Stranded, Seduced...Pregnant. Kim LawrenceЧитать онлайн книгу.
a bottle of malt and added, ‘Like Jack here said, she can’t have got far.’
Severo was seeing an image of a still body hunched lifeless over a steering wheel, snow drifting in through a smashed windscreen.
It was not his responsibility if the crazy woman had already written off his car and probably herself. He had not asked her to steal his car!
‘Tomorrow when the roads clear you can—’
That might be too late. ‘We should inform the authorities.’
The landlord watched as Severo fished out his phone, only to grimace at the lack of reception.
‘Before you ask, the landlines are down too, have been all morning, and all the mobile signals have crashed. Have a drink. There’s nothing you can do now,’ he advised comfortably.
Severo accepted a coffee and considered his options. There were always options.
‘Those skis I saw in the porch—who do they belong to?’
The landlord pointed out a group of young men at the far end of the room. ‘Students on their way up to Aviemore,’ he added by way of explanation.
Some bright spark suggested putting together a ski posse. The suggestion was made jokingly but it fed the embryo of an idea in Severo’s head.
Fifteen minutes later, having resisted the well-meaning attempts to dissuade him from his course of action, Severo was strapping on a pair of borrowed skis. The borrowed ski gear was a slightly snugger fit than he would have liked, but more than adequate.
The snow still fell from rapidly darkening skies, but the wind had dropped and he made quite good time down the road, following it in the direction he had seen his car vanish.
He might have missed the abandoned vehicle had he not paused at the top of the incline to scan the horizon; if he had not he would undoubtedly have missed the light.
Changing direction, he followed the eerie beam to its source: the headlights, or at least the one not buried in the snowdrift, of his own off-roader, which was well and truly off road now!
It was the scene lifted direct from his imagination minus, thankfully, the lifeless body slumped over the wheel. The door was open but the thief had already gone, proving that she was as criminally stupid and suicidal as she had appeared; anyone with half an ounce of sense would have stayed with the vehicle and the shelter it afforded.
His belongings were still where he had left them. The sensible thing would be to gather them and make his way back to the inn. An insane woman was not his responsibility. It would serve her right if she did end up a statistic of the freak weather conditions—and he’d end up beating himself up because he could have saved her, or killed himself trying.
After a brief internal struggle he sighed. It would do his reputation no good at all if people suspected he had a conscience.
He permitted himself a grim smile when, after a quick reconnoitre of the immediate area, he discovered the imprint of footsteps that the falling snow was already beginning to cover—his thief was not far ahead.
It was not difficult to follow the footsteps. The thief, who appeared to have stumbled several times, was apparently walking in a series of ever-decreasing circles.
All sounds were muffled in the white landscape except the hoarse rasp of her own laboured respirations as she forced herself onwards. Neve’s reserves of energy were totally depleted; it was sheer desperation now that drove her on. The dread lodged in her chest felt like a stone; total panic was a heavy heartbeat away.
‘I like snow,’ she reminded herself, panting as she added, ‘I love snow.’ Before falling flat on her face for the fifth time—she was counting.
If she ever had grandchildren she was going to bore them silly with this story, though stories that began with the day Granny stole a car might not be setting the best example!
She lay there and closed her eyes; she would just rest for a moment. Then she would get up because if she didn’t there wouldn’t be any grandchildren to set a bad example to.
She would get up because James had trusted her and she couldn’t let him down.
She lay there hearing his voice.
‘I have a favour to ask you, Neve.’
‘Anything,’ she had replied, meaning it.
James Macleod had been at college with her dad and because of that he’d given Charlie a job. Her brother had then proceeded to repay the kindness by embezzling from clients’ accounts to pay for his gambling habit.
Knowing he was about to be found out, Charlie, planning to flee the country, had confessed all to Neve. She had gone to James and begged him not to bring in the police.
Amazingly he hadn’t. Instead James had covered the theft using his own money, with the one proviso that Charlie seek help for his gambling addiction.
As far as Neve was concerned she was not about to refuse any favour James asked of her.
‘Marry me.’
Any favour but that one.
‘I’ve shocked you.’
‘No, no,’ she lied, closing her mouth. Nothing in the way James had treated her had led her to think he thought of her that way.
She certainly had never considered him in a romantic light. She wondered uneasily if anything she had done or said had made him think…? Blushing madly, she fumbled for a tactful way of responding without hurting his feelings.
‘That’s very nice of you, but it’s just…I—’
‘You don’t love me—of course you don’t. I’m old enough to be your father—’
‘It’s not that, it’s—’
‘But this wouldn’t be permanent, Neve. Yes, I know that sounds strange, but bear with me, don’t say anything yet, just let me explain. You see, it’s back,’ he revealed.
Neve knew the ‘it’ James referred to was the disease he had been battling for years.
‘And this time the prognosis is not good. I have two months tops. Don’t cry, Neve, I’ve had time to come to terms with it and, to be honest, I’m pretty tired. My only regret is leaving Hannah.
‘She will be alone and vulnerable, the target of unscrupulous people more interested in her money than her welfare. She will be a very rich young woman, Neve. If you and I marry on paper, and you adopt Hannah, become her legal guardian, nobody will be able to dispute your legality when I am gone. I can trust you. I know you will protect her.’
The tears began to seep from beneath Neve’s closed eyelids. ‘And a great job I’m doing of that!’ she mumbled bitterly into the snow. She hit the powdery white surface with her closed fist and hissed, ‘Come on, Neve, you’re being pathetic. Stop wallowing and get up.’
Teeth gritted, she fought the growing compulsion to just close her eyes. She rolled onto her back; the effort exhausted her. It was while she was lying there gathering her strength that she heard the noise—yes, it was a noise, not the wind. Someone was shouting.
‘Here!’ she croaked. ‘I’m here!’
Energising relief rushing through her body, she struggled to pull herself into a sitting position before drawing herself up onto her knees. Then, hand held above her eyes to shade them from the falling snow, she directed her hopeful gaze at the shadow emerging through the snow. ‘Hannah?’
She felt a stab of disappointment. The figure outlined against the sky was not a girl, but a man, an extremely tall man on skis. A man who, from the speed he was approaching, appeared to know what he was doing.
Not Hannah, she thought, refusing to be disheartened, but someone who could help her find Hannah.
For