Chapter 13

• Tripp sat up and then froze, listening. He blinked to focus, then remembered he was in a tent on top of a mountain with the unpredictable daughter of a man he hated. Not the wake-up recollection he would have preferred. Stretching the stiffness out of his neck, he flipped the sleeping bag off. Taking his turn after she’d been in the bed, meant he’d got to smell the pungent scent of gasoline the whole time. His cat was tripping on something he decided, with the inclination to roll around on it like it was a sweet-smelling chunk of grass or something. If his animal had a penchant for the smell of fuel, this was the first he’d known about it.
• Getting to his knees, he grabbed his boots and shirt. At least his animal had cranked up the heat and kept him warm enough that he hadn’t needed to sleep fully clothed. Pulling on his boots, he unzipped the door and looked outside. The snow had stopped, so that was a huge plus. Inhaling, the scent of cooking meat filled him. Grabbing his shirt and the borrowed jacket, he scrambled out of the too-small door and stood there like he was expecting a disaster to be in front of him.
• Amari turned from where she was squatted down in the door of the tent their guest was in. Tripp went over so he could see if the man inside was still breathing. He was chewing. Tucking the jacket under his arm, he turned his shirt so he could pull it on. “You left him and went hunting?” Was she that naïve?