Forty Things to Do Before You're Forty (6 page)

‘Now, is there anything you fancy in here?' she asked, her voice dripping with innuendo. ‘Or should I take you around and introduce you to the other shopkeepers? Of course…' she lowered her voice conspiratorially, ‘… I much prefer shopping in Harrogate myself but I do consider it my duty as a celebrity to be seen supporting local businesses. Someone once asked for my autograph outside the greengrocer's, you know.'

Annie bit her tongue. That had been a case of mistaken identity. The old guy thought Lydia was one of the breakfast TV weather presenters.

Lydia linked her arm through Jake's and steered him towards the open door.

‘Look, it's very kind, but there's no need. Honestly,' he protested. ‘I'm perfectly capable of – '

‘Let me show you what a friendly bunch we are here. Although, of course, some of us are friendlier than others,' she chortled.

As they disappeared through the doorway, Annie released a long sigh of relief. Thank goodness he'd gone. She was far too busy for a distraction like Jake Sinclair today. She only hoped Lydia was kind to him. Even a man like Jake would be risking it walking into Lydia's lair. Not that Annie cared. It made no difference to her what Jake got up to with Lydia. None at all. She was just thankful that he hadn't noticed the squashed cake on the top of her foot. Now
that
really would have been embarrassing.

CHAPTER FOUR

Three hours later, Jake arrived back at the manor completely exhausted. He could hardly believe what he'd just experienced. In fact, the idea even crossed his mind that he'd been set up. That there might be hidden cameras dotted about the village monitoring his every move because this couldn't be normal village life. Could it? He'd always imagined Yorkshire villages to be quiet, sleepy places, populated by farmers and old ladies with lilac hair and tweed skirts, not the likes of Lydia Pembleton in shocking-pink hot-pants and silver stilettoes.

Talk about bad timing. If only he'd walked straight past Annie's shop, he could have saved himself a great deal of trouble – and a whole chunk of time. But he hadn't wanted to walk past Annie's shop. And it hadn't just been the delightful window display that had tempted him. It had been Annie herself. There was something incredibly refreshing about her. She seemed so natural, so unaffected. And, from the snippet of information Sophie had let slip about her baking for the class every week, was obviously incredibly generous. All the things, in fact, that Nina had been. Despite it being an emotion in which he did not normally indulge, Jake felt a stab of jealousy. Whoever ‘George' was – whose cake he had spied in Annie's kitchen – he was one lucky man. Lydia, conversely, was the very antithesis of all that Jake valued. Conceited, self-absorbed, and selfish. Ignoring his protestations, she had dragged him – quite literally – around the entire village, introducing him to every unsuspecting person they encountered.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost half-past-twelve. The entire morning had disappeared in a Lydia-induced blur. He'd only intended being out for half an hour to stock up on provisions. Now he was way behind schedule. What was more, he could feel the niggling of a headache. Jake rarely got headaches. It must be as a result of Lydia's cloying perfume. The heavy scent had permeated his hair, his clothes and his skin. He decided to take another shower and change his clothes before making a sandwich and settling down to write.

Ten minutes later, Jake scratched his head. He was baffled. The water had been piping hot a few hours earlier. Too hot if anything. But now it was ice-cold. Perhaps the settings on the boiler needed adjusting. But where was the boiler? He'd searched all the obvious places but couldn't find it. Well, there was only one thing for it. He'd have to go over to the gatehouse and ask. And if Annie was still at work, perhaps ‘George' would be able to help. Tugging his T-shirt back on, Jake sprinted down the stairs and over to the cottage.

The kitchen door was wide open when he arrived. He popped his head inside. Sophie sat at the table, her little face creased with concentration as she fiddled with some pink wool. Beside her was a kindly-looking lady with lily-white hair, wearing a floral skirt and sensible blouse which, despite the heat of the day, was buttoned right up to her neck. Pip lay in his basket snoring soundly. Jake allowed himself another quick glance around the room. Yet again it looked incredibly inviting, the brilliant sunlight bouncing off the yellow walls. And yet again something tightened in the area of his heart. He quickly pulled himself together and knocked lightly upon the open door.

‘Hello there.' No sooner had the words left his mouth than Pip leaped out of his basket, darted over to him and began dancing around his legs. Jake bent down and picked him up. The dog immediately began licking his face.

‘Mr Sinclair,' squealed Sophie, holding up her handiwork for him to see. ‘Look what we're doing. It's called finger-knitting.'

‘Wow,' said Jake. ‘That looks very complicated.'

‘It is. Mrs Mackenzie showed me how to do it. She's very clever and used to make all her own clothes.'

‘Really?' said Jake, smiling at the old lady. ‘And you are Mrs Mackenzie, I presume?'

‘I am indeed,' replied the lady in a broad Scottish accent. ‘And you must be the young man who is staying in the manor for a few weeks. Sophie has told me all about you. I hear you got a nine for your colouring-in. Quite an achievement.'

‘Beginner's luck,' chuckled Jake. ‘Look, I'm really sorry to bother you but I was wondering if George was around.'

Mrs Mackenzie furrowed her brow. ‘There's no George lives here, hen. It's just Annie and little Sophie here. I'm the babysitter.'

‘Oh,' muttered Jake, ‘I'm sorry. I just saw the cake on the bench yesterday and thought …'

Mrs Mackenzie glanced over at the cake. ‘Oh.
That
cake. No, that's for old George Carey. He has the florist shop next door to Annie's. Annie brought it home to decorate so he wouldn't see it and spoil his surprise. Now, is there anything we can do to help you?'

Jake stared at her blankly for a few seconds. He didn't know why but the news about the lack of a significant George in Annie's life had made him momentarily forget why he was there. Oh. Of course. The boiler. ‘Well, I don't know if you'll be able to help or not. You see there's no hot water in the manor and I can't find the boiler.'

‘It's in the lilac room upstairs,' piped up Sophie. ‘And it's always breaking down. Mum says the P.S.'s really need to invest in a new one.'

‘Right,' said Jake, smiling at Sophie's detailed knowledge. ‘Well, now that I know where it is, I can have a look and see if there's anything obvious wrong with it.'

‘Sorry we can't be more help, dear,' said Mrs Mackenzie. ‘Annie should be back by five if you need her.'

‘Right. Thanks.' Jake set down Pip on the floor and turned to leave. He had only taken one step when the dog began howling.

‘Heavens, I've never known him do that before,' gasped Mrs Mackenzie, scurrying over to the dog and bundling him up in her arms. ‘I'll give him a biscuit. That'll sort him out.'

Jake flashed a grateful smile before leaving the cottage and heading back across the dividing lawn.

‘Goodness,' puffed Mrs Mackenzie when Annie arrived back home from work later that afternoon. ‘That's a very nice young man you've got staying in the manor there. Now if I was thirty years younger…'

Annie's stomach lurched. Jake Sinclair appeared to be charming every woman in the village. Thanks to Lydia's introductions, every one of her female customers that day had passed some comment on how gorgeous, or charming, or handsome he was. And now he'd even worked his magic on Mrs Mackenzie.

‘Wh-what was he doing here?' she asked, hoping her voice didn't sound quite as panicky as she felt.

‘That boiler is playing up again and the poor love couldn't find it. Hardly surprising in a place that size.'

Annie sighed. If the boiler wasn't working she'd have to call out a plumber and the chances of finding a willing one at this time on a Saturday evening were slim. She ran a hand over her face. She was bone-tired. Saturdays were always hectic in the shop and today she'd spent two hours with a particularly demanding bride, confirming the details of a wedding cake. A frisson of excitement shot through her. Now that the girl had finally made up her mind, Annie knew the cake would be spectacular. So spectacular, she could hardly wait to start work on it. But first, she had the very unspectacular matter of Buttersley Manor's boiler to resolve.

There was no sign of Jake when Annie entered the manor. She called his name several times. No reply. He must have gone out, she concluded. Lydia, as magnanimous as ever, had probably offered him the use of
her
shower. Annie quickly quashed the image that sprang into her mind at that thought. Still, now she was here, she might as well take a look at the boiler and see if there was anything obvious wrong with it.

She climbed the stairs to the first floor and made her way to the lilac room. No sooner had she opened the door to the cupboard in which the machine resided, than she realised she was wasting her time. Not only was the contraption ridiculously large, but its complicated arrangement of knobs, dials, gauges and buttons would not have looked out of a place on a 1960s flight deck.

‘Oh. Hello.'

Annie spun around to find Jake standing in the doorway, dripping wet with a towel around his waist.

‘I didn't hear you come in,' he said.

Annie couldn't reply. Her breath hitched in her throat and her head began to spin. Her gaze adhered itself to Jake's impressive torso, which was golden brown, lean and sprinkled with a smattering of fine dark hair. Little rivulets of water wound their way down it in such a sensual manner that she had to bite back a whimper. Never, in her entire life, had she wanted to be a little rivulet of water more than at that particular moment.

‘I fixed it,' he said.

Fixed it? Fixed what? She stared at him nonplussed.

‘The boiler.'

Annie's eyes grew wide. Oh my God. Not only was he devastatingly sexy, but he could fix a boiler.

‘You-you fixed it? How?'

He winked at her. ‘By-product of a misspent youth. Strange how some things stay with you.'

Like the image of him standing there, dripping-wet, dressed only in a towel. Annie could imagine that image staying with her for a
very
long time.

‘It wasn't too complicated really,' he continued, striding over to the cupboard. ‘Look, this button controls the…'

Annie didn't hear a word. He was so close to her she could smell his citrusy shower gel again. Her head went fuzzy and any remnants of rational thought shot into orbit. As he pointed out things on the boiler, she watched, transfixed, as the muscles in his smooth tanned back tantalisingly flexed. Something deep in the pit of her stomach fizzed as she imagined smoothing her palms over the contours, tracing the muscles with her fingers, reaching around to his front and untying the towel –

‘So if it happens again, you'll know what to do,' he turned and looked her directly in the eyes. It was more than Annie could bear. A wave of red-hot lust crashed over her. With a great deal of effort she tore her gaze from his. Bad move. Her temperature soared and her heart hammered as she stared directly across the corridor into the room Jake was obviously sleeping in, the bed he was obviously sleeping in. The bed with its crumpled sheets. Sheets that would now hold his masculine scent. Sheets that she wanted to lie on, with Jake beside her, wet and naked. She wanted him to pick her up, carry her across the corridor, throw her on the bed and ravage her senseless.

‘Annie? Are you all right?'

Annie clattered back to the here and now to find Jake looking at her with a very peculiar expression on his face. Which wasn't surprising. She'd just made yet another fool of herself in front of him. She only hoped he couldn't read her thoughts. But, by the way he was looking at her, maybe he could. Burning with embarrassment, she cleared her throat.

‘Right. Well. I'm, um, glad it's fixed,' she managed to squeak, before turning on her heel and flying down the stairs and back to the cottage as fast as she could.

‘You all right, dear?' asked Mrs Mackenzie as she bowled into the kitchen a few minutes later.

‘Yes, fine thanks,' said Annie, making a stab at nonchalance.

‘Why is your face red?' demanded Sophie.

‘It isn't.'

‘Yes it is. And you're breathing all funny.'

‘I ran back over the grass,' said Annie, ignoring the strange look Mrs Mackenzie slanted her. ‘I just need a, um, glass of water.' She scuttled over to the sink, grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap.

‘Has Mr Sinclair fixed the boiler?' asked Sophie, going back to her finger-knitting.

‘Yes. Yes he has,' said Annie.

‘Well, well, well.' chuckled Mrs Mackenzie.

Still with the towel wrapped around his waist, Jake flopped down on his bed the moment Annie left. What the hell had happened there? Clearly he had startled Annie when he'd walked into the room. Her emerald-green eyes wide with shock, and tendrils of blonde hair escaping the confines of her ponytail, she had looked so incredibly sexy, that he'd battled a prehistoric urge to sling her over his shoulder and carry her across the hall to his bed. Instead, in the absence of any better ideas, he'd babbled on about buttons and switches, clearly, judging by her hasty retreat, boring her rigid in the process.

Crikey. He'd been in the village less than forty-eight hours and that was his second disconcerting experience. More worrying was that the first had also involved Annie Richards or, more precisely, her silky smooth skin as he'd brushed the smudge of chocolate from her cheek the previous evening. The bewildered look in her beautiful green eyes had caused something to squeeze around the area of his heart. Almost as unfathomable as the wave of relief that had washed over him on learning that she and Sophie lived alone at the cottage. What difference could that possibly make to him? None, he reassured himself. None at all. Annie Richards might be as tempting as her limoncello cupcakes, but that didn't mean he was interested in a relationship with her. He would never be interested in a relationship with anyone. Ever again. Because relationships involved feelings; feelings that had been buried at the same time as Nina's body; feelings Jake would never experience again. Nor did he want to. Because grief wasn't the only emotion he had struggled with over the last five years. There was another emotion – much much stronger – and completely insurmountable. And that was precisely why he had no romantic interest in Annie Richards. None at all.