to relive the panic that had punched him in the gut when he’d watched her take that fall.
    Only, he was the one falling.
    Falling hard, for a woman who ran with the kinds of scum and lived the sort of lifestyle that had gotten his sister killed.
    It was time he knew what he was dealing with.
    â€œThere’s something we need to talk about,” he