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With an inarticulate roar, he dove on top of her, knocking her to the ground. The wind whooshed out of her. His big body shielded her completely, except for her boots, which had snapped out of the bindings on her skis. She felt as if Dorothy’s house had landed on her in the land of Oz.
She lay there, catching her breath, listening for more gunshots. But none came.
“You okay?” Lyle’s voice rumbled over her head. Her face was smushed against his shoulder and all she could see was his sweater and a bit of sky overhead.
“Uh…I think?” She did a quick mental scan of her body and found no unusual pain or injury. Her puffy parka and snow-pants had cushioned her fall to the ground. “You?”
He didn’t answer. She squirmed against his body, trying to claim some space for herself.
“Lyle? Are yo
