by Sarah Morgan
Their “victim” cleared his throat. “Excuse me—I’m still in this hole. Aren’t you at least going to pull me out? Is this how you treat someone caught in an avalanche?”
“Don’t be a wimp. You can haul yourself out.”
“Wimp?” He struggled upright, wincing as snow slid inside the neck of his jacket. “Hell of a date, Posy McBride. When you said you wanted my body, this wasn’t what I imagined.”
“No?”
“No.” He removed a lump of snow from his neck. “You said, ‘I want your body on Saturday,’ and I was good with that. I like a woman who knows what she wants. I thought to myself, dinner and then a movie. Or maybe a cozy evening in the Glensay Inn followed by a romantic stroll. Setting the scene before we get naked together.” He levered himself out of the snowy hole and she laughed.
“You look like the Abominable Snowman.”
“Your concern warms me, which is good because I may have hypothermia.”
Her smile widened. “You think?”
“That’s generally what happens when a person lies buried by snow for a couple of hours waiting for a dog to find him.” He brushed thick layers of snow from his sleeve. “I have snow in places I didn’t even know snow could reach. Any chance of a wee warming dram?”
“Somehow that phrase doesn’t sound right spoken in a New York accent.”
“I’ll use whatever accent you prefer as long as you pour me whiskey.”
“Alcohol and hypothermia aren’t a good combination.”
She enjoyed their banter, probably more than she should.
Luke’s arrival at Glensay had calmed the restlessness inside her that always seemed to be present these days. It was as if he’d brought part of the outside world with him, quenching some of her thirst for adventure.
Bonnie was bounding in happy circles, tail wagging.
“You’re lucky she is a superstar, or you would have been lying there for a lot longer.”
“I’m supposed to feel grateful that I’m cold and wet?”
“If this was a real avalanche, you’d be falling at her furry paws and pledging lifelong love and allegiance.”
He stamped the snow from his boots. “If this was a real avalanche, I would have been wearing a transceiver and carrying a shovel and probe.”
“That assumes you would have been climbing or skiing with people who knew what to do with a transceiver, a shovel and a probe.”
“Do people volunteer to do this more than once?”
“Yes. We have a team of ‘dogsbodies’ who volunteer during our training exercises.”
“And they’re still alive?”
“Mostly. We don’t often do avalanche training. Sometimes you just get to lie in a soaking wet grassy hole on the side of the mountain.”
“Stop or I’ll never recover from the searing disappointment that comes from knowing I missed that experience.” He had the lean, athletic build of a climber and the rugged looks of a man who spent his life exposed to the elements.
The strength of the attraction had come as a surprise to her.
She was wary of relationships. In a small community like the one she lived in, you couldn’t walk away when a romance ended. There was a strong likelihood you were going to see the person every day. It had happened to her, and she wasn’t in a hurry to repeat the experience.
Rory called out to them. “Everything okay over there?”
Posy turned her head. “I think the victim has hypothermia.”
“Victim?” Luke arched an eyebrow. “Less of the ‘victim,’ thank you. It’s not how I see myself.” He bent to stroke Bonnie. “You’re the only girl for me. If I really had been buried in that avalanche and you rescued me, I’d have to marry you.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Golden Retriever. I predict many years of happiness.” Before Posy could dodge, Luke stuffed a handful of snow down the neck of her jacket.
Ice trickled over her skin and she gasped. “That’s immature.”
“But satisfying. And now you’re cold, too, which levels the playing field. We should warm each other. Hot shower. Log fire. Bottle of red wine.”
It would be easy enough to do because technically they lived under the same roof.
On their land was a barn, complete with hayloft. Her parents had cleverly converted it into two properties. Posy lived in the loft, which had sloping ceilings and views of the stars. The barn was offered as a rental. It was half a mile from Glensay Lodge, where her parents lived, and bordered by pine and birch woodland. A short walk led you to the deep loch, spring fed and stocked with brown trout.
Its isolation wasn’t for everyone, and in the summer the occupants were mostly couples seeking a romantic week in the wild Highlands. It was perfect for cycling, bird-watching, hiking and loch swimming, but the biggest draw was its proximity to big mountains. In the winter the barn was often booked by climbers.
Short rentals meant more work for Posy. With frequent changeovers, she was always cleaning, changing beds and doing laundry, so she’d been thrilled when Luke Whittaker had booked it for four months with an option to extend.
He was a climber and writer. He needed peace and quiet to finish a book, and a base that would allow him to climb. The barn offered opportunities for both.
Occasionally, when she’d arrived home late after a training session, Posy had seen his lights burning, so she already knew Luke Whittaker was a night owl.
She also knew he was good with animals. Like now, for instance, when he was sending Bonnie into ecstasy with a stomach rub.
He glanced up at her. “I’m assuming Bonnie passed the test?”
“She did. She picked up your scent right away.”
He straightened. “Are you telling me I smell?”
“Be grateful that you do. It’s how she finds you. She is trained to look for human scent. If you’re panicking and sweating, you give off a stronger smell.”
“I was buried in snow. I can assure you not a drop of sweat emerged from my frozen pores.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. She sensed your fear.” She enjoyed teasing him. “And she could probably feel the vibrations in the snow where you were shivering. But seriously, thanks. It was a good thing you did and we’re all grateful.”
“She seems like a pretty good rescue dog to me.”
“Fetch is her favorite game, which helps. You need a dog who has a strong drive to retrieve. And also scenting is her superpower.”
They picked their way over the lumps of snow, back down the track to where Posy had parked her car. A fresh layer of soft powder dusted the surface of the snow and the freezing air numbed her cheeks.
“Have you rescued many stranded climbers and hikers?”
“Yes. And sometimes I’ll get called by the police to help search for a missing person. A couple of weeks ago Bonnie found an elderly guy with dementia who had gone walkabout. His family were beside themselves—apparently he’d managed to unlock the front door and wander. They were relieved when we found him.”
“Wait—” He stopped walking. “I thought a trailing dog is a different type of rescue dog.”
“More often than not it is. Dogs either air scent, where they follow any human scent, or they follow the trail of a specific scent. It’s rare for a dog to be trained to do both.”
“And she is?”
“What can I say? She’s a superstar.”
They carried on walking. “The man you found was all right?”
“He was pretty cold. Bonnie found him sheltering behind a hedge. Spent a few nights in the hospital, but doing okay now. Bonnie and I went to visit him.”
“Is there anything she can’t do?”
“She doesn’t love helicopter rides—” Posy pulled a face “—and we get a few of those.”
Bonnie jumped into the back of the car and wagged her tail exp
ectantly while Posy changed her boots and removed the outer layers of her clothing.
She stuck out her hand. “Have a great day.”
Luke stared at her hand. “I give you my whole body, and all you give me in return is your hand? The least you could do is invite me to join you for a mug of hot chocolate in that cozy café you run with your mother.”
“Can’t. Today I’m staff, not a customer.” She slid into the driver’s seat. “But I’ll bring you home a slab of chocolate cake.”
“Dinner, then. I’ll take you to the Glensay Inn. Roaring log fire, local ale, good food and great company.”
And all the gossip you could handle.
“I’ve lived here for most of my life, Luke. You don’t have to sell the charms of my own village to me. And tonight, I’m busy.”
“You, Posy McBride, are always busy. When you’re not out tracking down lost souls with your dog or guiding someone up an ice wall, you’re working in the café, tending the sheep or collecting eggs from your hens. Which, by the way, taste like nothing I’ve ever eaten before.”
“Everything tastes better here. It’s the air. I have to go.” She knew her mother would be overwhelmed. “It’s our busy period and Mom is handling it on her own because Vicky is feeling under the weather.”
He stood, legs spread, hands on hips. “You’re good to your mom.”
It seemed like a strange thing to say. “She’s my mother. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Have you always been close?”
Posy’s earliest memory was being rocked to sleep by Suzanne. She remembered the warmth, the tightness of her arms, the feeling of comfort and security. “Yes.”
“And you’re going to take over the café from her one day?”
“That’s the plan.”
He studied her thoughtfully. “And you’re okay with that? You’ve never been tempted to travel? Do something different?”
It was as if he’d pressed down on a tender wound.
Should she admit that, yes, she’d been tempted? Should she admit it was something she thought about a lot at night and then dismissed during the day when she worked alongside her mother, who had been there for her through thick and thin? How could she ever explain the aching sense of responsibility she felt? It was an anchor, keeping her trapped in the same place. She was grateful for that anchor, but sometimes she wanted to tear it loose and set sail. There were big, beautiful mountains out there just waiting for her. A whole world of adventure.
During the day, she smiled at customers, cooked and made a perfect cappuccino, but at night in the privacy of her loft, she studied difficult peaks, ice and rock walls, planned routes, watched endless videos on the internet, until she felt as if she’d climbed those challenging faces herself.
“This is my home. My family is here and my job is here. Goodbye, Luke, and thanks for today.” Thanks for stirring up thoughts I didn’t want to have. “Rick will give you a ride back to Glensay Lodge.” She started the engine. “Don’t you have words to write?”
“Yes, but generally I need thawed hands for that.”
“I put fresh logs in the barn this morning before I left for the training session. I presume you know how to light a fire?” It wasn’t a serious question. Luke Whittaker had written a book on wilderness survival, and even had she not had that volume on her bookcase, she would have known he was the sort of man who could survive in the harshest of conditions, the sort of man who could produce a spark from two sticks before you could say flame.
“You could come and light my fire for me.”
“That is the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard. I hope you’re better at lighting fires than you are at picking up women or you’re about to suffer from a nasty case of frostbite.”
She put her foot to the floor and the last thing she saw before she drove away was the smile on his face.
Winter days in the Scottish Highlands were often gray and gloomy, but today was a perfect blue-sky day. The landscape was shrouded in white, smooth and undisturbed, like icing on a Christmas cake. The surface caught the sun and sparkled like a million crystals.
Why would she even think of leaving this beautiful place, filled with people who loved and cared about her? Being here wasn’t a sacrifice, it was a choice. She’d been four years old when Suzanne and Stewart had packed up their lives and moved from their home in Washington State to Scotland to be close to Stewart’s family.
Unlike her sisters, Posy had no memory of it.
She drove past the Parish Church and waved to Celia Monroe, who was emerging from an appointment with the doctor.
On impulse, she screeched to a halt outside the small library and grabbed the bag from the back seat.
This was a job she’d been putting off for weeks.
“I’m going to be told off like a six-year-old,” she confessed, and Bonnie wagged her tail in sympathy.
Bracing herself, Posy strode into the library. It had been threatened with closure many times, but the locals had defended it as fiercely as a clan defending their lands.
The woman behind the desk clucked her disapproval. “You have a nerve showing up here, Posy McBride. Your books are more than a month overdue.”
Posy leaned across and kissed her. “I was stuck up a mountain, saving lives, Mrs. Dannon.”
“Oh, go on with you. You were the same with your homework. Always late, and always an excuse.” Eugenia Dannon had been her English teacher at school and she’d despaired of Posy, who had spent her days gazing out of the window at the mountains.
“I probably owe you a lot of money in fines.”
The woman waved her away. “If I fined you every time your books were late, you’d be bankrupt.”
“I love you, Mrs. Dannon, and I know that deep down you love me.”
“Aye, more fool me. Now run along and help your mother.”
Run along? Did people actually still say that kind of thing?
Posy grinned. In Glensay they did, even when you were almost thirty.
“Next time you’re in the café, I’ll give you an extra-large slice of chocolate brownie.” She was halfway to the door when Mrs. Dannon’s voice stopped her.
“Did you read any of the books?”
“Every one of them. Cover to cover.” Grinning, she jogged out of the library.
She hadn’t read the books, and Mrs. Dannon knew it. Posy was willing to bet that half the people from the village who used the library didn’t read the books. But taking books out meant that Eugenia Dannon kept her job, and since her husband had died two years before, she needed both the money and the companionship the library offered. Everyone in the village had suddenly developed a serious reading habit.
When the officials looked at the statistics, they probably marveled at how well-read the people who lived in Glensay were.
Posy knew for a fact that Ted Morton used the complete works of Shakespeare to stop his kitchen door blowing shut on windy days.
Still smiling, she popped into the small store next to the library. Glensay had one general store that sold all the essentials.
“Hi, Posy.” The girl behind the counter smiled at her. “Your lodger was in here yesterday. He bought a packet of razors and deodorant.”
“Right.” Posy grabbed toothpaste and soap and dumped them on the counter. She’d often wondered if Amy and her mother kept a list of what people bought, and used it for profiling. “Maybe he’s going to help me shear the sheep.”
“Really?”
“No, not really. I was joking.” She’d been at school with Amy and the other girl hadn’t got her jokes then, either. Obviously she didn’t have a future in comedy. “Ignore me.”
“Personally, I like a man with stubble.” Amy rang up Posy’s purchases. “He’s sexy. You’re lucky having him living with you.”
“He’s not living with me, Amy. He’s
in a different part of the building. Separate properties. There’s a floor and a door between us.” It seemed important to clarify that, given Amy’s tendency to draw interesting conclusions and then broadcast them widely.
“Still—it could be romantic.”
It could be, but if it was, then Amy wasn’t going to find out about it.
Trying to work out a way of keeping her private life private, Posy stuffed the toothpaste and soap into her pockets. “Thanks, Amy. Have a good one.”
She paused outside the door to read the noticeboards. They provided a fascinating snapshot into the life of the village. Pets lost and found, a tractor for sale, minutes of two local meetings and a plea for new members of the village choir. Posy loved to sing. She might have joined the choir had people not told her that her voice sounded like a cat being tortured. Her family encouraged her to find other ways to express her happiness, so these days she sang in the bath and sang to her dog, who often howled in perfect harmony.
Seeing a minibus approaching from the distance, Posy hurried back to her car.
The older members of the community who couldn’t get to the village store by other means used the minibus service. Posy tried to avoid its arrival whenever possible because greeting everyone took half a day.
Five minutes later she hurtled through the door into the welcoming warmth of Café Craft. She ripped off her coat as she half ran to the counter where her mother was deep in conversation with two women from the village. Christmas music played softly from the speakers and the fairy lights that she and her father had secured around the windows shone like tiny stars. The exposed brickwork of the walls was partially covered in paintings by local artists. Posy rotated them regularly. This month she had selected those with winter themes.
As well as art, they sold pottery made locally, knitwear produced exclusively for them, locally made heather honey and a variety of crafts hand selected by her mother, who had a keen eye for what would sell.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Not a problem.” Her mother’s cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen and she looked at least a decade younger than her fifty-eight years. “How did it go?”
