The Bejewelled Bride. Lee Wilkinson

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      Her heart in her mouth, she dragged the wheel over and steered to the side of the road away from the steep drop into the valley below.

      On shaking legs she climbed out to find—as she had feared—that her nearside front tyre had burst.

      Well, she would have to do something about it, and fast. It was rapidly getting dark and the swirls of mist had changed to thick swathes that were now shrouding the peaks and threatening to roll down and engulf the pass.

      Shivering in her fine wool suit, she pulled on her short jacket before going round to open the boot. Lifting the inner cover, she took out a jack, the spare wheel, the wheel brace and a foot-pump.

      Though so far she had never been forced to change a wheel, when she had bought her first old banger, her father had insisted on her learning how to.

      Now she was grateful. Only it didn’t seem to be as easy as she remembered.

      She was still struggling to put the jack in place when, miraculously, headlights appeared over the crest of the previous rise. A moment later a big black Range Rover, like the one that had followed her earlier, drew to a halt a few yards away.

      As she straightened, a tall well-built man with fair hair got out.

      Though she was dazzled by the lights, and with his back to them his face was in shadow, there seemed to be something oddly familiar about him.

      ‘Need some help?’ he asked.

      He had an attractive voice, she noted, low-pitched and cultured with no trace of a local accent.

      ‘Please,’ she said gratefully.

      The air was damp and raw and, clenching her teeth to prevent them chattering, she watched his broad back while he proceeded to change the wheel with a deft efficiency she could only admire.

      Then, having tested the tyre pressure he put some air in with the foot-pump, observing, ‘That ought to do it,’ before stowing everything back in the boot and closing it.

      ‘Thank you very much. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’

      He wiped his hands on a handkerchief he’d taken from the pocket of his leather car-coat and, turning towards his own vehicle, said easily, ‘I’m glad to have been of help.’

      As the headlights shone full on him, for the first time she saw his face clearly. It was the face that had haunted her for the past six years.

      No, it couldn’t be! It was far too much of a coincidence. But even while she told herself it couldn’t be him, she knew it was. And once again he was going to walk out of her life.

      ‘I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along,’ she said desperately.

      ‘I’m quite sure you would have managed…’Then, briskly, ‘I suggest we get going while we can still see the road.’

      In the short time it had taken him to change the wheel the mist had begun to close in with ominous speed, rolling down the mountainside and starting to obscure the drop into the valley below.

      A combination of cold, desolation and fear made Bethany shiver.

      As though sensing that fear and desolation, he paused and asked, ‘Do you know the pass at all?’

      ‘No,’ she answered in a small voice.

      ‘In that case I’m going to suggest we team up.’ He waited for her nod of assent before adding, ‘My name’s Joel McAlister.’

      Her heart leapt in her chest, making her sound breathless, as she said, ‘Mine’s Bethany Seaton.’

      ‘Where are you heading for, Miss Seaton?’ His rich, smooth voice melted her heart.

      Somewhat nervously, she replied. ‘I’m staying at the Dundale Inn.’

      ‘I’m heading for the Dundale Valley myself, though judging by how fast the mist’s closing in, it’s my bet we’re not going to get that far.’

      ‘Oh…’

      Perhaps he mistook her little exclamation of excitement for panic, because he added quickly, ‘But don’t worry. If we can make it to the foot of Dunscar, which is about a mile away, there’s a small hotel there. It’s closed for the winter, but I understand the caretaker lives on the premises.’ He went on automatically, ‘Now, let’s get moving. As it’s too narrow here for me to get past, we’ll have to take your car.’

      Turning off his own vehicle’s lights, he added, ‘I’d better drive, as I know the road.’

      When she made no demur, he opened the passenger door for her, then slid behind the wheel.

      Bethany was barely able to see anything except the mist reflecting back the dipped headlights, yet he drove with a careful confidence that was reassuring. Though, truth to tell, rather than worrying about their safety, her thoughts centred on the fact that fate had brought him back into her life.

      She was being given a second chance.

      The chance.

      At seventeen, she would have been too young.

      But now, at twenty-three to his twenty-seven—twenty-eight? the timing was perfect.

      Unless he was already married?

      No! She pushed the awful thought away.

      She and this stranger, who was no stranger, were meant to be together. She had never been more sure of anything in her whole life.

      While they made their way down to Dunscar, her heart beating fast, she studied his profile in the glow from the dashboard.

      His nose was straight, his jaw strong, the curve of brow and sweep of long lashes, several shades darker than his hair. At the corner of his mouth was a small dent, too masculine to be called a dimple, but surely it would become one when he smiled…

      ‘Think I’m trustworthy?’ Both his words and his voice held a hint of amusement.

      Looking hastily away, she said as lightly as possible, ‘I certainly hope so. Though it’s a bit late to worry about it.’

      When he said nothing further, she observed, ‘You’re obviously very familiar with this area, yet you don’t have a local accent.’

      He shook his head. ‘No.’

      ‘So you don’t live around here?’ Bethany toyed with the strap of her handbag, her nervous excitement getting the better of her.

      ‘No. I’m based in London.’

      Bethany breathed a sigh of relief. That was good news. Though London was a big place, it meant he was closer at hand than if he’d lived in Cumbria.

      ‘Are you up here on business?’ she asked.

      He smiled wryly. ‘You could say that…’

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