Stranded with a Stranger

by Frances Housden

  Not the stuff of dreams after all.

  “Take a look near the door. Can you see what I see?”

  “One of my boots and… My God! I threw my boot. It must have hit him.” She broke away from the wall and made as if to get it.

  “No, Chelsea, hold it. All the proof in the world won’t do you any good if we get blown off the side of the mountain.”

  Neither of them said a word. They both stared intently at the knife on the floor, as if the moment they took their eyes off it, the six-inch blade would disappear.

  Eventually the wind died enough for the post behind Kurt to stop shuddering. “You got a plastic bag?”

  Chelsea’s eyes flicked away from the knife. “What for?”

  He nodded in the direction of the knife. “This could be evidence. Did I ever tell you my dad was a cop?”

  She licked her lips, then pressed them together. In the low light her gaze was uncertain, as if she was weighing up the odds before she spoke. He didn’t blame her after the reception he’d given her news earlier.

  Eventually she came out with “I think the guy was wearing gloves as well—white ones.”

  “What the hell is going on?” He shook his head, but couldn’t shake the notion that someone wanted to kill her. But why?

  For an age neither spoke—they simply looked at the knife, their expressions fixed. He hated seeing Chelsea this way. She had enough to worry about. Getting her sister off this mountain, for a start. He wanted to take that look off her face. It was the only way to explain his inane comment. “White gloves? Couldn’t have been a yeti. I hear they’re wearing black this year.”

  From under her eyelashes Chelsea cast him a glance that needed no translation. She took a step toward her backpack. “I have a plastic bag holding my brush and comb.”

  He picked up the knife between the thumb and forefinger of his gloved right hand, keeping the tips on the narrow edge of silver above the bone handle, and his heart sank as Chelsea said, “Uh, Kurt? It looks just like yours.”

  He slapped his other hand on his hip where his knife usually hung. He wasn’t wearing it. Kurt groaned out loud. “Damn. I swear to God mine is in my tent. I don’t sleep with it on.”

  “I know it can’t have been you. Not dressed in red.”

  He wished she had a better reason for believing in him. “I could have stripped it off” was his grim reminder. He didn’t feel like joking anymore.

  Chelsea huffed out an extra-long breath. She touched his arm. “Do you want me to suspect you?”

  What he wanted and what she needed to do were at opposite ends of the problem. She needed to look at every angle, every single one. “I need you to take nothing for granted, not even me.”

  The door flap began flopping up and down as the wind got up again. No peace for the wicked, as they said.

  He bowed his shoulders to keep his head from scraping the roof and let his headlamp shine on the zipper. He moved it up a couple of notches, then stopped midclick. “There’s blood on the side of the zip and it’s still red. Looks fresh.”

  She came closer to look at the zip. “That would be when I threw my boot at him. The crampons must have nicked him.”

  A second later the boot was in her hand. “Look, here it is.”

  She showed him the front spikes designed for climbing an ice wall. All it took was a toe kick to hold fast. She pointed at one of the three hefty spikes on the front. “There’s blood on this one. I must have better aim than I knew. It pierced his glove. No wonder he dropped the knife.”

  Kurt held the blade up to take a good look. Like his, it was a hunting knife, a heavy bone hilt with a six-inch blade. He didn’t need any tests to know how sharp it was. “He might come back looking for it.”

  Lips parted, she looked up at him. He was close enough to make out the dark gray ring circling her irises. She never even blinked as she asked, “Do you think?”

  “What I think is you’d better tell me why you aren’t more surprised that someone obviously wants you dead.”

  Chapter 12

  Chelsea no longer had any choice. She was going to have to tell Kurt the full story, and it was going to hurt both of them.

  Why, oh, why had she let the situation drag out so long without coming clean? Atlanta had said in her letter that she felt nervous, as if someone was watching her.

  What if that someone was still here on Mount Everest?

  “Kurt, there is something you should read.” Stalling, Chelsea began to unzip her anorak in excruciatingly slow increments—click…click. Chelsea Tedman, this procrastination isn’t like you, she scolded herself. Just get on with it. Tell him. Now.

  Frankly, sometimes she wondered if she understood her own motives. Was this fear? She had always considered herself to be a feel-the-fear-and-do-it-anyway type of person. What had changed?

  Don’t mention it and it will go away.

  When had she become a coward? What was different with this situation, this problem, that she couldn’t just throw her heart over the obstacle and take the leap after it?

  Why hadn’t she turned to Kurt for help? Turned to the one man to truly make her feel like a woman, the man who had done his utmost to protect her good name?

  Instead, she had asked Mac and the bureau for help.

  Would Kurt consider her actions a slap in the face?

  She removed her synthetic gloves, pulled Atlanta’s letter from her inside pocket and puffed out a cloud of air. “This is the letter I received from Atlanta shortly before she died.”

  Kurt slipped the knife into the plastic bag and tossed it down beside her backpack. The headlamp’s beam shone through the flimsy lightweight pages limp from excessive handling—softened by oil on her skin as she read the letter a hundred times or more. At each reading she searched for an elusive clue, expecting to find it written between the lines, only to come up blank.

  That had set her wondering about Maddie’s letter. Where was it hidden? Would she find it among Atlanta’s possessions, in her pack, on her person? If only her sister had been more explicit about Maddie’s missive.

  She watched Kurt flip the final page, his fingers scrunching the lower corners together as his hand dropped to his side. “Damn it, Chelsea. You should have given me this information earlier.” The words escaped between his teeth, exasperation underlining each one. “Can’t you see that the more people who know about the threat the less power it has over you, and the greater your protection is?”

  His eyes were dark, hot, midnight-ebony from deep emotions. Red-hot fury was no more than she had expected. She asked the question anyway out of a need for affirmation. “After reading that letter, can you still believe that Atlanta’s and Bill’s deaths were an accident?”

  “Is that what’s really worrying you? That the Chaplins were murdered? Who by? Me! Is that what you think?” His chest expanded as he dragged off his knit cap. Over the rough edges of his breathing she heard it land softly, but her eyes were on the fingers he dragged through his flattened hair.

  “Oh, yes, you’re cool. You could think that, yet lie naked beside me, take me in your arms and let me make love to your body. Pshaw.” He spat out his disgust. “How could you?”

  “Kurt, no!” God, she had made a mess out of her search for answers, and now he hated her. “I never ever thought it could be you. They were your friends—you couldn’t speak of them the way you do if you had killed them. I would hear it in your voice.”

  She blinked her eyes shut, but couldn’t confess her sins blind. He had to look into her eyes and know what her penitence cost her and hopefully find his answer there.

  She opened her eyes and laid her hands on his chest. “Kurt, unlike me, you haven’t a deceitful bone in your body. Whereas I am willing to do whatever it takes to protect this knowledge from getting out. Even if lying to you was what it took. It comes with the job description. I wasn’t kidding you. I work for an organization that you won’t have heard of because it’s covert. But I didn’t deceive you bec
ause I suspected you of being in cousin Arlon’s pocket. Your integrity is bred in the bone. It shows.”

  His hands covered hers. A shake of his head said he didn’t know what to do with her. “Shows what you know. But this isn’t the time for any you-show-me-yours-I’ll-show-you-mine nonsense.”

  Her breathing was shallow, abbreviated, but began to race with the previously forbidden contact. She trembled at his closeness.

  It felt a lifetime since she’d felt his breath tickle her face. Only two days since he’d last shaved, and already his skin prickled with black stubble. She wanted its roughness to sweep across her cheeks; she wanted to touch it with her hands.

  Could Kurt read her face, know what she was thinking? Know she wanted to be the only Teddy bear he cuddled up to?

  “You and I have been as intimate as two people can get. I would have known.” She smoothed his chin with the tips of her cold fingers, and let one dip into the dimple. “You have to believe me, Kurt. I never really considered you a threat to me, not even when you held a knife at my throat. And once I knew you, it was obvious you couldn’t kill in cold blood.”

  “Don’t be too sure. I could kill, but to protect what’s mine, never for money.” He paused a moment before going on. “That’s what we’re talking about, right? You think this cousin of yours, cousin Arlon, could have put out a contract on Bill and Atlanta.”

  “Yes.”

  “Forget it. Your cousin may have paid someone, for all I know, but that’s not what happened up there. Couldn’t. I saw them fall, heard the screams, and never saw another living soul until I met Nichols on his way up the face to join us. Whatever you may think, it was an accident.”

  Chelsea scowled and he said, “And don’t look at me that way, as if I didn’t know what I was talking about.” His lips tightened as if to lock the words behind him. “I heard them hit, not just once but many times. Bill was silent, but Atlanta screamed as they flew past me. I can still hear it. I had to climb down to be certain. They were both dead—not a pulse between them.”

  She wanted to hold Kurt, comfort him. Wanted to take him in her arms and take away his pain, fix the genuine grief she heard in his short brutal explanation of what had happened. But all she felt entitled to do was stroke his face and rub his shoulder with her palm. “I’m sorry. I truly am sorry.”

  He shrugged her hands off as if it was too late for her condolences. Too late for the two of them, maybe.

  “What I don’t get is why Atlanta didn’t tell Bill. It’s okay—I can see you not trusting me with the information. We were strangers.” His voice grated, no more than a whisper. “But Bill was her husband. How could she keep him in the dark?”

  “You read her letter.” They were both whispering now. “She wanted him to have the climb he had been dreaming about. Bill had as much money, if not more, than her. I can understand her motives. What else could she give him that he couldn’t buy for himself?”

  Kurt’s jaw worked. He took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on her mouth as he spoke. “Love. She could have given him love.”

  “He already had that.”

  “It would have been enough for Bill. He was that kind of guy.”

  Somehow, the moment they lowered their voices they had drawn closer, their bodies automatically leaning into the other as if seeking the intimacy they’d shared at Ama Dablam…a million years ago. That’s how it felt.

  Kurt reached out and cupped the back of her neck, pulling her closer still. The wind buffeted the little world they were in, making their shadows dance on the wall of the tent.

  “Kurt, we can be seen from outside.”

  The letter fell to the floor as he reached up and extinguished the gas lamp. He was breathing hard. His musky-male scent escaped the neck of his anorak as he bent his head. The beam from her headlamp struck at his eyes and she turned away, but he whipped the stretch band off her forehead and sent it the way of the letter. The only light in the tent shone upward, beaming onto the roof like a faint searchlight.

  “I can hardly see you, Kurt.”

  “Soon that won’t matter.”

  His other glove was added to the pile on the floor. She felt his hands cup her cheeks. Was there ever a more cherished feeling than a man holding your face in his hands?

  “Love would have been enough for me,” he murmured against her lips. She had no time to think what he meant by those cryptic words. No time to wonder if he was talking about her love. The moment their lips touched, she could no longer think, only feel. His hands on her face, his mouth, his tongue, the rough with the smooth; it was all about two people, starving one for the other.

  “I want you,” he said as they sank to the floor, entwined.

  “Take me. If your need is as great as mine, this is long overdue.” Chelsea was on such a sensual high that she didn’t notice the rocks under the thick nylon flooring. She was aware only of Kurt’s weight, his heat, the hard thrust of his flesh against her stomach.

  His hands stripped her and she helped. Who cared about cold air when you were burning from the inside out? All she wanted was Kurt. He was all she would ever need.

  Her bones melted beneath his touch. Their anoraks were spread open, the rest of their clothing pushed out of the way. Again they ignored the niceties of romance. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, missed this.”

  He cupped her breast, put his lips to its curve and groaned, “Teddy, you taste like heaven.”

  The wind howled outside the tent as if jealous of the heat they generated, flesh to flesh, pulse to racing pulse. Their cries were their own to share, hidden by the raging storm, an unwitting conspirator keeping watch outside their secret rendezvous.

  “Now!” His breath was harsh as he entered her.

  Her sighs were softer than a whisper. “Yes, come into me. Come out of the cold into my heat where you belong.”

  After weeks of abstinence they were one.

  Completion took her in a rush that showed her all the stars hidden behind the wind-borne snow flurries skimming the top of the world.

  She called his name. “Ku-u-u-rt.”

  Called him to follow. “Come with me.”

  And as he joined her in that place, time stood still. She wished it could stay this way forever. But reality soon stabbed at her bones in the shape of a rock.

  Kurt came to with a rough curse on his lips as he felt the air cool on their skin and Chelsea shift under him. “Blast, I’m crushing you. You’ll be black and blue from this night’s work. I was in too much of a hurry to tuck you into my sleeping bag.”

  “Do you think I care? What’s a few bruises between lovers?” He heard her giggle as he rolled and pulled her up on his chest. “You were so masterful you literally swept me off my feet.”

  But she couldn’t coax him to laugh. “A real man wouldn’t bruise his woman.” He trailed his fingers down her back to curve over her butt in an act of possession. He knew he had no rights, but couldn’t escape the shout running through his thought banks that yelled, “Mine! All mine.”

  Chelsea tucked her head into the curve of his shoulder as he let his fingers wander. “Did you know your skin feels like satin? I can’t touch enough of it. It’s a shame about your butt, though.”

  She pushed herself up on his chest, her hands splayed across his collarbone. “What’s wrong with my bottom?”

  “It’s gotten smaller.”

  “Is that all?” She sank back down on him. “I thought there was something wrong with it.”

  “Nothing major.” He’d let her lie there a few more minutes. Delightful though the sensation of her skin against his felt, he couldn’t let her get chilled. “Since you don’t appear to have missed many meals, must be all the hard work you’ve been putting in. You’ve done better than I thought you could.”

  A muffled “Thanks” came up from under his chin.

  “At least your breasts haven’t changed. They still fit.” His mind wandered, went back a month or so. “I wanted this, wanted you from the moment
we met.”

  She shivered against him. “It showed.”

  “Ha!” He barked out a laugh that jiggled her against him and he felt she was cold. “C’mon, let’s get into our sleeping bags, Teddy. Your skin is getting goosey.”

  He sat up, pulled her onto his lap and began rearranging her clothes. When her sweater was back in place and the drawstring on her pants tied, she asked, “Can we share?”

  Wouldn’t he love that—but it was impossible. “We can’t. Can you imagine the look on Rei’s face if he finds us sharing a sleeping bag when he brings you a hot drink in the morning?”

  “I think he knows.”

  “Well, let’s not give him proof. It wouldn’t be fair to expect him to keep our secret.”

  She slid down into her sleeping bag as he shook his out. “Can we at least sleep back to back?”

  “Yeah, fine.” He spread his unzipped sleeping bag alongside hers and stepped between the thick downy layers to lie down. In silence he switched off the headlamp and pulled the hood around his ears, shimmying over till his back touched hers.

  He heard Chelsea say, “Mmm, nice” as he began to relax, waiting for the black hood of sleep to slide over him.

  Half-asleep, he still felt the need to tell her, “I know it sounds weird, but I have this aversion to Nichols knowing about us.”

  “Paul?” He felt her wiggle against his back and come closer. “Why? Do you suspect him of inventing the rumors?”

  “Maybe. He went away from Namche soon after we gave our statements to the magistrate. Then you turn up and suddenly he’s back again.” The words slurred in his mind. He hadn’t meant to bring this subject up until tomorrow in the light of day. “Besides all that, I’ve seen how he looks at you and I don’t want him trying to imagine the two of us together, if you get my drift.”

  “I don’t want him to think of me that way at all. But you can if you like. In fact, I insist.”

  “Darlin’, I’ve done nothing else but imagine you and me together from the day we met. You fill my dreams.”

  “And you mine.”