by Fiona Harper
‘All in good time. First, let’s get you and the missus somewhere dry and warm. My Land Rover’s just the other side of this gate.’
And then he produced the one thing that would have made the whole nightmare unnecessary—the key to the padlock. The two men must have jumped over the gate to get to them.
Once inside the cab of a seriously ancient-looking farm vehicle, the farmer explained.
‘Harry Smith,’ he said, introducing himself. ‘My grandson is staying with me and when he told me a couple of hours ago that someone was signalling SOS from the fells, I told ’im he was soft in the head. But sure enough, about an hour later he saw it again and he called me to come have a look. I got Jeff and we came out searching.’
Adele smiled weakly. ‘You saw my SOS?’
‘Sure did.’
Nick’s heart dropped. Despite all his good planning about keeping them safe and warm, it had been Adele’s frantic signalling that had saved them in the end. So much for saving the day and being the rock his wife could depend on. Once again, Adele had rescued herself, and pretty pleased she was looking about it too.
Ten minutes later they drew to a halt outside a grey stone farmhouse. Harry nipped out of the Land Rover and had a brief conversation with a woman silhouetted in the open door then returned to usher them inside.
‘You two come in and have a cup of something hot and Della will get a room ready for you.’
‘Thanks a bunch, Mr Smith,’ Nick said, helping Adele out of the back of the car. ‘You must be wondering how we came to be stuck shivering on your farm.’
Della bustled them inside and provided mugs of steaming cocoa while Nick relayed their sorry tale. By the time he’d finished the farmer’s wife had returned and was beckoning them.
‘We don’t want to put you out, Mr Smith,’ Nick began.
‘Harry—please.’
‘You said you’ve got family staying and we don’t want to turn you out of your beds. Adele and I can stay down here on the sofa in front of the fire if that helps.’
‘No problem, is it, Della? We turned one of our outhouses into a holiday apartment a couple of years ago and Della’s been across to make the bed up and turn the heating on.’
‘Bed?’ Adele squeaked and Nick elbowed her firmly in the ribs. They were safe and warm and she’d been perfectly happy to snuggle up half an hour ago. They’d just have to share.
He wasn’t about to let Adele go into ‘hotel-mode,’ as he called it. Every time they had stayed anywhere she’d always got niggles about one thing or another. Perfectly adequate mattresses were declared too lumpy and the toast at breakfast was always too overdone. How on earth was the cook supposed to know that Adele liked her toast so lightly done that it should merely be waved in the general direction of the grill?
Harry led them outside and across a yard to a square stone building with a heavy-beamed door. Inside was surprisingly cosy. There was a small sitting room and kitchen on the lower level and up a curling flight of stairs was a bedroom with en suite bathroom.
Fluffy towels sat on the end of the bed and the duvet looked about a foot deep. Nick felt sleepy just looking at it. And before he knew it, Della and Harry had disappeared and he and Adele were standing alone in the room, either side of a huge brass bed, staring at each other.
CHAPTER NINE
ADELE picked up a towel and clutched it to her chest for protection.
‘I’m going to have a bath.’
Nick nodded. ‘Good idea.’
Why was it so awkward, standing in a bedroom with her own husband? Anyone would think they were strangers.
He was looking back at her, a strange expression on his face. ‘It’s not going to run itself, you know.’
‘What?’
‘The bath. Even if they’d invented such a thing as a self-filling bath, I doubt they’d have them installed deep in the Lake District…’ He drifted off and his gaze wandered and fixed itself somewhere to her right.
She smiled. ‘You’re trying to work out how to build a self-filling bath, aren’t you?’
He grimaced. ‘Is it that obvious?’
She dug her fingers into the soft loops of the towel she was holding and nodded, her head bobbing only slightly. Pure Nick. His brain was always ticking over on some scheme and, while she’d been frustrated at the way he had become so absorbed in his work, forgetting everyone and everything, she loved the way his mind worked. It was quick and creative, always coming up with something unexpected.
Look at the way he’d handled their situation earlier. He’d been marvellous, taking charge and looking at the problem rationally while she’d been flipping out.
Her gaze drifted down to her feet. How embarrassing. He’d never think of her as Super Adele again now. She glanced up at him.
‘I’d better go and…’
And she shuffled into the bathroom and closed the rough wooden door behind her.
The bath was fantastic. One of those roll-top ones with clawed feet that was so deep she’d be able to submerge herself right up to her eyeballs if she wanted. And, boy, did she want to. Not only was she cold, but she was also dirty from her fall in she snow and stale from the car journey.
Suddenly the idea of having clean, smooth skin smelling of the mineral-scented bath oil sitting on the shelf was the stuff of her wildest fantasies.
She peeled off her coat and hung it on the back of the door. But when she turned to face the tub she got a shock.
You have got to be kidding me!
There, sitting a couple of inches from the plug-hole, was a big, fat, hairy spider. It skittered forward then stopped. Eyeing her up, probably. In all likelihood, it was a distant cousin of the one she’d evicted from her bath last week and he’d come to satisfy the family honour.
She clenched her hands and took a deep breath. She’d done it once; she could do it again.
But the spider must have sensed her fear—the way horses or dogs could—and as she took a shaky step forward, it also advanced. She was very tempted to cry. It had been the day from hell and all she wanted was a nice, warm bath. Why did the universe taunt her in this manner?
She backed off and sat down on the closed toilet seat. Not today. She couldn’t do it today. Her nerves were already too frazzled.
What she was about to do was completely pathetic, but she didn’t care any more.
‘Ni-ick!’ she yelled.
He came charging through the bathroom door and skidded to a halt. ‘What’s wrong? Do you need a doctor?’
She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows. Only a head doctor.
‘No. There’s a…’ she waggled a hand instead of saying the word ‘…in the…’ More hand-waggling. ‘Do you think you could…?’
Nick grinned. Two hundred watts and full dimples. What on earth was he looking so pleased about? Probably enjoying her moment of weakness.
She hugged the towel even closer to herself and sighed as he picked the spider up in one deft move and disappeared back into the bedroom. Moments later she heard footsteps on the stairs and the front door open. She shuddered just thinking about it.
To rid herself of the memory, she turned the taps on and started undressing. She folded Nick’s pullover and the T-shirt she’d worn underneath it and placed them on a little wicker-seated chair in the corner and had just removed her bra when the door creaked.
She grabbed for the towel and covered her front with it.
‘I’ve evicted the trespasser, so—’ He stopped in his tracks, muttered an apology and backed out of the room.
How ridiculous was this? They were married, yet behaving as if they were prudish teenagers. Why did it matter if Nick saw her naked? He’d seen her that way countless times before. All she knew was that somehow it did matter and that it wasn’t a grown-up, mature decision, but something in her subconscious setting off alarms about vulnerability and self-protection.
She dropped the towel, still aware of Nick in the next room, then continued to undress. At least
the bath soothed some of her tension away. When she emerged, she was as pink and fresh and sweet-smelling as she’d dreamed she’d be.
Unfortunately, there was no clean, fresh nightwear to slip into, just Nick’s T-shirt and boxer shorts. Funnily, she didn’t mind. The T-shirt was soft and warm and smelled a little of him. It made her feel safe in a way she avoided analysing.
She opened the bathroom door gingerly. Nick was lying on the bed, hands behind his head, legs crossed, staring at the ceiling. He turned his head as the door creaked wider.
‘Feeling better?’
‘Much.’ She fidgeted with the hem of the T-shirt. ‘It’s all yours, if you want it.’
He swung himself off the bed and landed with a jump. She moved away from the door, giving him plenty of space, and slid quickly into the closest side of the bed. Funny how she automatically picked the right side. Her side. After months of forcing herself to sprawl in the middle of the bed, her body hadn’t forgotten what it was like to sleep close to him.
Try as she might, she couldn’t drop off, even though her bones ached with fatigue. She started to doze a couple of times, lulled by the sound of the shower from the next room, but there was an annoying thought buzzing like a fly at the back of her brain. Nick would soon be climbing into bed with her and this awareness prevented her from tumbling headlong into the sleep her body was desperate for.
They hadn’t shared a bed in almost a year and it seemed bizarre that what had once been so natural, so intimate, now seemed awkward and artificial. If she’d been any more exhausted, she’d have started crying at the thought, although she’d have been hard-pushed to explain why.
Instead, she rolled over onto her side, facing into the middle of the bed and away from the bathroom door, and closed her eyes, blocking the escape route of the tears that threatened to bulge over her lashes and spill down her cheeks.
The sound of running water stopped and she tensed. Moments later the door opened and she heard him pad round the bed. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge. And then, for ages, he didn’t move and she wondered whether he was watching her. Pretending to be asleep would be childish, wouldn’t it?
With great effort, she parted her lashes and sneaked a look. He was blurry, but still utterly gorgeous, all damp and clean from the shower. He smiled at her, a soft upturn of his lips that was totally heart-melting.
‘Hi.’ The smile grew.
She opened her eyes wider. ‘Hi.’
She wanted to speak as they stayed there looking at each other, but there wasn’t a sensible word to be found in her head—never mind ready and waiting on the tip of her tongue.
He lifted the duvet and climbed in. He smelled as good as he looked. Would it be a complete giveaway if she dragged the scent of him in on a deep breath? Probably. And then he would smile even more and she would blush and the whole thing would be even more awkward.
She closed her eyes again and let the breath out instead, her sigh ending in a tiny shudder.
‘Still cold?’
His voice didn’t need to rise above a whisper they were so close and his words warmed her cheek.
‘A little.’
It was true. Della had turned the heating on, but the holiday cottage must have been empty for months and, although it was warmer than outside, the room was still a little nippy. Even the crisp, clean bedlinen was a bit chilly.
Nick lifted the duvet slightly with his arm, making a space just the right size for her. She hesitated.
‘Come on. You said it yourself. Combined body heat and all that.’
He was right. Just being practical again.
Practical.
Odd, how quickly she had got used to applying that word to him. Less than twenty-four hours ago she would have scoffed at the thought of anyone calling him just that. Free-spirited, maybe. Impulsive, definitely. But never practical.
However, a lot had happened since the alarm clock had rung this morning and she was seeing a whole new side to her husband. And this wasn’t something that he’d developed since they’d been apart. He fell into the role too easily and it was obvious that it had always been there. So why hadn’t she seen it before?
Not that she wasn’t pleased. She was. It was just there was another emotion creeping below the surface and, when she hunted for a name for it, she discovered it was guilt.
This was her doing. Right from the very start of their relationship she’d assigned him the role of the fool—a lovable, impossible joker. She’d never let him prove himself otherwise and in the end he’d embraced the part, fulfilling all her expectations. She’d never given him the space, and she’d certainly not treated him like the equal partner she expected him to be.
She focused on his face and realised he was still waiting.
‘Hurry up. My arm’s getting tired.’
She rolled onto the other side so she was facing away from him then scooted backwards until they were only just touching. He lowered his arm and the duvet enfolded her. She tucked it under her chin to stop the cold air snaking in.
It was so familiar, the way they fitted together—his arm circling her waist, her foot gently crossing over his ankle. It was more by instinct than decision that she’d shuffled into position.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, close to her ear. ‘I’m not going to pounce on you. You can trust me to behave.’
Her eyelids drooped and she nodded ever so slightly. She could trust him—with anything, with everything. And she was too exhausted to explore the vague sense of disappointment that accompanied his words.
Ditto.
A fog descended on her brain as her muscles relaxed and she moulded even further to him.
If she’d been any more alert, she might have been worried about the fact that, as she sank into a deep sleep, the last thought in her mind was that this was where she belonged.
All Nick was aware of at first was warm, soft skin in contact with his own. All the energy seemed to have bled out of his muscles during the night and, although he mentally planned to move a limb or two and heave himself out of bed, the actual ability to do just that eluded him.
As his brain came more into focus he realised it wasn’t just the fact he didn’t have the strength that was keeping him from getting out of bed. He just didn’t want to move. Simple as that.
He’d be crazy to move even a millimetre when he was wrapped around a woman as unique as Adele. She looked so peaceful, her breathing soft and shallow, her silky hair tickling his nose. But it was more than her beauty that fascinated him. It was her strength, her fire, all her contradictions.
He placed a tiny kiss on the bare skin of her upper arm and she let out a little murmur of pleasure. He’d been so angry with her for months after they’d first split up. He’d told himself she’d killed the love between them, but he would have been more accurate in admitting he hadn’t wanted to love her any more.
In the end there had been no denying it and he’d turned down a couple of prime jobs to fly across the Atlantic to see if he could win her back. He hadn’t thought he could love her any more than he already did, but he’d been wrong. During the last week he’d discovered he loved her more than ever and he had a sneaking suspicion it was because now he understood.
The months apart had seemed like a punishment at the time, but hadn’t they actually done him some good? When he’d returned, and had seen her with fresh eyes, he’d been astonished how blind he’d been in the past.
Now he could see not just the armour plating, but also the vulnerability beneath it. And he adored the wounded, soft-centred Adele more than he had her superhero counterpart.
By not jumping when he’d said jump, she’d shattered all his illusions about her and he should thank her for that. Their marriage would never have survived if they’d gone on the way they had been.
She wasn’t a goddess any more; she was a real woman. Human. And he had to admit she felt very warm and human now as she nestled against him, stirring slightly as she began to wake.
/> Her eyelids flickered and, a couple of seconds later, opened. She turned her head then shuffled round a bit to look at him.
‘What time is it?’
He checked his watch on the bedside table. It showed the time as just past seven, but the room was artificially bright as the pre-dawn light reflected off the snow outside and entered through a gap in the curtains.
‘Five past seven, or thereabouts.’
‘Is the sun up yet?’
‘Not quite. It’s magic hour.’
She closed her eyes and screwed up her forehead. ‘Magic what?’
‘Hour. Magic hour.’
‘Feels like death-warmed-up hour to me.’ She opened her eyes again and shifted back a little so she could focus on his face. He made very sure she didn’t drift too far away.
‘You’re not making any sense, you know,’ she added.
He chuckled. ‘It’s a film-making term. Not so much a whole hour, but two half hours around sunrise and sunset when the light has a unique quality. It’s an in-between time. Night blends into day. They’re two complete opposites, but when they meet something wonderful happens.’
Adele’s mouth stretched wide into a yawn. ‘The cold got to you yesterday. You’re rambling.’
‘I’ve never made more sense.’
She snapped her mouth closed and looked at him.
‘You and me, Adele. Two opposites. But when we get it right something wonderful happens. Something magical.’
He raised himself onto one elbow to look down at her. His wife. How had he been so stupid as to nearly let her get away? Stupid, stupid pride. But she was here now, her large brown eyes getting darker by the second, and he was going to make darn sure he didn’t lose her this time.
He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. Only a whisper of a touch, but it set him alight. He didn’t wait more than a fraction of a second before he kissed her again, this time savouring the soft plumpness of her lips.
She made an mmm sound in the back of her throat and pulled him closer. He couldn’t help himself. He had to touch her. One arm was trapped under Adele, but with his free hand he explored under the hem of her T-shirt—his T-shirt.
