‘Ah, but we’re Fergusons. They might be fooled. And little bags of peat from the caravan shop would do fine—or maybe I could persuade a farmer to flog us a few logs.’
Unlikely. There had been precious little sign of any local farmers since she’d moved, but she’d only been there twenty-four hours before the snow fell, so it was probably quite early days. Maybe he was right. What a sickening thought.
She shot him a baleful glare and wondered how she managed to feel so foul. She was usually sunny in the morning. It must be lack of sleep and being wretched with cold. Whatever, she couldn’t be bothered to be nice and, having been taught that if you didn’t have anything nice to say you shouldn’t say anything at all, she buttoned her lip and concentrated on sipping the tea he put into her hand.
Her fingers curled gratefully round the warmth and settled with relief, and she wriggled up into more of a sitting position. Instantly the muscles of her right calf coiled up in a tight ball and gave her hell. She tried not to let the little scream of pain past her lips. It would ease in a moment—surely—
‘What is it?’
‘Cramp,’ she bit out, slopping the tea in the effort to put it down and stretch out her leg.
He was there before her, twitching aside the quilt, one big, firm hand grasping her calf and stretching and pulling the muscle out as his other hand pressed firmly up on her toes, easing out the knot. He was kneeling in front of her, her heel resting on the firm, solid warmth of his thigh while he worked. It felt wonderful, not least because his hands were on her and she needed that—needed him, if the truth be told, but only on her terms. Not just any terms—and certainly not the old ones.
She felt the knot give, relaxing under the exquisitely painful onslaught of his clever fingers, and she sighed with relief.
‘Better?’ he asked, sitting back, and she nodded, pulling her foot away from him and suppressing the little pang of regret that the contact between them was broken. It was better this way—safer. She tucked her legs back up under her and pulled the quilt over them again before she gave into the urge to stay there, resting the soles of her feet on his thighs and absorbing their glorious and very tempting warmth.
He gave her an unreadable look and retreated into the corner of the settee, making himself comfortable and coincidentally getting rather a long way from her. He picked up his tea again and studied it thoughtfully, and for some irrational reason she felt shut out.
She wished she knew what was going through his head, but she had a funny feeling she’d rather not know. So far he’d left the subject of her escape from London pretty much alone, but she had an idea that that state of affairs was shortly coming to an end. He looked as if he was warming up to say something, and she didn’t think she’d like it.
Finally he broke the silence, but not in the way she’d expected at all, and she almost laughed with relief.
‘If you want to have a bath,’ he said, ‘it would be an idea to do it while the tank’s still got any hot water in it. You might as well use it up.’
What a wonderful idea—except that it was impossible. ‘No tank,’ she explained regretfully, thinking with longing of a slow, lazy bubblebath in the jacuzzi at home. ‘It’s a combination boiler—it gives instant hot water without storing it. More fuel efficient, so the agent said. She was very proud of that.’
Rob snorted. ‘Oh, well, there are always cold showers,’ he said with a vain attempt at humour, and she laughed. There was a slightly hysterical edge to it, and she cut it off abruptly.
‘Rather more your department than mine, I think?’ she said drily.
He just arched a brow at her and returned his attention to the tea. She noticed, for the first time, that he’d brought a saucepan in and must have nestled it in the coals to boil the water. Good idea. At least they could still cook, after a fashion, even if it was only fried or boiled.
Sounds like eggs, she thought, and suppressed another hysterical laugh. Tea and eggs—and then she wondered if she’d got enough milk. She didn’t use it in coffee, so she probably wouldn’t have bought much. Rob, on the other hand, took it in both tea and coffee, and couldn’t stand either of them black.
Tough. It was an emergency, after all, and it wasn’t as if he’d been invited. He could rough it.
‘I wonder how long the power’s going to be off,’ she murmured, thinking aloud. ‘I ought to be working.’
He laughed. ‘Got a shovel?’
‘Shovel?’
He pulled the curtain open further, and she sat forwards and looked out into a featureless white wilderness. The garage had disappeared, only one end of the gable sticking out of the huge white mound that seemed to be the drive. Of the cars there was no sign, not so much as the merest hump in the snow.
‘Ah,’ she said, and dredged up a smile. ‘The shovel would be in the garage.’
He gave a strangled laugh. ‘I thought as much. Oh, well, I dare say the world can live without us. Shall I boil some water for washing?’
‘More tea would slip down a treat,’ she suggested, pushing her luck, but he simply smiled.
‘Why not? We don’t have to rush to the office.’
‘Talking of rushing, I don’t suppose there’s any way we can let the dog out?’
Their eyes tracked in unison to Midas, whining hopefully at the door, his tail wafting gently from side to side.
‘Hmm. Well, I can try. Got an oven tray or something like that? I can use it to scoop some of the snow off the path—unless you’ve got a better idea?’
She shook her head. It had occurred to her to let him out of the window, but then the dog would be into snow over his head and wouldn’t be able to get back inside. No, an oven tray sounded wonderful—or better still, the grill pan, if it had a fixed handle.
She stood up, unravelling her legs from the quilt, and headed for the kitchen, shivering at the sudden blast of cold outside the cosy little room. The estate agent’s words came back to her—‘It won’t be very expensive, that far north.’
How far? Try the Arctic, she thought, the hysteria rising again. She quelled it ruthlessly. Really, she was about to lose it. She rummaged around in the kitchen and found the grill pan—the fixed handle sort, miraculously—and took it back to him, then braved a visit to the bathroom.
She thought she was going to freeze to the loo seat for a moment, and vowed to block up the cat flap in the wall that let in a howling gale. Fair enough in the summer, she thought, but now! She’d find an old newspaper and stuff it with that. Although the draught did seem to have got much worse in the last few seconds…
She emerged to find the front door open and Rob busy shovelling snow out of the hall.
‘Oops,’ she said cautiously, and he shot her a baleful look over his shoulder.
‘It fell in when I opened the door. The wind must be from a very unusual direction, because these old places were built usually with their backs to the wind just so this didn’t happen.’
‘Take it up with the architect,’ she advised drily, and peered past him. ‘Where’s the dog?’
‘Bouncing around. He’s got no choice—if he doesn’t bounce, he can’t move. He’ll be in in a minute, I expect. Not even Midas will be out long in this.’
He picked up the mat, shook it off round the corner of the door without setting foot outside, then closed the door against the wind.
‘Hell’s teeth, it’s cold out there. I think I’ll have a cup of tea and pull some more clothes on before I go looking for the shovel—if I even bother. Maybe we’ll manage with the grill pan for now.’
There was a scratching at the door, and he opened it to let Midas in, but the dog whined and bounced away again, back over his tracks, and began digging furiously.
Rob sighed shortly ‘What on earth is he up to? Midas? Come here before we freeze to death.’
The dog ignored him, and Laurie peered past him to see what he was up to. He certainly seemed like a dog with a mission. ‘It looks as though he’s found something.’
‘Well, he can stay out there another minute while I get dressed in something thicker,’ Rob said, and shut the door emphatically.
Laurie went back into the sitting room with him, hovering by the window so she could watch Midas and see what he was up to while Rob rummaged in his suitcase and pulled on extra clothes.
‘He’s definitely found something—look! He’s digging furiously and sniffing and I can hear him whining even from this distance. What on earth can it be?’
‘It’s probably a frozen rabbit.’
‘I don’t think they have rabbits round here. Too cold and wet.’
‘A deer?’
‘Maybe,’ she said doubtfully, and carried on watching.
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to get your coat on and come out there with me?’ Rob said drily.
She smiled. ‘Oh, I thought I’d let you do the heroic, manly thing. I’d hate to steal your thunder.’
He snorted in disgust and headed for the door, his coat buttoned up to his neck and a poloneck sweater pulled up over his ears under the upturned collar.
She looked down at his feet. ‘Um—no boots?’
He glowered darkly. ‘Oh, yes, I’ve got boots—in the car. There was only so much I could carry last night. I’ll go and get them, shall I?’
‘Good idea.’
She controlled the smirk—just—and ran upstairs and pulled her clothes on quickly once he’d left the cottage. They were freezing, of course, but pride forbade her to slob about in the tracksuit bottoms over her nightshirt! Anyway, she’d soon warm up. She ran back down to the warm sitting room and hovered between the window and the fire, watching.
He’d reached the dog by wading through snow drifts, and now he was scraping away with the grill pan. Suddenly he stopped, and dropping the grill pan, he started to use his bare hands, scraping the snow carefully away from whatever he’d found.
Midas was almost beside himself, bouncing and barking and whining and rushing backwards and forwards, sniffing whatever it was before digging furiously again beside Rob. What on earth was it? For a moment she regretted not going out there, but then all rational thought fled as Rob straightened with something black and woolly in his arms.
A sheep? No—a lamb?
Or—a dog?
She ran to the door and opened it just as Rob reached it, bearing his burden with huge care and tenderness.
‘It’s a collie!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, my goodness—is it alive?’
‘I think so—it’s very cold, but I think it must be alive because it’s not stiff. It must have been there hours, but the snow covering must have protected it from the wind. We need to get it into the warm.’
She shut the front door behind him and the demented Midas, and led them through into the sitting room, making a space by the fire.
‘No—the chair. The floor will be too draughty and too near the fire at first. We’ll have to do this slowly.’
So she stripped the quilt off the chair and pushed it towards the hearth, got a blanket from the dog’s bed in the kitchen and spread it out on the chair, and Rob gently laid the poor dog down on it.
Feeble as it was, a pink tongue came out and licked his hand, and his face crumpled slightly.
‘Ah, hell,’ he said, turning his head so Laurie couldn’t see, but it was too late, and she felt her heart contract. She’d forgotten this side of him, the tender side that couldn’t bear suffering. It was so long since she’d seen it, that was why.
His hand stroked its head gently, his fingers coming away damp from the sodden fur. ‘Poor old thing,’ he murmured, his voice gruff. ‘It’s as thin as a rake—it must be a stray. No farm dog would be this thin, it couldn’t manage to work.’
‘I’ll get some water for it—is it a dog or a bitch?’
‘I don’t know—a bitch, I think. Yes. Oh, poor baby.’ He stroked the shivering dog with his gentle hand, and she licked it again, just once, before collapsing back against the chair arm.
‘Warm water,’ Laurie murmured, pouring the water they’d heated for their tea into the fresh cold water in the dog’s bowl. She just hoped Midas didn’t mind the interloper borrowing his blanket and his bowl, but he didn’t seem to, he seemed much more interested in licking her all over, his rough tongue lashing across her body over and over again, her head and face, her ears, her shoulder, her feet—anything he could reach.
And gradually, as he licked and licked, she seemed to come round a bit, as if the massage from his tongue was warming her cold, stiff body and bringing it back to life. She lifted her head and licked at Midas weakly, and he turned his head back to hers and licked her face again.
The curiously tender gesture brought a lump to Laurie’s throat, and she had to swallow hard.
‘I think we can leave him to it,’ Rob said softly. ‘He seems to know what to do. How about making us another cup of tea while I retrieve the grill pan?’
She nodded, refilled their impromptu kettle in a quick sortie to the kitchen and went back, pan in one hand, bread and butter in the other just as he came in through the door.
‘Breakfast?’ she suggested, holding up the loaf, and he arched a brow.
‘What happened to the full English?’ he murmured, but she ignored him.
‘We can make toast over the fire.’
‘Only if you’re prepared to hold it,’ he said with a short laugh.
‘Oh, ye of little faith.’ She produced a toasting fork from the hearth behind the companion set, and after settling the saucepan of water on the fire in a little dip in the coals, she carefully speared a slice of bread and held it over the heat.
‘Smoked bread—oh, yeah,’ Rob murmured, but she turned it over and it was golden brown. He fell silent, and when it was done he reached out his hand and she removed the toast and put the fork in his hand.
He took it, a quizzical look on his face. ‘Not quite what I had in mind. I thought, as I’d done all the heroic digging-in-the-snow stuff, you might want to feed me.’
But there was a teasing light in his eyes as he speared his own bread and toasted it, settling down beside her on the floor in front of the hearth. She relented enough to make two cups of tea and handed one to him, stunned to feel how cold his hands still were. She instantly felt guilty, and had to remind herself that he was thirty-one years old and quite capable of taking care of himself.
He should have had gloves on, she thought, doing her grandmother impressions again, but his only gloves were soft kid leather and probably wouldn’t have helped much anyway. You’d need sheepskin to keep that lot out.
She settled back against the front of the sofa and watched Midas with the little collie. Having licked all he could reach from the ground, he was now standing over her, nosing her out of the way, then licking the other side as she shifted.
Then, with a grunting sigh, he settled down behind her and curled his big, warm body round her. Laurie was worried he’d squash the life out of her, but apparently not.
Still shuddering occasionally, she tucked her nose into her paws and went to sleep.
‘I wonder what the owners would make of our use of their furniture,’ Laurie murmured. ‘Although they didn’t mind pets, the agent said, and there’s a cat flap in the bathroom wall.’
‘I noticed,’ he said drily. ‘I thought I’d stuff a cushion in it.’
‘I thought newspaper—it won’t matter if it leaks, then.’
‘Good idea. Whatever, it needs stuffing. It’s freezing in there.’
‘It was nice with the heating,’ she said, oddly defensive. ‘It’s only because the power’s off.’
He gave her an odd look. ‘I do realise that,’ he said gently, and she felt an idiot. What a silly thing to be arguing about.
Well, not really arguing, exactly, but—
‘More tea?’
She nodded. ‘Please.’
‘I’ll brave the kitchen and get water. You can make more toast.’
And with that he unfolded himself from th
e floor and went out, Midas watching him with one eye.
‘You’re a good boy,’ she said softly, and he thumped his tail. He looked pleased with himself, as well he might. Laurie thought how awful she would have felt if the snow had thawed and she’d found the body of his little friend frozen under a bush—especially if she’d called him in and insisted he came.
Although, looking at his obvious devotion to his new companion, maybe he would simply have refused to obey her. She wondered how devoted he’d be when it came to sharing his food—although she’d brought a big bag of his dried food from home, so they weren’t likely to run out—at least, not before she’d starved to death. He had many more days’ supply than she did!
She found herself wondering idly what dog food tasted like as she browned a couple more slices of her dwindling bread supply over the fire. Maybe they’d find out, but she hoped not. After all, the snow had stopped falling, and it looked almost civilised out there now, if a little cold.
And even having to be locked up with Rob wasn’t proving too arduous, she realised with surprise. They seemed to have brokered an unspoken truce—agreed to disagree or somesuch. Amazing. Maybe if they continued to avoid the subject they’d survive the experience without killing each other.
He came back in, and she retreated to one corner of the settee while he put the pan on the fire to heat. It seemed to take ages, and the silence seemed to grow tighter and tighter. Was it her imagination?
Or her guilty conscience?
She didn’t need to have a guilty conscience, she reminded herself while she munched her piece of toast. She was a free woman, not a slave. Nevertheless, she did feel guilty—and it annoyed the heck out of her.
He handed her her tea, sat back into the other corner of the settee and gave her a level look over the top of his mug.
‘The dogs seem fine,’ she said quickly. ‘She’s stopped shivering. I wonder what she’s called? She hasn’t got a collar on.’
‘She’s probably a stray.’
‘Poor thing. You’ve got toast there, by the way.’
The Baby Question Page 6
