by Sarah Morgan
‘Do you have any pain, Mr Andrews?’ Her voice was soft and gentle and the man turned his head towards her, his eyes glazed as he tried to focus.
‘Need to go home.’ He swung his arms wildly and tried to get up, but Oliver restrained him.
‘You need to keep as still ask you can for a moment,’ he advised. ‘There’s a steep drop down there.’
The man swung his arms again and Helen looked at Oliver in confusion.
‘Why is he behaving like this when we’re trying to help him?’ she asked, her eyes swivelling back to the man. ‘He’s very pale and sweaty.’
‘Yeah. I need to examine him.’
But it didn’t look as though that was going to be a possibility. The man snarled at them aggressively and suddenly he reminded Helen of a patient she’d once treated.
She gave a soft gasp. ‘Oliver, do we have any hot chocolate left in that flask?’
‘Yes.’ His eyes lifted to hers as he interpreted the reason for her question. ‘You think he’s diabetic?’
‘I don’t know. But his symptoms remind me of a patient I nursed once. Everyone thought he was drunk but he was hypoglycaemic. He was slurring his words like this and he was sweaty and pale. And I seem to remember that he was also pretty irritable.’
Oliver took another look at the man and gave a short laugh. ‘Well, it’s certainly worth a try.’ Rocking back on his heels, he delved into the rucksack and pulled out the flask. ‘I hope you’re right. See if you can find some sort of SOS bracelet or any medication on him.’
Helen leaned forward, her voice gentle. ‘Are you a diabetic, Mr Andrews?’ She spoke soothingly to the man, her fingers rolling back the sleeves of his jacket as she searched for clues. This time the man lay un-resisting. ‘No bracelet, no chain, nothing. But his pulse is very fast. I’m sure he’s a diabetic, Oliver.’
Oliver nodded. ‘I’m beginning to agree with you and we’re definitely going to give it a try. There’s not much else we can do until the team arrives anyway. We can’t get him off this rock by ourselves. All right, give me a hand to hold him while I get him to drink this. We’re lucky. Any longer and he wouldn’t have been in a state to eat anything, and I’m not in the habit of carrying injectable glucose when I go for a walk.’
They propped the man in a sitting position and then Oliver poured a small amount of their hot chocolate into a plastic mug.
‘Make sure it isn’t too hot,’ Helen warned anxiously, and Oliver tested the liquid quickly.
‘It’s fine. It’s not going to burn anyone. Just very sweet, which is exactly what he needs if his problem is what you think it is. He needs fast-acting oral carbohydrate.’
Helen bit her lip, her heart thudding hard against her chest. She hoped desperately that she was right.
But surely, if he was a diabetic, the man would have been wearing a bracelet?
‘Can you drink this for me?’ Oliver murmured, pressing the cup to the man’s lips and encouraging him to take sips. ‘That’s great. And more if you can. That’s it. I think this is going to help.’
Oliver persisted until the mug was empty and then turned to Helen. ‘There’s some chocolate in the front pocket of my rucksack. Let’s give him that, too.’
It was a slow process but gradually the man cooperated and ate the chocolate and his condition started to improve markedly.
Fifteen minutes after they’d given him the hot chocolate he was able to talk clearly. ‘Thanks.’ He wiped a shaking hand across his mouth. ‘I seem to have got myself in a spot of trouble…’
Helen shot Oliver an incredulous glance. As understatements went, it was impressive. The man had been incredibly lucky. Had they not been in the area he might have died before help had arrived.
‘You’re a diabetic,’ Helen said gently, ‘but I couldn’t find a bracelet or anything to tell us that.’
The man’s eyes drifted shut and he let out a long breath. ‘Don’t want to be labelled,’ he muttered, shaking his head slightly. ‘Don’t want it to interfere with my life. Just want to get on and do the things I’ve always done.’
‘Right.’ Oliver ran a hand over the back of his neck. ‘Well, you can do most of the things you’ve always done, providing you control your blood sugar properly. You’ve just done a fairly strenuous walk. Did you bring food with you?’
The man shook his head. ‘Didn’t plan to be out that long.’
‘You were suffering from something called hypoglycaemia,’ Oliver explained, ‘which basically means that your blood sugar was dangerously low. It usually happens when you take more exercise than you were planning or when you delay a meal. Or sometimes if you give yourself too much insulin. Presumably you attend a diabetic clinic?’
The man gave a grunt. ‘Load of bloody busy-bodies—always telling you what to do and checking up on you.’
‘They’re trying to help you control your diabetes,’ Helen said gently, giving his hand a squeeze, but he brushed her hand away.
‘I can control it by myself.’
Helen opened her mouth to speak but Oliver caught her eye and gave a discreet shake of his head.
‘All right.’ His voice was calm and even. ‘Well, you’re clearly feeling better in yourself but you had quite a fall. You obviously lost your balance on the path and managed to tumble down here. It’s amazing that you didn’t fall all the way to the bottom. Are you hurting anywhere?’
The man struggled to his feet, brushing away all offers of help. ‘No. I’m fine. I just went for a stroll and I started to feel dizzy.’
At that moment there was a shout from above and Sean Nicholson, the A and E consultant, abseiled quickly down a rope, landing neatly next to them.
Helen stared at him in awe, remembering how long it had taken her to climb down that same route.
‘I’ve never seen anyone do that before.’ She smiled at him in admiration. ‘I must say it looked a great deal more entertaining than clinging to slippery rocks with fingernails, which was my experience.’
Oliver winked and took some equipment from Sean. ‘Hell on the nail varnish, don’t you find, Sean?’
‘Nightmare. That’s why I chose the easy route. Good afternoon, Mr Andrews.’ Sean gave the patient a friendly nod, listening while Oliver related what had happened.
‘If you’re going to nag me, then please don’t bother,’ the man said grumpily and Sean frowned slightly.
‘My job is just to get you down safely from this mountain,’ he said smoothly. ‘And to recommend that you get yourself checked out at the hospital before you carry on with your holiday.’ He glanced at Helen and then looked at Oliver. ‘You two should probably make a move. Helen’s looking cold. We can manage here easily enough now. You’ve done the hard bit.’
And Helen realised that she was actually freezing.
Sitting still on that rock, the chill had suddenly penetrated her bones and she started to shiver.
‘Oliver…’ A disturbing thought had struck her and she glanced upwards, a horrified expression on her face. ‘Am I going to have to climb back up the way I came down?’
‘No. From this point it’s quicker to carry on to the bottom,’ Sean said immediately. ‘You turn right and meet up with the path. Oliver knows the way.’
‘Down?’
Remembering the drop, she glanced at them in horror.
‘Sean’s right,’ Oliver said quickly, fastening his rucksack and swinging it onto his back. ‘It isn’t far from here. You’ve done the worst bit.’
Without giving her time to brood, he clipped a rope to her waist, gave her harness a tug and guided her towards the edge of the rocks.
The sound of the waterfall was so loud they could hardly make themselves heard and Oliver glanced back at Sean who was coordinating with the rest of the team.
‘Drunken Fox, tonight?’
Sean grinned. ‘You’re buying.’
Oliver went first and then guided Helen down until finally they reached the bottom and picked up the path.
&
nbsp; ‘How long will it take them to get him off the mountain?’ Helen asked, tugging her hood up to protect her head from the steadily falling snow. ‘Will they be all right?’
Oliver glanced at her in amusement. ‘They’ll be fine. And it shouldn’t take them long. Couple of hours?’
‘And then what?’ Helen frowned as she huddled deeper inside her coat. ‘He’s obviously determined to ignore his disease. Will they try and persuade him to take it more seriously?’
‘Helen, we’re the mountain rescue team,’ Oliver reminded her gently. ‘We rescue people from mountains. It’s not our job to sort out the rest of their lives, however much we might like to. Sean will try and persuade him to go to hospital to be checked and he’ll certainly tell him that he needs to see his GP, but after that it’s out of our hands.’
‘Well, it was a very exciting walk. And I must admit I was shocked by how quickly the mist came down,’ Helen said with a shudder. ‘One minute we had virtually blue skies, the next we could barely see. But that might have been a good thing, I suppose. If I’d been able to see all the way to the bottom of that ghyll I never would have plucked up the courage to climb over those rocks.’
They reached the car and Oliver shrugged the rucksack off his back.
‘You were great. I would never have known you were born and bred in the city.’
Helen stood still, her eyes on the mountains that she was steadily growing to love. ‘It’s going to be really hard to leave.’
Oliver heaved his rucksack into the boot, slammed it shut and turned to face her. ‘Then don’t.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘Don’t leave, Helen. Stay.’
He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers, his kiss so hot and urgent that she felt flames reach up from deep within and devour her self-control.
She felt the erotic lick of his tongue, felt his strong hands drawing her against him, felt the flash of energy and passion that exploded between them.
With the temperature dropping rapidly, she should have felt cold, but all she felt was warmth.
When he finally eased away from her, she felt bereft and looked at him in disbelief and confusion.
How could he bring an end to something so perfect?
‘It will be dark soon. We need to get home.’
Helen hid her disappointment, uncomfortably aware that she wouldn’t have been able to end that kiss even if an avalanche had engulfed them both.
‘Right…’ She tried to look suitably indifferent. As if kisses like that came and went all the time.
He gave a humourless laugh and ran a hand over the back of her neck. ‘If you’re for one moment thinking that I found it easy to stop that kiss, there’s something I ought to tell you.’ He curved a hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. ‘Next time I kiss you, townie, I’m not stopping.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE Drunken Fox was crowded with people that evening, but for Helen there was only Oliver.
She couldn’t remember ever being so aware of a man.
They’d finished their walk in virtual silence and when they’d arrived back at the cottage, Oliver had pushed her gently towards the stairs.
‘You have the first shower,’ he’d said gruffly. ‘We’re going out in less than an hour.’
And now they were both in the pub and all Helen could think about was going home again.
Realising that in just a few hours they would be alone in the cottage together with no threat of interruptions, Helen felt her tummy tumble with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.
Oliver had made it perfectly clear that he wanted their relationship to go all the way.
Did she?
From the moment they’d entered the pub, Oliver hadn’t strayed from her side, and even now she could feel the brush of his muscular shoulder against hers as he lounged casually against the bar, chatting to Tom.
It came as no surprise that he seemed to know everyone in the pub, and after three weeks in the Lake District Helen was starting to get used to the fact that everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business. And she liked it. Liked the fact that people cared about each other.
She glanced around the cosy pub, loving the warm, intimate atmosphere created by a flickering log fire and a bunch of people who clearly knew each other extremely well. It smelt of wood smoke and welcome, a place to relax after a hard day.
She felt Oliver’s arm slide around her waist, trapping her against him as he stood chatting to his brother at the bar.
He was wearing a pair of worn jeans that moulded themselves perfectly to the hard muscle of his thighs and a soft wool jumper that emphasised the breadth and power of his shoulders.
He looked so sexy and male that she was finding it hard to breathe.
And he seemed so relaxed it was hard to believe that he was the same man who’d kissed her breathless earlier.
Perhaps he’d changed his mind about the way he felt.
And then he turned to say something to her and something in his gaze made her realise that he wasn’t relaxed at all. And he certainly hadn’t changed his mind.
He was biding his time.
So it came as no surprise when he finally looked at his watch and reached for his jacket.
‘Time to go home,’ he said easily, taking her hand and nodding to his brother. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Still holding her hand tightly, he led her out of the pub and they walked to his car.
They drove home in silence and by the time he finally pulled up outside Bryony’s cottage, the tension between them had reached an almost intolerable level.
Oliver switched off the engine and stared into the darkness for a moment.
Then he turned and his eyes burned into hers. ‘Helen, we both know what’s going to happen once we walk inside that door so if this isn’t what you want…’
Delicious, forbidden excitement squirmed low in her stomach and suddenly she found the answer she’d been searching for. ‘It’s what I want.’
She didn’t understand why, but Helen had moved beyond trying to understand what it was that she felt for Oliver.
‘Then let’s go inside.’
He unlocked the door of the cottage but instead of putting on the lights he walked straight through to the cosy living room.
‘Oliver?’ She followed him through, stopping in the doorway as she realised that the room was full of candles. And Oliver already had half of them alight.
He must have set them up before they left for the evening and she hadn’t even noticed.
The flickering light gave a seductive, mysterious glow and Helen watched as he lit the log fire.
She was still wearing her coat and he crossed the room towards her and slid it from her shoulders, his eyes holding hers.
‘I happen to love this room, but if you’re cold then we can go upstairs…’
‘I’m not cold.’
‘You’re shivering.’
‘That’s not because I’m cold.’ She closed her eyes, aware that his clever fingers were making short work of the tiny buttons on her cardigan.
‘So why are you shivering?’ His voice was low and husky and she felt the seductive brush of his fingers against her flesh and suddenly she was standing there in only her lacy bra and her jeans. ‘Why, Helen?’
She swallowed, her heart pounding as she stared up at him. ‘Because I want you. But I’m scared, Oliver.’
His hands stilled. ‘Scared?’
‘Scared of hurting you.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘I don’t know what I want. I don’t—’
‘Shh…’ He covered her lips with a gentle finger. ‘No more talking.’
And just to make doubly sure that she couldn’t talk, he lowered his mouth to hers.
And his kiss snapped the last of her feeble resistance.
Stifled by sexual anticipation, her heart thudding out of control, Helen lifted her hands to his jumper and instantly he took over, dragging his mouth away from hers and stripping himself naked to the waist.
Her pulse rocketed and her breathing stopped. For the past few weeks she seemed to have become more and more aware of Oliver’s body but even those increasingly frequent glances hadn’t prepared her for the reality. And she hadn’t known it was possible to want a man with such fierce desperation.
Her eyes slid down his muscular chest, following the line of curling dark hairs that trailed downwards and vanished under the waistband of his jeans. And then her gaze slid lower still to the very visible evidence of his erection straining against the unforgiving fabric.
‘See what you do to me?’ He slid a strong hand behind her head, sliding his fingers into the softness of her hair and holding her firmly. ‘You’ve been doing that to me since the first moment I saw you.’
Without giving her a chance to reply, he guided her head towards him and met her halfway, his mouth descending on hers with hot, restless purpose.
Wild, intoxicating excitement exploded inside her and she kissed him back, exchanging bite for bite and lick for lick. He tortured with his mouth and teased with his hands until she realised that somehow they were both naked.
Without stopping to wonder how he’d accomplished that without her noticing, Helen pressed closer to him, shivering at the first touch of his flesh against hers.
She felt warmth and heat and pounding excitement and then he scooped her off her feet and carried her to the rug in front of the fire.
He lowered her gently and then came down on top of her and she sobbed with pleasure as she felt the solid weight of his body on hers, felt his skilled, clever fingers seeking the burning heat of her femininity.
He muttered something into her hair and then slid down her quivering, writhing body and fastened his mouth on her breast. The skilled flick of his tongue over her already hardened nipple made her gasp and arch against him and she dug her nails into the hard muscle of his shoulders, tortured by sensation.
His fingers explored her intimately but it wasn’t enough and she sobbed his name in a plea for more.
He lifted his head, his gaze burning into hers. ‘What?’
‘Please, Oliver…’ Her voice sounded broken and she slid one hand down his body and closed her slender fingers over his pulsing arousal. ‘Please, now…’