Page 2 of Undoing His Innocent Enemy (Hot Winter Escapes)

But as the swirl lifted and twisted, and a whistling howl picked up through the canyon of trees, turning the winter silence into a wall of terrifying sound, she could barely hear her own voice, still shouting out the Mayday.

She burrowed into the gathering drift beside the broken snowmobile, to shelter from the wind. No one had responded. No one was coming. The battery light on the phone started to wink, the only thing she could see in the white-out.

Her mother’s voice, practical, and tired, hissed through her consciousness. Bringing back their last frustrating conversation two days ago.

‘You’re a fine one...why would you want to go all the way there when we have more than enough creatures here to photograph on the farm?’

‘Because a wildlife photographer photographs creatures in the wild, Mammy, not cows and sheep.’

‘Shouldn’t you be settling already? You’re twenty-one and have barely had a boyfriend. All your brothers are having babies already.’

Because my brothers have no desire to get out of County Wexford, just like you, Mammy.

The answer she’d wanted to say swirled in her head, the icy cold making her eyes water.

Don’t you dare cry, Cara Doyle, or your eyelids will stick to your eyeballs and then where will you be?

Everywhere was starting to hurt now. The six layers of expensive thermal clothing she’d maxed out one of her many credit cards to buy felt like a layer of tissue paper against the frigid wind.

The dying phone, forgotten in her hand, crackled and then barked.

‘Yes... Yes?’ she croaked out on a barely audible sob.

Please let that be someone coming to rescue me.

‘The cat’s lights. Turn them on.’ The furious voice seemed to shoot through the wind and burrow into her brain.

Relief swept through her. She nodded, her throat too raw to reply. She pushed herself into the wind with the last of her strength. Her bones felt so brittle now she was sure they were frozen too. She flicked the switch, then collapsed over the seat.

The single yellow beam shone out into the storm—and made her think of all those stories she’d heard as a child, in Bible study as she prepped for her first holy communion, about the white light of Jesus beckoning you, which you saw before death.

Sister Mary Clodagh had always scared the hell out of them with that tale.

But Cara didn’t feel scared now, she just felt exhausted.

Her sore eyelids drooped.

‘Keep talking.’ The gruff voice on the phone reverberated in her skull.

She pressed the mouthpiece to her lips, mumbled what she could through the layers of her balaclavas.

‘Louder,’ the shout barked back.

‘I’m trying...’ she managed. Her fingers and face didn’t hurt any more, because the embalming warmth pressed against her chest like a hot blanket.

Whoever Mr Angry is, he’d better be getting a move on.

A dark shape appeared in the pearly beam, the outline making her think of the majestic brown bears she’d spent the summer in Lapland observing and photographing... The hum of an engine cut through the howling wind as the bear got closer. It detached from its base, the dark shape looming over her.

Piercing silvery blue eyes locked on hers through the thin strip of skin visible under his helmet and above his face coverings and reminded her of the lynx—who she’d photographed what felt like several lifetimes ago.

Hard hands clasped her arms, lifting her. She tried to struggle free, scared her bones would snap.

‘Don’t fight me,’ the bear shouted. ‘Stay awake, don’t sleep.’

Why was the bear shaking her? Was he attacking her? Shouldn’t he be hibernating?

She tried to reply, but the words got stuck in her throat as his big body shielded her from the ice storm. The slaps were firm, but not painful, glancing off her cheek.

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