I help her back to the bench, examining her ankle again. The swelling has increased, skin taut and discolored.
“Bad?” she asks.
“Swollen,” I say. “You’ll need to stay off it for a day or two. Ice would help, but...” I gesture toward the rain-lashed window. “Cold compress coming up,” I say, heading to the door.
Outside, rain continues to fall in sheets. I fill a small stuff sack with the cold rainwater, returning to place it on her swollen ankle.
“The crew?” she asks.
“Setting up tarps for the equipment,” I say. “They’ll be in soon.”
She leans back against the rough wooden wall, exhaustion evident in every line of her body. “This isn’t what I signed up for.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, something unspoken hangs in the air. “Thank you. For catching me.”
“Part of the job.”
“Is it?” A faint, tired smile touches her lips. “Hauling entitled actresses out of ravines?”
“Not usually included in the lodge owner contract,” Iadmit. “Nash handles the professional guiding. I’m the backup plan.”
The stove generates actual heat now, filling the cabin with the scent of burning pine. Lena extends her hands toward it, palms out. “I’ve never been this cold,” she says, her voice low.
“Wet cold is the worst,” I say. “Especially when you’re not moving.”
“How do you stand living here?”
“You prepare for it,” I say. “Respect it. The land isn’t trying to kill you, but it will if you don’t take it seriously.”
She considers this, eyes on the glowing stove. “I never took anything seriously enough. That’s what my grandmother used to say.”
The mention of her grandmother registers. Another small insight behind the Hollywood façade.
The door bursts open as the crew returns, bringing a rush of cold air and the smell of rain. They crowd into the cabin, creating an instant chaos of wet gear and competing voices. Elliott reworks the shooting schedule, while the camera operators dry their equipment.
“We should check our food supplies. We might be here longer than planned if this weather holds.”
Inventory reveals a solid amount—enough to last the trip when combined with what we’d planned to forage and catch along the way. The cabin has a crude rainwater collection system that will provide drinking water. Basic, but we’ll survive comfortably enough.
As evening approaches, the rain transforms from a downpour to a steady drizzle. The crew sprawls across the cabin floor, exhausted from the day’s ordeal. Lena remains on her bench, ankle elevated, wearing my oversized clothes. She’s a far cry from the polished actress who arrived at my lodge days ago.
I sit beside her, offering a bowl of reconstituted stew. “Not gourmet, butit’s hot.”
She accepts it, a grateful look in her eyes. “I feel ridiculous.”
“Why?”
She gestures down at herself. “Wrapped in clothes ten sizes too big, covered in mud, ankle swollen to twice its normal size. If people could see me now…”
“They’d find someone who hiked miles through a storm with a sprained ankle without complaining,” I say. “That’s not ridiculous.”
Her head tilts, surprise flickering across her face. “Was that a compliment, Finn Hollister?”
“Observation,” I say. “You’re tougher than you let on.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” she whispers conspiratorially. “It would ruin my reputation.”
