Stranded With A Stranger

He took her at her word, taking a smaller mouthful than the one that had made his throat work as he swallowed the last of the whiskey in the mug. “Okay. Prepare yourself for it taking a week or more to get everything organized. Where are you staying?”

“At the Peaks Hotel.”

A raised eyebrow was his only acknowledgment that the hotel was the most expensive accommodation in Namche Bazaar.

“Have you done any climbs with Bill and Atlanta? Better tell me what experience you’ve had.” He waited expectantly

This was the crunch moment that would make or break her chance of recovering her sister and the key. “No, I’ve never climbed with my sister and her husband. We didn’t see each other that often. I live in Paris and…well, you know where they lived.”

“So what’s it been—the French Alps, Mont Blanc?”

“None of those. I stayed in Paris mainly, but I belong to this gym with a huge climbing wall and my speeds on that are considered expert level.”

He let out a whoop that ran around the attic, bouncing off the walls and coming back to her more times than she appreciated. What did he know? She was expert level.

He stopped chortling long enough to spit out, “A climbing wall? Lady, you crack me up.” Then he sobered. “No way am I taking a rookie climber up Everest. My reputation is shot as it is. It would be dead in the water if I took up an inexperienced climber. It was hell losing your sister and brother-in-law. If I lost a third one I might as well shoot myself. I couldn’t live with that on my conscience.”

“But—”

“No. Don’t try to persuade me, or bat those eyelashes my way. If you think that would work, then you are greener than a cabbage.”

Chapter 2

She let Kurt lead the way out of the attic, quite content to follow him into the darkness of the stairs instead of tackling them first.

He’d thrust his arms into a red anorak on the way out, a color that would be glaringly obvious against ice and snow. Chelsea had noticed how he automatically angled himself to exit without brushing his shoulders against the doorjambs on each side.

As Kora had said, he was a very big man.

Every few steps Kurt stopped and lit one of the small lamps set into shallow alcoves in the wall.

The creaky steps hadn’t seemed so steeply pitched when she’d climbed up them, and losing her balance on the way down was the last thing she needed. She would never be able to persuade him to take her up Mount Everest if he thought she couldn’t manage a flight of stairs.

No use pretending a few drinks would loosen this guy up. He’d drunk his whiskey, then hers, and it hadn’t affected him one iota.

She might have to use her feminine wiles.

Oh, God! She might be reduced to begging.

Chelsea squared her shoulders before once more measuring the width of Kurt’s, which were so wide, so reassuringly strong and masculine.

Kurt reached the green door leading into the barroom that she had come through earlier. Kora had inquired of the barman as to Kurt’s whereabouts, then hurried away smiling, her fingers curled around the tip Chelsea had slipped her. It was a small price for finding the one man in Namche Bazaar who could help her. As he reached for the handle, Kurt turned and gestured for her to go in front of him. “After you.”

His cheekbones cut two curved slashes of shadow in the hollows of his cheeks, yet the leanness of his face didn’t fool her into thinking that this was anything but a strong man.

A man, a tiny voice told her, who sounded as if he saw things in black and white, right and wrong. Not one to put her in danger no matter how much she pleaded her case.

She should be extremely careful never to get on his wrong side. Thanks to the experience of their first meeting, she knew the man carried a knife and wasn’t afraid to use it. All of that aside, she would do whatever it took to succeed. Beg, cajole, seduce.

Come up with a plan.

More was at stake now than at any other time in her life.

Inside, the tavern walls were lime washed, same as the outside, though around the fireplace, white had given way to smoky gray. Someone had lit the fire since she had stood there with Kora, and now more than ever the place reminded her of an Indiana Jones movie set. More tiny pots of yak-butter oil burned on a ledge that ran around three sides of the room, throwing pockets of light into the gloom. Overhead, the same pots tipped the branches of the wooden chandelier that swung in the breeze they’d brought in with them. Chelsea held her breath waiting for the main door to slam open. Out of the wild and windy landscape Indy would stride into the barroom in all his whip-cracking, world-saving majesty.

She suddenly saw the humor of it. That’s what she’d come to Nepal looking for, hoping for—a man to help her save her world. But was Kurt Jellic that man?

The door shut and Kurt crowded behind her, so close she could feel his deep voice rumble where his chest touched her shoulder. “Live up to your expectations?”

“I don’t know if I had any, but it’s certainly something else. I’m just letting my eyes become accustomed to the light, or lack of it, so I won’t fall over anything.”

“All right by me.”

His breath on her neck caused her to shiver.

Of course he noticed. “If you’re cold we can sit near the fire.”

“No, thank you. Let’s find a happy medium. I would soon get overheated next to the fire and have to start shedding.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied the men sitting around the tables. “I don’t think there are many here who would object, but to be on the safe side we can take that table in the corner.”

As they reached the table he’d pointed out, a gust of wind blew down the chimney, adding to the smoky atmosphere, well aided by two of the older citizenry puffing on their pipes at a table between them and the fireplace. “I take it that this end of town doesn’t have electricity.”

“Scared of the dark?”

She twisted around to answer him. His eyes stared into hers, and there was a question in them she didn’t know how to answer. Not yet. She blinked, hiding her awareness of his gender. He was all predatory male, and it would take a brave woman or a fool to march into his territory and expect to get away scot-free.

She hoped it would be worth her effort.

Her gaze fell and focused on his mouth. She bit her lip and stifled a laugh. Damn, she’d outed herself, but what was she? A fool, or just a woman doing the best she could with what she had?

His hand touched her shoulder as he smiled wryly. “You sit nearest the wall so you can take in the sights.” She did as he suggested, and now she took a good look around the tavern. The sights were on the rough side, and not all the men were Sherpas or Nepalese. One huge man wore a fur hat that screamed of the Russian steppes, an impression colored by the way he was scowling into his glass.

Kurt waited until she was seated. “What can I get you to drink, and how hungry are you?”

“Whiskey, with water this time since I don’t suppose they have soda, and whatever you’re having. I could eat a horse.”

“Be careful what you wish for. I’ll see if they have any lamb or goat kebabs.”

Kurt towered over the bar. The tough-looking guy serving behind it wasn’t nearly as tall, just bulkier, with a neck that overflowed his shirt. As she got her bearings she noticed blue smoke issuing from a door behind the bar. It curled up high and twisted around Kurt’s dark hair like a halo.

A dark angel? No, there was nothing angelic about this guy. He was too big, too tough, too much of everything—overwhelming.

When he’d turned and looked at her on the stairs she could have sworn he could see right through her, see past the front she always wore to the woman underneath. Could she trust him enough to tell him the truth about her quest? That she not only wanted her sister back, but also had to find the key Atlanta had worn around her neck.

Bad idea. Atlanta hadn’t even told Bill, but what if someone had found out? Her sister hadn’t believed in coincidence when Maddie died, and one death plus two others amounted to one huge coincidence that beggared belief. Thank God she’d used IBIS’s facilities to have Jellic checked out before she left Paris. He had come up clean as a whistle, but there had been some blot on his father’s record. She didn’t believe in all that sins-of-the-father rubbish, though.

Her own father, Charles Tedman, had a lot to answer for.