began to realise that he meant it. But surely there was something they could do? This was England, for heaven’s sake—not the Rocky Mountains!
‘We must be able to phone for help.’ She began to fish around in her handbag. ‘I have a mobile here somewhere.’
His own was snug in his pocket—did she really think he hadn’t thought of that? ‘Sure, go ahead,’ he murmured. ‘Call the emergency services and tell them we’re in trouble.’
She knew just from the tone of his voice that there would be no signal, but stubborn pride made her jab at the buttons with frustration coupled with rising panic.
‘No luck?’ he questioned sardonically.
Her hand was shaking, but she put the phone back in her handbag with as much dignity as possible. ‘So we really are stuck,’ she said flatly.
‘Looks like it.’ Her eyes looked huge and dark, all wide and appealing in her pale, heart-shaped face—designed by nature to provoke protectiveness in a man. And nature was a funny thing, he mused—a nose, two eyes and a mouth could be arranged in such a way to transform a face from the ordinary into the exquisite. Luck of the draw, like so much else in life. ‘Listen,’ he drawled, ‘I thought I could make out a building a little way back. It makes far more sense to head for that. I’ll go and investigate.’
The thought of being left here all alone made her feel even worse. What if he disappeared into the cold and snowy night and never came back again? What if someone came along? It wasn’t much of a contest, but on balance she’d probably be much safer with him than staying here without him. He might be a little lacking in the respect department, but at least he seemed to know what he was doing. ‘No, I don’t want you leaving me here,’ she said. ‘I’m coming with you.’
His eyes flickered over her leather boots. They were good, soft, waterproof leather, but heels like that weren’t made for walking. And neither, by the look of it, was she. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Not exactly dressed for it, are you?’
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting to have to go for a hike!’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Ever skied?’
Keri laughed. ‘With my job? You’re kidding—skiing is classified as a dangerous sport and therefore frowned on.’
Pretty restrictive job, he thought. ‘Well, you’re sure you’re up to it?’
‘I can manage,’ she said stubbornly.
He supposed that there was no choice but to let her try. ‘You’ll have to—because there’s no way I’m carrying you.’ His eyes mocked her again as he saw her lips part, and he realised that he was lying. Of course he would carry her, just the way he had been conditioned to do. Men would walk miles across any terrain for a woman who looked like that. ‘Button up your coat,’ he said roughly. ‘And put your gloves back on.’
She opened her mouth to ask him to please stop addressing her as he would an idiot, but something about the set of his mouth told her that the dynamics had subtly changed and he was no longer just the driver. It was indefinable but unmistakable from his body language that suddenly he was in charge. And she wasn’t used to that either.
‘Hat?’ he drawled.
She shook her head and he reached in the glove compartment for a beanie and handed it to her.
‘Put your hair up,’ he instructed. ‘And then put this on.’
‘Won’t you need it yourself?’
‘You need it more,’ he stated. ‘You’re a woman.’
She thought about making some clever remark about equality, but something cool and implacable in his eyes told her not to bother, as if he didn’t really care what she thought. For a woman used to men hanging on her every word, it was certainly a change.
He got out and came round and opened the door for her, pulling it back with difficulty, for snow was piled up against it.
‘Be careful,’ he warned. ‘It’s cold and it’s deep. Just follow me, okay? Close as you can and quickly as you can. And do exactly as I tell you.’
It was most definitely an order.
He seemed to know exactly where he was going, even though Keri could barely make out what was lane or field or sky or hedge. She panted slightly as she stumbled into the blinding whiteness. It was an effort to keep up with him and he kept having to stop, turning to look at her, the slanting eyes narrowing.
‘You okay?’
She nodded. ‘I’m being slow, aren’t I?’
You’re a woman, and you aren’t trained up for this kind of stuff. ‘Don’t worry about it. Fingers not freezing too badly?’
‘Wh-what fingers are they?’ She shivered.
He laughed then, an unexpected and oddly musical sound, and his breath made frozen clouds in the air. ‘Not long now,’ he promised softly.
As she teetered behind him she wondered how he could be so sure. Swirling flakes of snow flew against her face, shooting into her eyes and melting on her lips. The boots she had thought comfortable were only so in the context of a short stroll down a London street. Her feet felt as if they had been jammed into sardine cans and her toes were beginning to ache and to burn. And her fingers were freezing—so cold that she couldn’t feel them any more.
She had never been so aware of her body in such an aching and uncomfortable way, and with the unfamiliar feelings of physical discomfort came an equally unfamiliar fear. What if they couldn’t find the place he had claimed he had seen? Hadn’t she read newspaper reports of people freezing to death, or getting lost in conditions not unlike this?
A shiver quite unconnected to the cold ran through her. Why hadn’t they just waited in the car and sat it out until morning? At least they would have been easily found there. She bit her lip hard, but scarcely felt it, then he stopped suddenly.
‘Here!’ he said, and a note of satisfaction deepened his voice into a throaty growl. ‘I knew it!’
Keri peered ahead, her breath a painful, icy gasp which shot from her lungs. ‘What is it?’ she questioned weakly.
‘Shelter!’
As she came alongside it, it loomed up before her like a spectre. It didn’t look either warm or welcoming. It was a very tall building—almost like a small church—and the path leading up to it was banked high with snow. There was no light whatsoever, and the high windows were uncurtained, but at least it was shelter.
And Keri did what any woman would do under the circumstances.
She burst into tears.
JAY narrowed his eyes and gave her a quick, assessing look. How like a woman! The Canadians had at least five different descriptions for snow; the Icelanders countless more—and so it was with women and their tears. They cried at the drop of a hat,
