Kate Hardy - Save The Date!

When really what she wanted to say was kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. Not that kissing would do either one of them any good.

She stroked her fingers down her throat. It might help iron out some kinks...scratch an itch or two.

Oh, stop it! Be sensible.

She cleared her throat. ‘Is it okay if I collect them first thing in the morning? As soon as it opens I’ll take them to the bank for safekeeping.’

For a moment she thought he might insist on her taking them now, but eventually he nodded. ‘First thing.’

With a nod, she backed out of the garage and fled for the house, leaving him to close up, or to drive his car around, or whatever he pleased.

She sat, planted her elbows on the kitchen table and massaged her temples. Dear Lord, she had to fight this attraction to Rick because he was right—kissing would be a bad, bad idea. It’d end in tears—hers. The minute Rick discovered his sibling’s identity he’d be out of town so fast she wouldn’t see him for dust.

As a kid she’d dreamed of Rick riding up and rescuing her—like the prince rescuing Rapunzel from her tower. That had all been immature fantasising mixed up with guilt, yearning and loneliness. It hadn’t been based on any kind of reality.

It hadn’t factored in Rick going to jail.

It hadn’t factored in that she could, in fact, save herself.

She shot to her feet. ‘I am a strong woman who can make her dreams come true.’

She kept repeating that all the way to the shower.

* * *

During the next week Nell marvelled at the progress Rick made on the house. He transformed the parlour from something tired and battered into a room gleaming with promise. He’d done something to the fireplace—blackened it, perhaps—that highlighted the fancy tile-work surrounding it. The mantelpiece shone.

It didn’t mean they became cosy and buddy-buddy, though. They edged around as if the other were some kind of incendiary device that would explode at the slightest provocation.

When Nell returned home in the afternoons she and Rick would chat—carefully, briefly. Rick would either continue with whatever he was doing or retire to the cottage. She’d start watching one of the spy movies she’d borrowed from the video store or would investigate code breaking on the Internet. To no great effect.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! This is a waste of time.’ She slammed down the lid of her laptop. Biting her lip, she reached out to pat it. The last thing she needed was to have to go out and buy a new computer.

‘Not having any luck?’

She glanced up to find Rick in the doorway. Wearing a tool belt. Her knees went a bit wonky. She swallowed first to make sure her voice would work. ‘I’ve trawled every website and watched every darn movie ever made about codes and code breaking and yet I’m still none the wiser.’ She pulled the piece of paper on which she’d scrawled the code towards her.

‘LCL 217, POAL 163, TSATF 8, AMND 64, ARWAV 33, TMOTF 102,’ she read, even though she’d memorised it.

‘I don’t get it, not one little bit, and I’m tired of feeling stupid!’

He didn’t say anything.

She leapt up. It took an effort of will not to kick the table leg. ‘Why on earth did he make it so hard?’

‘Because he doesn’t want me to find the answer.’

‘Why tell you at all then?’

‘To chase away his guilt? To feel as if he were doing the right thing and giving me some sort of chance at figuring it out?’

To chase away his guilt? In the same way he’d chased Rick away? Her stomach churned. And then she frowned. ‘Rick, it’s Saturday.’

‘Yup.’

‘You don’t have to work weekends.’

‘Why not? You do.’

She blinked.

‘I want to attach the new locks I bought for the parlour windows. I’ve been trying to work that code out all morning and now I want to hammer something.’

She blew out a breath. John’s code had evidently left him feeling as frustrated as it had her. ‘You haven’t given me the receipts for those locks yet.’

His gaze slid away. ‘I can’t find where I put them. I’ll hunt them up tonight and give them to you on Monday.’

That was what he’d said on Wednesday.

‘I might not be rolling in money, but I have enough to cover the work you quoted me.’ Besides, he couldn’t exactly be rolling in it himself. ‘Fixing up this house is exactly what I choose to do with my money.’ Well, that and eat.

‘And I had some questions about the library,’ he added as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘If you have the time...’

Something shifted in the darkness of his eyes, but she couldn’t tell what, only that it made her pulse quicken. She scowled. ‘Are they questions I’ll be able to answer?’

He grinned. It was swift and sudden and slayed her where she stood. ‘Colour schemes and stuff.’

She stuck her nose in the air. ‘That I can do. I’ve been trained by the best. Piece of cake.’

‘Speaking of cake...’ His gaze searched the table.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, yes, there’re cupcakes in the cake tin. Help yourself.’ It suddenly occurred to her... ‘I didn’t make you any sandwiches. Would you like me—?’

‘Nope, not necessary. Sandwiches Monday to Friday was the deal.’

‘Was it?’ When he grinned at her like that she forgot her very name and which way was up. She had no hope of recalling anything more complicated. She swung away. ‘Nell,’ she murmured under her breath. She pointed to the ceiling. ‘Up.’

‘Talking to yourself, Princess.’

The warm laughter in his voice wrapped around the base of her spine, making her shiver. ‘Library,’ she muttered instead, pointing and then leading the way through the house.

‘It’s a nice room,’ Rick said from the doorway.

She tried to stop her gaze from gobbling him up where he stood. ‘I used to spend a lot of time in here as a child. It was my favourite room.’ She hadn’t disturbed anyone in here.

‘You were a bookworm?’

The look he sent her had her rolling her shoulders. ‘Uh-huh.’

He moved into the room. ‘Do you mean to keep all of these books in here when you open for business?’

She hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘All of the leather-bound collections will probably remain in here—the room wouldn’t earn the term library if there were no books.’ She trailed her fingers along one wall of glass-enclosed bookcases. ‘But I’ll take my old worn favourites upstairs. They’re a bit tatty now. I suppose I could put some pretty ornaments on the shelves here and there for interest and—’

She stopped dead and just stared.

‘What?’ Rick spoke sharply and she suspected the blood had all but drained from her face.

‘POAL,’ she managed faintly.

‘POAL 163,’ he corrected.

She opened one of the bookcase doors and dropped to her knees in front of it. She ran a finger along the spines. ‘I’d have never got it. Not in a million years.’

‘What are you talking about?’ He strode across to her, his voice rough and dark. ‘Don’t play games with me, Nell.’

She grabbed his arm and dragged him down to the floor beside her. ‘Look.’ She pointed to a book spine.

‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover,’ he growled. ‘So what?’

‘LCL.’ She pointed to the next spine along. ‘Portrait of a Lady—POAL. The Sound and the Fury, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, A Room with a View, The Mill on the Floss. These are my first-year literature texts from university. She pulled out Lady Chatterley’s Lover and handed it to him. ‘Open it at page two hundred and seventeen.’

She had no idea if she were right or not, but...

He turned the pages over with strong, sure hands. They both caught their breath when the page revealed a single sheet of folded paper.