if he tried. She inhaled a long steadying breath. Her worst fears thankfully hadn’t come true, but she was still uneasy.
Jarrett Gaskill … what kind of a name was that?
Even if the man had never heard of her illustrious father-in-law, his name sounded a little too highbrow and pompous for her taste. No doubt he was some ambitious city type who kept a second home here in the country for weekends where he could entertain his London friends and play Lord of the Manor.
The thought brought a briefly cynical smile to her lips, before making her frown. Remembering his mellifluous tones, she’d thought he’d sounded sincere enough. Perhaps it was wrong of her to so judge him so quickly. But what did she know of sincere men when she’d been married to the biggest liar and cheat in the country? Tom Abingdon—the man she’d so stupidly rushed headlong into marriage with at eighteen against all advice—had been cruel, possessive, and self-indulgent to excess, as well as vain and self-obsessed, and the signs had been there right from the beginning.
How incredible, how naive, that Sophia had once believed she could turn him away from his destructive tendencies and show him that life together could be good. It hadn’t taken her long to find out how contemptuous he was of her sincere and innocent impulses. The dark road she’d been travelling with him had grown darker and more twisted day by day, and somehow, because her spirits had sunk so low, she’d been unable to find any means of breaking free.
Towards the end of his life he’d been intent on dragging her and their small son down to even more despicable lows, until one day, in the midst of her growing despair, it had suddenly become clear to her that she had to abandon her youthful dreams of ‘happy-ever-after’—she couldn’t fix her self-destructive husband’s life and she should walk away … right now. For Charlie’s sake, if not her own.
It was that thought that had rejuvenated hope in her—had spurred her on to make plans to leave him. But fate had had other more finite plans for Tom Abingdon. One night, after a heavy bout of drinking, he’d died in his sleep.
For a few unsteadying moments the sickening hurt and fury at the pain he had caused deluged Sophia’s heart and made her suck in her breath. Perhaps it was an apt reminder of the supreme idiocy of her getting involved with anyone ever again. If Tom was anything to go by, it was all too easy to be mesmerised and trapped by a man. Even the liars and cheats of this world could present a normal façade in order to get what they wanted, and it made her vow to be extra careful and much more vigilant.
If she ever saw him again, she promised herself she would give Jarrett Gaskill a wide berth. There was no way she would give any man the opportunity to get to know her … to discover the shameful truth of her marriage to a man who had frequently mistreated and degraded her. A new beginning was what she wanted for her and her son. One that didn’t include strangers—however friendly—who wanted to pry into her business. Not that she kidded herself for an instant that Jarrett Gaskill would even remember bumping into her and Charlie down by that idyllic little brook.
For the past three weeks Sophia had visited the weekly farmers’ market in the town centre. There was nothing like buying fruit and vegetables straight from the source, rather than from a soulless and anodyne supermarket, she thought. It was fresher, smelled better, and the taste far surpassed anything you could buy packaged and wrapped up in plastic.
Drawing her son closer to her side, she accepted the sturdy brown paper bag of apples she’d just bought from a friendly female stallholder and deposited it into her hessian shopping bag, on top of the other fresh produce she’d purchased. Glancing down at the cherubic little face that gazed up at her, she smiled brightly in anticipation of her plans for the afternoon. It was still such a treat to bake pies and cakes without fear of Tom coming home drunk, mocking her efforts and then throwing them against the wall.
‘We’ll make an apple pie to have with our tea tonight, Charlie,’ she promised cheerfully.
‘You don’t want an extra guest, do you? I’m quite partial to home-made apple pie.’
The arresting male voice was so richly resonant and well-spoken that Sophia glanced up in surprise at the man who had stepped up beside her. Her startled gaze was instantly magnetised by a pair of twinkling blue eyes so rivetingly intense that for a moment she couldn’t speak. It was him … Jarrett Gaskill. The name that had been warily filed away inside her brain presented itself with worrying ease.
‘No … I don’t. I’ve not long moved into my house and it’s taking me longer than I expected to get settled. Besides, it’s not likely I’d invite someone into my home that I don’t even know,’ she replied, quickly averting her gaze.
‘I told you my name the first time we met, remember?’
Sophia’s cheeks burned with heat, because she wasn’t able to pretend that she couldn’t recall it. ‘That’s neither here nor there. Knowing a person’s name hardly means that you know them.’
‘True … but an introduction at least creates the opportunity to get to know someone.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Gaskill, but I really must get on.’
‘You see?’ Something akin to delight was mirrored in the azure depths of his compelling glance. ‘You did remember my name. Perhaps now you’ll do me the honour of telling me yours?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Already turning away, Sophia was suddenly eager to leave the busy little market that was set up in the picturesque village square and head for home.
‘What a pity. I’ve got to call you something if we bump into each other again, don’t you think?’
‘No, you don’t. You can simply ignore me.’
His strong brow affected an exaggerated frown. ‘I certainly couldn’t. That would be the height of bad manners.’
‘You really care about things like good manners?’
‘Of course. I’d live in dread of my poor deceased mother haunting me if I didn’t keep her standards up.’
In spite of her eagerness to extricate herself from this unwanted and surreal conversation, Sophia couldn’t suppress a smile. But almost as soon as she’d succumbed to the gesture she firmed her lips into a much more serious line. ‘I’ve really got to go. I’ve got things to do. Goodbye.’
Firmly tightening her hold on her son’s small hand, she was about to walk out into the milling throng exploring the market stalls when the man standing beside her spoke clearly.
‘Enjoy that apple pie, Ms Markham … perhaps you’ll save me a slice?’
She spun round, her eyes widening in alarm. ‘Who told you my name?’
‘You’ve moved into a village … sooner or later everyone learns the name of a newcomer. They also tend to speculate on where they’ve come from and why they’ve moved here. Human nature, I guess.’
He shrugged nonchalantly, and Sophia stared. It was hard to ignore the width of those broad, well-defined shoulders beneath his well-worn, expensive-looking leather jacket. The black T-shirt he wore underneath with jeans was stretched across an equally well-defined chest, and he exuded the kind of masculine strength that made her even more wary of him. But more than that she was uncomfortable with the fact that people she didn’t even know might be discussing her and her son.
‘People should mind their own business! If my name should ever be mentioned in your hearing again, Mr Gaskill, I’d be obliged if you would make it very clear that I want to be left in peace.’
‘I don’t hold with gossiping about anyone. However, I will endeavour to respect your desire for privacy, Ms Markham.’
Sophia’s glance was wary, but she made herself acknowledge his remark just the same. ‘Thank you.’
Before Jarrett could engage her further, she took herself and Charlie off into the crowd and didn’t once glance back to see if his disturbing