.

      She bathed Maisie and got her ready for bed, tucking her in with a teddy and reading her a story from one of the many books on the shelf. A jolly story about a little bear’s bedtime. Nothing to cause nightmares.

      She was asleep before little bear, and Jacqui sat there for a while, watching her breathing. Smoothed the cover. Turned the light down until it was little more than a glow.

      Somewhere, on the other side of the world, another child would soon be starting a new day. Crumpled and grumpy from sleep, reaching out for a cuddle from another woman…

      She blinked fiercely, touching the bracelet as she swallowed down the ache. A bath. She needed to soak in warm, lavender-scented water. Forget and smile. Not even remotely possible, but maybe she should try concentrating on the joy, rather than the heartache…

      Since she was travelling light and hadn’t bothered with a bathrobe, she helped herself to a robe hanging behind the bedroom door before going down to the kitchen to make herself something warm to drink.

      Only the concealed lighting above the worktops was switched on, leaving the centre of the room barely lit. The chicken stirred and clucked disapprovingly from the basket. She gave it a wide berth. She didn’t much like chickens—even when they were house pets.

      The cats didn’t twitch more than a whisker. It was the dog, always hopeful of food, slithering across the quarry-tiled floor that made her turn.

      Harry Talbot had apparently been sitting at the kitchen table, finishing his supper. Now he was on his feet and it was a moot point which of them was most surprised.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d be long finished.’

      ‘Yes, well, I would have been but those wretched donkeys don’t know when they’re well off. The ungrateful little beasts made a mass dash for freedom when I went out to feed them,’ he said, pushing back the chair. ‘By the I’d time I’d rounded them all up I was plastered with mud.’

      Which explained why his dark hair was now slickly combed back, although where it was drying it was already beginning to spring back into an unruly mop of curls. Why he was wearing fresh jeans and a dark blue collarless shirt. And looked good enough to eat himself.

      ‘What about the llama?’ she asked. ‘Is that an ungrateful beast, too?’

      ‘Who told you about the llama?’

      ‘The woman in the village shop warned me to watch out for it on the road.’

      ‘It was looking for company. Kate found it a home with a small herd on the other side of the valley.’

      ‘Oh. I thought she’d made it up.’

      ‘I wish.’ Then, ‘Well?’ he demanded, when she didn’t move. ‘What do you want?’

      ‘Nothing. At least, I’ll come back. I don’t want to disturb you.’

      ‘You already have, so you might as well make a proper job of it. What do you want?’ he repeated.

      Nothing different about his manners, then. They were just the same.

      ‘I was going to make myself a hot drink and take it upstairs.’

      ‘Do whatever you like. I’ve finished,’ he said, abandoning his half-eaten meal and making a move to leave.

      ‘Can I make you something?’ she asked, feeling dreadful about interrupting his meal even though she had, moments before, been wishing it would choke him. It was only polite to make the offer. One of them should probably make the effort and it clearly wasn’t going to be him.

      ‘Playing the domestic goddess isn’t going to change my mind, Miss Moore,’ he replied, as if to prove her point. ‘I’m quite capable of making my own coffee.’

      ‘Obviously you’d have to be,’ she replied, ‘or go without.’

      So much for politeness. She’d been so determined not to let him annoy her, but apparently all he had to do was speak…

      ‘I’m actually making tea,’ she continued, in an effort at appeasement. After all, she had not only matched his rudeness, but also trumped it. ‘However, while acknowledging your undoubted competence, it would be no trouble to make you a pot of coffee at the same time. Since I’m boiling the kettle anyway. You can come back when I’ve gone upstairs and help yourself if you don’t want to stay.’

      There was a moment of absolute silence when the air was thick with words waiting to be spoken. Not even the dog moved.

      Harry felt as if his feet were welded to the floor. His brain was urging him to walk out. He couldn’t handle people. Couldn’t handle this woman who one minute was all soft curves and temptation, and the next disapproval and a sharp tongue. It was too complex. Too difficult. His only thoughts had, for so long, been simple, one-dimensional, fixed on survival, locked on one goal because he’d known that if he lost sight of it, even for a moment, he’d lose his mind.

      He had to be alone. It was the only way he could survive…

      But his body, which he’d been driving so hard and so long on sheer will-power, seemed suddenly unable to carry out the simplest of commands. It had demanded the food she cooked and now he seemed unable to walk away; trapped between the possibility of heaven and the certainty of hell.

      As Jacqui waited the silence seemed to stretch like elastic until she feared it might snap. She couldn’t for the life of her imagine what he was finding so difficult about answering what had been a very simple question, yet she could see the battle waging inside his head.

      She jumped as he finally moved, picked up his plate, carried it over to the sink, scraping the remnants into the disposal unit and rinsing it off before stowing it in the dishwasher.

      ‘You’re a very irritating woman, do you know that?’ he said, slamming the door so that the rest of the crockery rattled.

      That was a matter of opinion. She thought he more than matched her in that respect, but good manners—and her well-honed survival instincts—suggested it would be wiser not to say so. Instead she crossed the kitchen, picked up the kettle and began to fill it.

      ‘A good cook, but irritating,’ he continued, elaborating on his theme.

      ‘One out of two isn’t bad. I might have been irritating and a terrible cook.’ She switched on the kettle and turned to face him. ‘No redeeming features whatever.’

      On that, apparently, he was not prepared to venture an opinion. Instead he asked, ‘Is Maisie in bed?’

      ‘It’s nearly ten o’clock. Of course she’s in bed.’

      ‘There’s no “of course” about it. She’s usually up half the night, flouncing around, being spoilt by Sally’s ridiculous friends.’

      ‘Is she?’ Why was she not surprised? ‘Well, she’s had a big day. She didn’t even make the end of the story before she fell asleep.’

      ‘Amazing.’

      ‘You don’t like her very much, do you?’

      ‘Sally should stick to rescuing dumb animals,’ he said, which didn’t answer her question. But then you could often tell more from what people didn’t say. And what he hadn’t said would, she suspected, have filled volumes. ‘She can abandon them up here once she’s done the photo-call and there’s no harm done.’

      What…? Was he implying…?

      ‘Maisie hasn’t been abandoned,’ she declared.

      ‘No? What would you call it?’

      ‘I’m sure that what happened today is nothing more than an unfortunate misunderstanding.’ Not one that she’d have made, but she wasn’t passing any judgements until she was in possession of all the facts. ‘Actually, I did want to ask you something. Do you know if she keeps any clothes here? Outdoor play clothes?