Stranded With Her Rescuer

“Careful what you wish for, Will. You might find you don’t like what you find, at all.”

Hadn’t he already said she’d changed?

He pushed to his feet, into shadows, so that she couldn’t quite find his gaze, but his earnest expression stole every bit of breath she’d managed to suck in as he stepped forward into the fire’s circle of light.

“I doubt that,” he murmured.

She wanted to answer—some terrifically witty response—but, nope, there wasn’t enough air left in her cells, let alone her lungs. All she could do was stare into the sparkling depths of his eyes and wonder what it would be like to swim strokes in the icy blue there.

As she watched, they flicked down to her parted lips and back again. “You’re an enigma to me, Kitty Callaghan. And I’ve always enjoyed puzzles.”

She wanted to warn him that she was more puzzle than he knew. She was one of those boxes with hidden mechanisms, cryptic clues and booby traps if you pressed the wrong place. She wanted to but she didn’t, because the moment he stared at her lips, all she could think about was what it would be like to kiss him. To taste him and breathe him in.

After all this time.

And in that moment, she knew that she’d been wanting that since the very first moment she met him. More than just about anything else in her life.

Stranded with Her Rescuer

Nikki Logan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NIKKI LOGAN lives on the edge of a string of wetlands in Western Australia with her partner and a menagerie of animals. She writes captivating nature-based stories full of romance in descriptive natural environments. She believes the danger and richness of wild places perfectly mirror the passion and risk of falling in love.

Nikki loves to hear from readers via www.nikkilogan.com.au or through social media. Find her on Twitter, @readnikkilogan and Facebook, nikkiloganauthor.

For my beautiful boy, Gus.

The sonorous metronome to which I wrote my books.

How you would have loved all this snow.

“Dogs are wise. They crawl into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more.”

—Agatha Christie

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

Five years ago, Pokhara, Nepal.

WILL MARGRAVE LEANED a shoulder against the rounded earthen interior wall of his villa overlooking Pokhara and peered through the window down to the terrace flats below. The topmost flat was furred with the gentle, swaying grasses native to this part of Nepal, peppered with small clusters of shrubs and fully fenced all the way around to the kennels out back of the house. The yard had to be large, to do its job housing his sixteen rescue dogs.

Maybe it was the richness of the light, or the majesty of the mountains or the mirrored reflection of Phewa Lake but everything in this environment just sat so...comfortably in it.

Including him.

Will leaned forward into the window’s curve to watch the solitary woman below mingling with his dogs. Kitty Callaghan liked to start her day early and she liked to start it outside. On her second day here, he’d spotted her halfway down the terraces, meditating under the watchful protection of the Annapurnas as the sun rose behind the mountain range, doing her best impersonation of a normal, still person. Usually she was anything but, and today she was clearly in a more active mood, jogging back and forth in the fenced-in yard, tapping the noses of one dog then the next and darting back out of reach as they joined the game, drawing a canine cluster back and forth with her as she ran, not minding how silly she might look or how much dirt they kicked up.

Dogs and dirt didn’t bother Kitty any more than the looming mountains and composting toilets did. It was one of the things he liked about her best.

Not everybody loved the silent granite sentinels that marked Nepal’s border. Mountains were dominant, powerful forces—for better or worse. Some people found them oppressive and ominous, almost claustrophobic. People like his wife. Though how Marcella could stand anywhere on this hillside under these vast, wild skies and feel closed in was a mystery to him.

Like so much about her.

That mystery had once intrigued him—back when he’d assumed her secrets would unfurl like a lotus as the months and years passed—but intrigue had a way of losing its appeal when your marriage eroded as steadily as the rock beneath your feet.

Down below, Kitty laughed as one dog got the better of her. She arched back when Quest reared up and placed his paws on her slight shoulders, her face turned up to the gentle morning light—twisted away from Quest’s errant tongue—and the magic of her laughter cascaded like water down the terraced hillside.

And like warm breath down his spine.

Ugh... Moments like this one didn’t help his resolve. Looking at those wide grey eyes in perfect pale skin and not wanting to just...dive right in to see what curiosities lay behind them. Sitting up late at night by the fire, hovering on the precipice of the kind of conversations he missed so desperately, lying to himself that he could get a handle on the feelings that had been escalating ever since she arrived ten short days ago to film her series of freelance pieces in Nepal.

Ten long days knowing that Marcella was the kind of woman he’d always wanted—glamorous, talented, creative—but beginning to fear that Kitty was the kind he actually needed.

And he didn’t want to need anything from anyone who wasn’t his wife.

Eleven months ago he’d given Marcella his promise along with his heart, and he was not about to betray either of those. If he had to break his word to a woman, it wasn’t going to be the one he had pledged himself to in front of God.

They could make this marriage work—he could make it work.

Will shoved the ache down deep inside as he withdrew from the window. Kitty Callaghan needed to go. She didn’t have to leave Nepal—she could finish up her work—she just had to get out of this house. This town.

This marriage.

And she needed to do it soon, before the questions her presence raised began to eat away at the foundations of his already shaky relationship.

Will balled his fingers into fists and headed for the stairs.

He wasn’t even halfway down before his heart started hardening against her.

* * *

The slow rise of her head, the easy, surprised-to-see-you smile she offered him... It was all fake. Kitty knew the precise moment Will stepped out of his house, even as she had her back to him and the massive Annapurnas towering up behind him. She didn’t need Quest’s excited stare to tell her he was approaching, either.

She could feel him.

She could always feel him; in the tickle of her neck hairs and the tightening of her belly. Some kind of primitive intuition doing its thing. Still, she gave him her brightest, most welcoming smile. Because it was something she could do. A gesture that celebrated the bond she’d formed with him, in a perfectly appropriate way. One that said she knew exactly how lucky she was to be here.

‘Morning, Will.’

‘Got a moment, Kitty?’

There was something in the hard shadow in his eyes, the stiff way he was holding himself. The same way he did when one of his dogs indicated positive on a shard of clothing during a missing-hiker search. His tension infected her, too, and Quest fell away from their game, disappointed but accepting.

‘Sure.’

Will held a courteous hand low to her back as he guided her out of the dog yard, then seemed to think better of it and tucked it down behind his own body. As if she were tainted.

‘Something wrong? Is Marcella okay?’

Because some mornings his wife really wasn’t. Those mornings she looked as if she hadn’t slept more than an hour. If at all. And not in a good, first-year-of-marriage, up-all-night kind of way.

‘Marcella’s fine. I just need to speak to you.’

Instinct told her to get ahead of this conversation, to get some control over it. She spun to face him and he nearly barrelled into her. He caught himself just before impact, then stepped back as though—again—she were infected with something nasty. He backed up a little further for good measure.

That extra step particularly hurt.

‘Something you didn’t want the dogs to hear?’ she joked, though it cost her.

‘Kitty, I...’ He glanced out at the mountains all around them for inspiration. This wasn’t like him. The two of them had had nothing but easy conversations in the ten days she’d been in Nepal. Easy, deep, fabulous talks that felt as if they were continuing old exchanges from years ago.

‘You’re making me nervous, Will. What’s going on?’

‘I need to ask you to leave,’ he blurted.

How embarrassing that her first response was to misunderstand him. She frowned and glanced back at the dogs. ‘The yard? I thought it would be okay to—’

‘Pokhara, Kitty. It’s time for you to go.’

She blinked at him. ‘No, it’s not. I have nearly three weeks before it’s time.’

And, boy, she was not looking forward to that day.

‘Marcella shouldn’t have invited you to stay the whole month. It’s...’ He gazed back at the mountains. ‘It’s too much, Kitty. Too long.’

An awful kind of humiliation washed through her. That she had presumed he would be okay with it just because his wife was. Or seemed to be.

‘You said I was welcome,’ she breathed.

In his own words, with no one twisting his arm.

‘That’s what you do say, in this situation, isn’t it?’

When someone makes a horrendous presumption, did he mean?

‘So...’ Her head spun, and not just from the altitude. ‘Was I never welcome or am I no longer welcome?’

She didn’t really want to know the answer, either way, but she absolutely wanted to hear it from his lips.

‘You’ve finished filming our rescue operation...’

Part of the heat that rushed up her throat was because, to an extent, Will was right. She’d finished the main filming for the dogs, she’d been enjoying Pokhara and getting a feel for the country since then. Imagining what a fantastic piece it was going to make, visually.

And spinning out her time with him.

‘And we’ve got too much going on—’

‘No, you don’t.’

Marcella barely painted, never went out if she could avoid it; she lurked around their property alternating between long bouts of flat melancholy and excited bursts of energy. Meanwhile, Will trained every day but he had a comfortable routine that didn’t wear the dogs out. And only two emergency calls in the ten days she’d been here.

His lips thinned as he stared at her. The first time he’d made actual eye contact.

‘Kitty—’

‘I pick up after myself. I went to the market on Monday to save Marcella the trouble.’ And—PS—paid for a carload of supplies. ‘So what’s the real issue?’

Of course, a dignified person wouldn’t ask. A dignified person would just accept that things had changed and head off to start packing. Smiling, thanking them and giving her hosts a modest gift when she went. But there was nothing dignified about the panic that Kitty was starting to feel at Will’s decree, and not just because of the humiliation. Sometime between arriving and now, she’d realised that she was the happiest she’d ever been in Pokhara. Having that taken away was terrifying.

And the thought of never seeing Will again only compounded it.

‘You can’t really want to stay,’ he urged. ‘Knowing we don’t want you here.’

Something told her that ‘we’ was actually ‘I’, because his wife had clung to her since the day she’d arrived, and Marcella was too Southern and too well brought up to renege on a promise.

‘No,’ she snorted. ‘I don’t. But I’m not leaving without knowing what I did to get myself banished.’

She had a sneaking suspicion, actually, and a whole new flood of shame went on standby, ready for his answer.

For the first time, he softened, and it was so much worse than the hardened exterior he’d presented up until now. Because it was Will, not this icy doppelgänger.

‘You must know, Kit. You’re doing it right now.’

She lost her grip on the humiliation and it flooded her face. For ten days she’d worked so hard to keep a lid on her inappropriate feelings. To pretend the emotions didn’t exist. But they had a habit of leaking out when she was with him. Any time she wasn’t totally vigilant. Talking, laughing.

Or just standing very close, like this... Peering up at him.

‘I...’

Really, what could she say? She knew she was feeling it, and she knew what she was feeling. She would be naïve to imagine she wasn’t showing that at all, but Will hadn’t let on before, or objected to the conversations, the shared space, the accidental body contact passing on the stairs.

She’d even begun to think he might have enjoyed it. Just a little bit.

Obviously not.

‘It’s okay, Kitty, I get it. We’ve been spending a lot of time together—’

Her heart hammered.

She wasn’t about to be condescended to like a teenager. If he’d picked up on her feelings, why had he indulged them? Why not just shut them right down?

Shame ached through her whole body.

This was him shutting them down.

‘I just think it would be better for everyone if you headed off to do your own thing,’ he said.

Get the heck off his mountain, he meant.

‘We were friends,’ she said, numb and flat. Too hurt and too confused to even put any energy behind the accusation.

His eyes darkened and swung away from her. ‘You must want to see the rest of Nepal.’

No, not really. She’d been happy here, happier than any other time in her life. It was this mountain she loved, not just any Nepalese mountain. This town. This man.

That was why she had to go.

She could not love Will Margrave, and he certainly couldn’t love her, even if he wanted to, which—judging by the enormous tension in his body—he did not.

‘I’m married, Kitty.’

Yes, to the woman who’d invited her into their home. Was this how she’d repaid Marcella’s kindness? By making her husband uncomfortable enough to ask her to leave?

She dropped her eyes to the dark, rich earth. She’d caused this. She had to be the one to fix it.

‘Okay,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll go.’

She stumbled away from Will without raising her eyes again. And she didn’t look at him as she wrestled her stuffed backpack down the stairs, or as she hugged a weeping Marcella, or as she closed the door of the aging taxi behind her.

In fact, she didn’t raise her gaze until she was safely away from that Pokhara hillside, just in case he saw something there she would never recover from. Something worse than love.

Shame.

Which made that pitying gaze out by the dogs’ yard the last of Will Margrave she would ever see. And pity the last thing he would ever feel for her.

And she promised herself, in that moment, never to drop her eyes again.

CHAPTER ONE

Present day, Churchill, Canada.

‘YOU MUST BE KIDDING!’

Kitty Callaghan bundled herself tighter in her complimentary blanket and swapped her hand luggage into her right hand to give her left a break.

‘Sorry, ma’am,’ the polite woman said, widening her arms to usher her towards the exit. ‘Canadian federal law. No one can stay inside the airport after shutdown.’

‘But I have nowhere to go,’ she pointed out, though it was hardly necessary since this was the same official who’d been working for hours to find beds—or even sofas—for the one hundred and sixty-four passengers who’d found themselves stranded in their remote dot-on-a-map after smoke started billowing from their aircraft’s cargo hold thirty-five thousand feet over Greenland.

‘We’ve done everything we can to find accommodation for the final six of you. Three will be bunking down in the medical centre and two will be guests of the Mounties tonight in their holding cells. That’s every bed we have in town.’

Which left her sitting up all night in some waiting room.

This was the price she paid for being good at her job. Or maybe for simply doing it. Airlines had a way of not appreciating it when you captured their stuff-ups for posterity. She’d been way too busy filming the whole emergency response that had followed the pilot’s spectacular touchdown of the massive airliner on the remote, ice-patched runway to get herself higher up the queue for overnight accommodation. By the time she’d started paying attention to where she was going to spend the rest of the night, there had been no more room at the inn.

‘You don’t have a hotel here? Or even a B & B?’

The woman’s compassion wasn’t making her feel any better. ‘Actually we have nearly as many hotel rooms as residents but they’re all booked up because of bear season. And we’re out of volunteers with sofas.’

‘Bear season?’ Kitty blinked her confusion, glancing around. ‘Where are we exactly?’

Other than someplace snowy somewhere on a high arc between Zurich and Los Angeles up over the top of the planet. She’d been sleeping comfortably when the captain had made his emergency announcement and the chaos that had followed really hadn’t been the time to be pumping the flight crew with questions.

‘Churchill, Manitoba, ma’am,’ the woman said proudly. ‘Polar bear capital of the world.’

Churchill...

All the ice the A340 had come sliding in on suddenly seemed to relocate to her chest.

She’d heard of Churchill...

‘And what is bear season exactly?’ she said, tightly, to buy herself the time she needed to get her fibrillating heart under control.

The woman smiled, oblivious to the sudden extra tension in the near-empty terminal. ‘Oh, hundreds of bears migrate here to wait for Hudson Bay to freeze over, to go hunt on the ice for the winter. Numbers are at their peak right now. They’re everywhere.’

‘Maybe I could snuggle in between two of them for the night.’

The woman had a right to be disappointed at Kitty’s tone, but she had a right to be snitchy. Her plane had caught fire in mid-air. She’d endured an emergency landing then been bounced out into the bitter cold via the emergency slides with nothing but the light dress on her back, the complimentary blanket she’d been snuggled in, and her cabin bag, which she’d packed with the minimalist precision of a pro. Just her camera gear, some basic toiletries and an e-reader; none of which were going to help her out here. She had nowhere to go for the night except the heated police station waiting room because apparently this one was off-limits. And to top it all off, she’d landed in the only place on Earth she’d never planned on visiting—not because of its resident bears, but because of one human resident in particular.

Desperation set in like a low-hanging cloud. ‘What about your house?’

The woman had no reason to continue to be kind to her, but she did. God love Canada. ‘I’ve already sent two people home to my husband. Both on the sofas. Someone is on their way to get you and drive you into town, ma’am.’

‘Can’t they just keep on driving me to the nearest city? Something with beds?’

Apparently that thought was just hilarious.

The woman laughed. ‘The only way in or out of Churchill is by plane or train. And Winnipeg is a thousand miles to the south.’

Right. Which part of polar bear did she miss? Their trusty pilot must really have been desperate to get them out of the air to have landed them in the sub-arctic.

‘When will they send another plane, do you think?’ she asked weakly.

The woman glanced at her watch and frowned. ‘Let’s just get you sorted for tonight.’

This wasn’t the tightest spot she’d ever been in, though it was the first involving live predators, and the thought of sitting uncomfortably in some waiting room for hours scarcely appealed. Especially when there was no guarantee that she’d get on a flight tomorrow. Or the day after, or the day after.

Her lashes drifted shut.

Desperate times...

‘Does Will Margrave still live up here?’ she breathed.

He’d moved to Churchill right after the quakes in Nepal. Right after he’d lost Marcella. She’d exploited a working relationship with a clerk at the Department of Foreign Affairs to find out that he’d come home to Canada—come here—and then she’d pretended to delete the knowledge from her brain.

‘You know Will?’

She’d thought she had. Once. ‘It’s been a while.’

The airport officer moved immediately towards the phone. ‘We don’t usually ask Will because his cabin is so far out of town. Kind of isolated—’

Of course it was. Because this day wasn’t perfect enough.

‘Just try him, please,’ she urged. ‘Make sure you tell him it’s Kitty Callaghan. My full name.’

Kitty glanced out at the airport car park as the woman made her call. The sideways sleet was illuminated against the darkness of the night by floodlighting and she wondered whether the lights might serve as a beacon for any rogue bears wandering past looking for a late-night snack.

‘Any airport in a storm...’ she muttered.

The airline officer’s surprise drew Kitty’s focus back across the terminal.

‘Okay! John can take you straight there,’ she called, hurrying across the shiny floor. ‘The taxi ride is on us.’

Suddenly, the police waiting room didn’t look quite so bad. Compared to facing Will again. ‘Right now?’

The woman glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘As soon as your taxi gets here. Looks like it’s your lucky day!’

Lucky.

Right.

* * *

It wasn’t as far as the airport official had implied, as the crow flew, but no self-respecting crow would be out in this weather. The roads gouged through the hardening Boreal sog were slow going, impossible to see more than ten feet ahead of the old SUV that served as one of Churchill’s two taxis. It crept along deeper into the forest until they finally pulled up in front of a shadowy cabin with dim firelight glowing inside.

Proper Snow White territory.

‘Here we are,’ the driver chirped as a hooded figure appeared in the cabin’s entrance. He reached across Kitty to open her door and she clambered out into the bitter cold in pumps already soggy from the dash across the airport car park. Immediately her lungs started hurting with the cold.

‘Enjoy your stay,’ the driver grunted, more to himself than to her, before crunching his vehicle in every ice-topped puddle back up the long drive.

She turned and stared at the shadowy forest cabin.

‘Heat’s escaping,’ a gruff voice called from the open doorway. Then the figure turned and went back inside and only the puffs of mist where his words had been remained, backlit by the light pouring out of the cabin.

Lord...

Time had done nothing to diminish the effect of his voice on the hairs on her neck even as they gathered frost straight out of the sub-arctic air. The gruff rumble turned her insides to jelly just as much now as it had in Nepal. Fortunately, jelly couldn’t stand up to the frost in her chest any more than the frost outside it.