Where The Heart Is

And he couldn’t back off. Something drew him to her. The same something that gave him the kind of dreams he really didn’t want to wake from. Maybe, Luke thought the next morning, as he gulped a cup of viciously strong coffee in a vain attempt to clear his head, maybe he just needed to get it out of his system. And hers.

Maybe it would be good for both of them. No strings attached, no promises, no broken hearts. She’d lost someone close, too, so maybe this was a way of helping them both heal. Let the barriers down, let the pain out, let themselves move on instead of being stuck in regret and mourning and loss.

Maybe.

Stephen was up and about at breakfast and seemed none the worse for his adventure the night before. Rowena smiled at him and Melissa, gulped her coffee and disappeared before anyone in that little group could hail her as a hero. She hadn’t done that much after all.

When they started the next part of the hike, the forest was cool and damp, and Rowena was glad of her waterproof jacket. The scramble up to the top was easy—but the view of the lake and the glacier took Rowena’s breath away. She’d expected the glacier to be white or grey, but it shimmered in different shades of blue, huge vertical waves and peaks of frozen ice, as if a choppy sea had been frozen in mid-wave. The lake itself was grey, which she’d read was due to the mineral content of the water. Obviously the glacier was named after the lake.

She could hear a rumbling, crashing noise in the distance. She couldn’t place it at first, and then she realised that small bergs were ‘calving’ from the Grey Glacier and falling into the lake. The wind was driving the smaller bergs down to the shoreline. The smallest lumps of ice were white, but the larger pieces were bright blue, like the glacier.

‘It’s stunning,’ she breathed.

‘The southern part of the Patagonian Ice Field,’ Luke said, his voice filled with pride. ‘It’s the largest ice field in the world.’

Ice, ice, everywhere—and not a single bit of it could cool her body’s reaction to him. Panic made her want to run, but she knew that would be stupid. Immature. Maybe a neutral conversation would help ease the pressure. And didn’t English people always talk about the weather? ‘I thought ice was clear or white.’

‘It is when there’s air in it and the pressure’s low. In a glacier, the weight of the ice causes major pressure within the ice, and that’s why it’s blue. The bigger blocks end up in coves and inlets; as they melt, the density of the ice slowly decreases and they lose their colour.’

‘And I thought they were supposed to move really slowly.’

‘Glaciers, or icebergs? The glacier’s receding at a rate of just over three centimetres a day. New caves and crevasses form every day—so every time I come here, it looks different.’ He sounded wistful.

He was standing close enough to touch her. All she had to do was take a step backwards and she’d be in his arms. She could almost feel the pressure of his body against hers, the warmth leaping out between them. What would it feel like to curl her fingers through his hair? Her hands almost itched with the urge to touch him, to pull his head down to hers and touch her lips to his.

But that would be a seriously stupid move. She didn’t do flings. Didn’t do for evers. Didn’t do relationships, full stop.

She mumbled some excuse about needing to see one of the others, and stepped away. But she was aware of every move he made on the way back. And even though she was sitting on the opposite side of the dining room that evening, during their customary meal of soup, hot tea and stew, it felt as if she was right next to him.

Why couldn’t she get him out of her head?

The worst thing was, the one time she caught his gaze, his eyes were saying exactly the same thing. Hot, dark, full of passion. Passion he kept reined in—but it was there. And she knew it was all for her.

Ah, hell. Maybe she should break a rule. Just this once. Let somebody get close to her. And maybe she shouldn’t. Who knew if one night would be enough, for either of them? And it wasn’t fair to start something she couldn’t finish.

It was another clear night, so Rowena sat at the edge of the lake to watch the stars, wrapped in a scarf and gloves and a thick jacket. Last night, when Stephen had fallen into the lake and she’d been caught up in the rescue, she hadn’t had the time to pinpoint the Southern Cross. Tonight Stephen and his friends were safely inside the refugio—and, she noticed, they hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol. So tonight she’d be able to enjoy these moments on her own.

The sky was so very different from home. Darker, without the light pollution that usually lightened the city sky. The stars were sharper, more intense, and the constellations unfamiliar. And then she saw it: the Southern Cross.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ a soft voice asked.

She should have guessed that Luke would follow her out here. They’d been avoiding each other all day, ever since the glacier—but every time they’d looked up, they’d met each other’s gaze. ‘Mmm.’

‘Would you rather be alone?’

Yes. No. Both. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

He sat on the rocks next to her, close but not actually touching. ‘At least we shouldn’t have to rescue anyone tonight. That’s something. Did you enjoy the glacier?’ She’d joined the group which had trekked right to the edge of the glacier for the best view.

‘Yes. Funny, a year ago, I wouldn’t even have thought of coming here.’

‘And now you’re raising funds.’ His voice was soft, so gentle. ‘You lost someone to leukaemia?’

Her throat felt tight. ‘A colleague.’ Though Peggy had been much more. Peggy was the mother she’d never had. The kind of mother she’d wanted—and had discovered that she definitely didn’t have. And when she’d first joined the emergency department and Peggy had found out that the young doctor would be on her own for Christmas, she had insisted that Rowena join her family for the holiday. She’d even made up a stocking for Rowena to open—nothing expensive, just a bottle of nail varnish and a tangerine, some nuts and a silly toy—but it had been the first Christmas stocking Rowena could ever remember getting. Which had been something, at the age of twenty-five.

‘I lost someone, too.’

So that was why he was out here. Trying to make a difference.

‘Even though we saved Stephen’s life yesterday, it’s not going to bring back the ones we loved, is it?’ he asked quietly.

To her horror, Rowena felt a tear rolling down her face. She dashed it away. ‘I don’t cry. Ever.’ She’d cried herself out when she was much, much younger. ‘Just ignore me.’

But he didn’t. Instead, he took her hand. The hand she’d used to brush the tear away. And he just sat there, holding her hand in a no-pressure silence. He, too, had gloves on, but she could feel the blood throbbing through his fingers, and panic welled up inside her. People didn’t hold her hand. Not even when…

She wasn’t going back there. The past was staying exactly where it belonged. She didn’t need to explain anything to him. And she didn’t need kindness or affection. Not from him, not from anyone. She wrenched her hand out of his.

‘Why are you running away from me?’ he asked.

She lifted her chin. ‘I’m not.’

He didn’t try to disagree with her, to her relief. But his next words shocked her. ‘Rowena. You feel it, too, don’t you?’

Oh, yes. She felt it. A weird kind of humming in the air between them. When he’d touched her just now, she’d felt as if her body had been supercharged. ‘I don’t do this sort of thing.’

‘Neither do I.’ His voice was wry. ‘But something about you makes me want to.’

This was a very, very bad idea. She didn’t want to be his friend. Or his lover. Somehow, she had to push him away. And she could think of only one way to do it. ‘Don’t you have a girl on every trek?’

‘No. It’s against my principles.’

How could he sound sincere and amused at the same time? She looked at him, and realised he’d meant it. In the starlight, his eyes were very dark and his face very sombre.

And then he smiled. Just a tiny, rueful quirk of his lips. ‘But I want to, with you.’

Just as well she was sitting down, because her knees had just turned back to jelly. ‘I…’ Her mouth was too dry to force the words out.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to leap on you,’ he reassured her, clearly misinterpreting her silence. ‘I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. But I’d really like someone to hold my hand right now.’

He wanted comfort from her? That was a first. Nobody had ever asked her to hold their hand before, except a patient who was in pain. Part of her was in a flurry, not knowing what to do, how to make him feel better. But she suppressed her thoughts and acted on instinct. She reached out and curled her fingers round his hand, keeping the pressure light.

He responded by curling his own fingers around her hand.

And everything else vanished. There was just the two of them at the edge of the lake, under the stars.

‘Is it an anniversary?’ she asked softly.

‘No. Eighteen months and four days.’