Stranded With Her Rescuer. Nikki Logan
guess that does open up a certain opportunity.’
‘And accommodation is free,’ he added.
‘Not if I find somewhere else to stay.’ Which she would, because he wouldn’t want her here any more than he had in Nepal. Will was just doing what was expected when a jet liner fell out of the sky in your back yard.
He turned in front of her and stopped her progress. ‘You won’t find anywhere, not for a few days. Besides you don’t need to relocate. You’re welcome to stay in my spare room as long as you need it.’
She stiffened her spine and locked gazes. ‘I was “welcome” in your home once before, remember?’
And there it was—streaking up his jaw out from under his scrappy beard—a subtle flash of red. The first real evidence that he remembered how they’d parted all those years ago.
Which meant he’d probably be on the lookout for repeats. Which meant she’d be on eggshells for ever, trying to give him nothing.
Everything in her screamed caution not to set herself up for more hurt. A single night was one thing...
‘I really don’t want to be a bother.’
His lips twisted. ‘I’m sure we can give each other plenty of room in a forest this big.’
No, Kitty. You’re no bother.
It’s fine, Kitty. No trouble.
Relax, Kitty, it’s out of your control.
On the scale of denials, Will’s effort was non-existent. Still...maybe picking up after herself and keeping out of his way would be adequate repayment for his dubious hospitality. And her story would get filed. And she’d have some fun reliving the old hobo days.
Win-win.
‘Okay. I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to see a few things while I’m here.’ She watched him, carefully. ‘You know...research.’
The look he gave her then was uncomfortable in the way only Will could make it. As if he saw right through her flimsy excuses. As if he knew exactly how he made her feel and how she would feel until she collapsed, emotionally wrung out, into a plane seat and flew far from here.
As if he knew her better than she knew herself.
Pfff. This was Nepal all over again.
A DAY LATER, Kitty clung desperately to the back of Will’s jacket as his quad bike flew them out to the local weir that dammed Churchill River. Will was the closest resident to it, which, apparently, made checking on activity at the weir his responsibility.
‘I go out dawn and dusk,’ he’d told her as he’d whipped the cover off the quad and hauled it out of the little shelter that kept it frost-free. ‘Put the flag up and then lower it again. Check on conditions. I take a different dog each time.’
This morning it was Bose’s turn. He’d seemed to know exactly what was happening and his excitement levels were off the chart waiting for them to get moving. Once they got under way, the golden retriever ran full tilt alongside the quad, breaking away to thunder through not quite frozen pools before veering back in to run hard up against Will’s left foot.
The quad bounced and slid along the snow-dusted track, crunching through the surface ice formed on puddles and practically flying over every dip and mound. Before long, gripping the back of Will’s jacket wasn’t enough to keep her firmly in her seat and the wind chill made her gloved fingers ache. So she slid her arms around his waist and dipped her head against the whipping snow and hoped to heaven that he didn’t mind the intimacy. Or wouldn’t read into it.
Warmer and more secure. And totally necessary.
Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.
The lie got harder to buy every time she breathed a lungful of him in.
As they came up over the final bend, Bose took off ahead of them and bolted down the long strait as fast as his legs could carry him, towards a watchtower overlooking the river.
‘Churchill Weir,’ Will called back. ‘Two hundred thousand cubic metres of rock piled up across the river to control water flow and create a reservoir for boating and fishing.’
Though obviously not so much in the frigid weeks leading up to winter. It was an impressive—but utterly vacant—facility about a mile up from where the Churchill River opened out into Hudson Bay. A mini-marina with boathouse, pontoon berths, first-aid facilities, fire pits, and the three-storey watchtower that served double duty as a lookout for tourists. The steel tower was fully caged in, in the event of a bear-related emergency, presumably. The massive structure could hold fifty people at a pinch.
Just two people and one dog was a pure luxury.
Kitty climbed to the top of the tower while Will checked over the marina and raised a wind-shredded Canadian flag for the day. Bose dived right into the icy river, splashing around like a kid in summer. He found a stick and chased it, tossing it up and letting it drift away on the current before crunching through the ice on the edge of the shore and diving back in after it.
Eventually, man and dog joined her at the bottom of the watchtower.
Around them, the river water churned and surged in the gusty, cold air. Icicles clung to the exposed leaves where it whipped up into a froth amongst the water sedge and polar grass. All around were banks of the rich red stick willow that grew so abundantly up here. Kitty pulled her woollen beanie down more firmly against the icy wind that buffeted her face with invisible needles. Even the gentle snowflakes felt like blades when they were tossed against her wind-whipped skin.
‘Bear!’
She gasped and crouched, pointing to the far side of the weir where a polar bear was in the process of hauling itself out of the river and up onto the bank. It did a full body shake that rippled its massive loose skin, then sauntered out into the middle of the parking area before pausing to think about the world.
It took barely a moment to find them with its beady black eyes once it had turned its nose to the air.
‘Inside,’ Will ordered, tugging her back into the towering metal lookout. The door closed behind the three of them with a reassuringly heavy clang. They were safe, as long as the bear didn’t decide to curl up out there for a nap. People had frozen in less time. Even with two layers of thermals and borrowed down jackets. And even in late autumn.
‘Can it smell us?’ she whispered.
‘No question,’ Will said. ‘But we won’t smell lardy enough to seriously interest it.’
She looked at him quizzically.
‘Bears hunt seals for their blubber, not their flesh,’ he explained.
‘And they can smell it?’
‘Two kilometres away, yep.’
‘And they don’t eat anything but seals?’
‘They can, but protein is not what they’re hungry for. People are way too stringy for them, as a rule.’
Kitty looked at the rangy bear. Its legs were like tree trunks, but its pristine coat hung loose around its frame where body mass was supposed to be.
‘He does look hungry,’ she said, softly. ‘How long since he’s eaten?’
‘Hard to know. The fact he’s swum upriver might be a sign he’s got energy from a recent feed, or it might be a sign he’s getting desperate. Ranging more widely.’
And every week the ice didn’t come was a week longer this bear had to go hungry.
‘He looks pretty relaxed.’
‘Polar bears love their alone time,’ Will murmured. ‘They can be social but they like nothing better than striking