Worth The Risk. Sarah Morgan

       CHAPTER ONE

      ALLY was cold.

      Last night, curled up with a hot chocolate in front of a cosy, flickering fire, a walk in the mountains had seemed like a good idea. Solitary. Invigorating. Good for the soul. Something she rarely had time for any more. The weather forecast had predicted a clear, fine day…

      Tugging her hat further down over her ears to keep out the rising wind, she scowled at the swirling mist. How did the weatherman get away with it? If she ever got a diagnosis that wrong she’d be struck off!

      With a resigned shrug she put her fingers in her mouth and gave a shrill whistle, bracing herself as a ball of fur streaked through the mist and skidded to a halt in front of her, tail wagging.

      ‘This was a stupid idea!’ She rammed her fingers back inside the glove before they froze, and glared at the dog. ‘I don’t know what you’re looking so pleased about—I’m in the last stages of hypothermia. Let’s call it a day.’

      Dropping her hand to give him a quick pat, she turned on her heel and then stopped dead, every muscle in her body frozen into stillness. The dog growled.

      ‘Did you hear something, too?’ She listened again, straining her ears to pick out the sound again.

      Nothing. Just the wind gusting more heavily by the minute.

      Hesitation showing on her delicate features, Ally turned her head to gaze back up the path. It had come from the ghyll, a deep ravine plunging hundreds of feet down towards the valley floor.

      Just the wind? Or a cry for help?

      Her fingers tickled the dog’s ears. ‘It’s probably nothing, but we’d better just check. We’ll go higher up where the path is better.’

      Down here the path was so badly eroded that going too close to the edge would be a quick route down to the bottom.

      Her decision made, she turned on her heel and snapped her fingers at the dog, who fell into step behind her, tongue lolling. She stopped at the curve in the path and rubbed the dampness away from her face before dropping to her knees, inching as close to the vertiginous drop as she dared.

      ‘Are you crazy?’

      Hard male fingers bit into her shoulder and wrenched her back from the edge, leaving her spread-eagled on the stony path.

      Her heart galloping with shock, Ally closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again to find herself staring at a pair of long, powerful legs. Blinking several times, her eyes moved slowly upwards, past broad shoulders, past a chunky polo—which brushed a rough jawline, and finally clashed with a pair of dark, very angry eyes.

      Very angry indeed. With her?

      Her heart still thumping, she scrambled to her feet, ignoring his outstretched hand. No way was she going to be on the receiving end of that grip twice in one day! The man obviously didn’t know his own strength.

      ‘What the hell were you doing?’ His sharp question made her lift her chin defensively.

      ‘What did you think I was doing?’ Surely it was obvious?

      ‘Contemplating suicide?’

      ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous!’ Ally gave him an impatient look and brushed some stones from her knees. ‘I thought I heard someone shout.’

      Smooth, dark eyebrows rose. ‘So you thought you’d dive head first over the edge to investigate?’

      ‘I wasn’t anywhere near the edge—’

      Strong fingers clamped around her wrist and jerked her back towards the head-spinning drop.

      ‘See that?’ He gestured with his head, a muscle working in his lean cheek as his eyes blazed into hers. ‘This path is crumbling. You were seconds away from joining them at the bottom of the mountain.’

      She tugged at her wrist. ‘It’s fine here. The National Trust have—’ She broke off as his words registered. ‘You said them! So you heard something, too?’

      He gave a grim nod and released her, swinging a large rucksack off his back. ‘There are two boys in trouble. They were scrambling in the ghyll.’

      ‘Scrambling?’ Ally’s voice rang with disbelief. ‘But we’ve had ten inches of rain in these fells since Monday. That ghyll is a difficult scramble at the best of times, but when it’s

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