by Cate Dean
“My aunt is one of the owners, and I needed a place to hide out, after a not-so-cordial break up.” Grace let out a sigh. “It was the perfect way to get out of London, and see the countryside I’d grown up in. Once I came back, I realized how much I’ve missed it.” She kept glancing past Maggie, with the same surprised look. “Who is your—employee?”
“Spencer used to be my employee. He’s a curator at the museum now, and stepped in to help. Would you like me to introduce you?”
“I—no. Maybe later.” Grace sighed. “He is quite charming.”
Maggie bit back a smile. “That would be an understatement. But it’s honest, and part of who he is.”
“Thank you. I’m still more than a bit gun shy, but—maybe.” She gave Maggie a smile that would knock Spence off his feet. “I’ve got to round up my people. We have a schedule to keep, and they have definitely bothered you too long.”
“You can come and bother me anytime.”
“Thank you, again.” She laid her hand on Maggie’s arm. “You will do well here, Maggie. I hope my tours help with your bottom line.”
“They already have.”
Grace smiled, then marched over to her group, glancing at Spencer as she passed him. He stared at her like she was a cool drink of water, and he was dying of thirst. It took a customer waving a hand in front of his face to break his focus.
Maggie was going to enjoy teasing him—before she made sure he and Grace spent some time together. Soon.
The door flew open, and shouting voices outside snagged her attention. Two men stood on the sidewalk in front of her window, arguing. Their wide gestures told her that their argument bordered on intense.
She moved to the window, hoping her presence would stop them, and they’d move on. Instead, they paused long enough to stare at her, then started shouting again. Maggie didn’t recognize either one of them, so she couldn’t gauge how much the argument might escalate.
She headed back to the counter to grab her shop phone off the shelf. Ian Reynolds, the local Detective Inspector, would break it up just with his appearance. Someone bumped into her from behind just as she reached for the phone, and she lost her balance.
Strong hands caught her before she could hit the edge of the counter. “I am so sorry. Are you all right?”
She turned to face him, and halted. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen him. “I’m okay. Thanks for the save.”
“Even if I was the cause?” A smile tugged at his mouth, and he ran one finger over his blonde moustache. “Forgive my rudeness. I am Terry Harmon.”
“Maggie.” She took his outstretched hand, pulling free when he held on longer than was polite.
“Pleasure.”
He ran his hand down the front of his wool jacket. A jacket that had been tailored to fit his lean frame perfectly. The Black Watch plaid set off his artfully tousled blonde hair, and he stood next to her, gazing out the window, almost as if he were posing for a photo.
Maggie knew the type; she’d met more than her share in London.
“You’re here for the festival?”
“What?” He turned to her, smiling. “Yes. The festival.”
Maggie knew he’d been looking at the two men outside. Their argument looked like it was about to become physical.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to call this in, before they do someone stupid.”
“Of course.” He moved closer to the window, almost mesmerized by the violence.
Maggie shook her head and picked up the phone, punching in the station’s number.
Before her call could connect, Ian showed up, arms crossed, and his voice calm as he spoke to the men. A minute later, they glared at each other one last time and walked in opposite directions.
Ian waved to her, and she headed outside, hugging herself against the blast of cold air.
“Thank you, Ian. I was just calling when you showed up.”
“Enid beat you to the call, Maggie.” He glanced over at Holmesania, and for the first time, he didn’t flinch. “You produced a miracle there.”
“Enid has good taste.” She waved at Enid, who stood in front of her shop, frowning at one of the men who had been arguing. Enid turned toward her, and waved, nodding at Ian before she stepped into her shop. “She just needed to embrace it, instead of what she thought tourists wanted. Did you hear any of the argument?”
“Enough that I will personally escort them out of town if they have a go at each other again.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “It has nothing to do with any locals, Maggie, so stop worrying. From the sound of it, they were fighting over old grudges.”
“Thanks for protecting us, Ian.”
He flashed her a rare smile. “Simply doing my job. You’d best go and rescue Spencer. He looks like he’s about to go under.”
She spun. “Oh, no.” Grace hadn’t been able to tear her tour away, and Spencer was surrounded by them, all wanting his attention. “See you later, Ian.” She pushed the door open and stopped in the middle of the shop, pitching her voice to what Aunt Irene had always called eardrum piercing volume. “Excuse me.”
Everyone turned to her. Spencer mouthed a thank you over their heads. Maggie wasn’t surprised to find Grace standing next to him, trying to gently persuade her people to leave. Gentle had left the building.
Maggie crossed her arms, and forced herself to sound as pleasant as possible. “I understand you are late for your next scheduled stop. I know you all want a souvenir of your time here, so I will offer you this, in exchange for full cooperation. A thirty percent off coupon, good for any item on the web shop.” She raised her hand when the roar of comments started. “Before you start arguing, everything you see here is also available to buy online. This is only good if you are on the bus inside ten minutes.”
She had to scramble to get out of their way as they rushed the door.
Grace spoke to Spencer, and headed after them, pausing in front of Maggie. “Thank you. I’ve never seen a group so stubborn, or willful.”
“I have.” She remembered the summer tour groups coming through Aunt Irene’s shop, so greedy for a piece of what they were experiencing. “But you’ll find ways to herd them, without them realizing that they’re being herded.”
Grace laughed, and held out her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Maggie Mulgrew. I hope we can get to know each other.”
“I’d like that.”
She watched the last of the tourists straggle out, all of them moving as fast as they could to the bus she knew was parked at the top of the high street. Once the shop was finally empty, she closed the door, flipped the closed sign, and sagged against the wall.
“Thank you, Mags.” Spencer lowered himself to the floor and sprawled, letting out a groan. “I thought I was going to be trampled this time.”
“They were aggressive, weren’t they?”
“You didn’t have to bribe them, you know.”
“I enjoyed it, and I have enough of a profit margin to take the hit. Besides, I don’t have to worry about money, not anymore.”
He looked over at her. “Right. I keep forgetting.”
“So do I.” Until she got another letter from her solicitor, with more paperwork relating to her inheritance. An inheritance that made her a millionaire. “Now, Spencer Knight, are you going to tell me why you didn’t give me advance warning about the festival?”
His eyes widened. “I did—didn’t I?” He paled when Maggie shook her head. “Oh, Mags—I am so sorry. I’ve been snowed under, trying to sort the mess Giles left behind.”
“Have I told you how proud I am?”
He grinned up at her. “Thanks, Mags. That will help when I spend another ten plus hours wading through piles of paperwork.”
“How about lunch? I can order something from the café, have them deliver it.”
He clutched his chest with both hands. “You just saved my life.”
She laughed, and pushed off the wall, slipping h
er cell phone out of her sweater pocket. Trust Spencer to wring all the possible drama he could.
“Stop overacting, and tell me what you want.”
He groaned again, and she shook her head, smiling at him.
Who knew her life here would have turned out to be the best choice she ever made?
Four
It took some rearranging, and collecting favors, but Martin managed to leave the site a week earlier than planned.
With less than two weeks to Christmas, he wanted to spend his time with Maggie. The new year was early enough to announce the news of their discovery—a fact he spent hours arguing over with Geoffrey.
It was worth all the pain and effort.
He walked down the high street, hands tucked in his coat pockets. What felt like an arctic wind was blowing off the Channel, and it had already chilled him, two blocks down. He walked faster, knowing that Maggie’s shop would be warm and welcoming, that she would be even more welcoming—
A figure stumbled out of the narrow side street and slammed into him.
Martin caught the man’s arm when he stumbled. He wore only shirtsleeves, his skin under the thin cotton like ice.
“Are you all right?”
“Sorry,” the man mumbled. He straightened, pushing curly brown hair off his face. “I need to go.”
“Come with me.” Martin tightened his grip when the man tried to pull away. “You’re frozen to the bone. I’m headed just down the next block.”
“Right.” He pushed the unruly hair off his face again, and Martin got a better look at him. He was younger than Martin first thought, with fine, chiseled features, and an air of vulnerability. Maggie would gather him right in. “I didn’t realize how cold it was when I—left my room.”
The hesitation had Martin listing the questions he wanted to ask. He decided to get the young man inside and warm first, before he started interrogating.
“Come.” Martin led him down the street, toward Maggie’s shop. “There will be hot tea and a warm sweater for you.”
This was hardly the romantic reunion he had envisioned, but he could hardly leave the young man on the street, half frozen and obviously disoriented.
By the time they reached The Ash Leaf, the man was shivering. Martin opened the door and pulled him inside, looking for Maggie. His heart started pounding when he saw her, bent over a twee plate, deep in discussion with the customer next to her.
The wild, beautiful red hair he loved was in a barely contained braid today, hanging down her back. The bright blue sweater she wore made him smile; he had bought it for her during a trek into the village closest to the dig, and sent it to her as a surprise. It warmed him that she wore it now, and he was relieved to see that it fit her perfectly.
She must have noticed the door opening, and glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll be right with—Martin?” She set the plate on the table in front of her and walked toward him, surprise in her crystal blue eyes. “What are you doing here? Oh, heavens.” She rushed forward, catching the young man’s arm when he started to sink to the floor. “Come over by the fire. You must be freezing.”
“Thank—you.” He managed to spit out the words between clenched teeth.
Maggie led him to the wood-burning stove in the corner, near her beautiful mahogany counter. “Sit. You,” she pointed at Martin. “Come with me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He followed her into the back room, and let out a grunt when she threw herself at him. She buried her face against his shoulder, her arms wrapped tight around his waist. There was nowhere else he wanted to be. “Hello, love.”
“How—” She lifted her head and met his eyes. “I thought you were stuck at the dig indefinitely.”
“I called in some favors.” Every one he had, but it was worth the trade. “I could not stomach the thought of spending Christmas standing in a muddy hole in the ground.”
“I missed you, so much.”
He kissed her, letting her know just how he had missed her. She cut it short, framing his face and studying him for a long moment before she let him go, grabbing the cardigan he kept in the back room.
“Don’t interrogate him, Maggie.”
She paused in the doorway, and flashed him a smile that had his heart racing. “I won’t. Not until he looks more like a human, and less like a walking icicle. Can you put on a fresh pot?”
He nodded, and moved to the doorway after she left, watching her fuss over their visitor. She had such grace, and such kindness in her. He loved her, more than he could ever express in words. But he hoped the ring in his coat pocket would be a good start.
***
Maggie closed the shop, gave the man Martin had dragged in with him a huge mug of steaming tea, and a few minutes to warm up, before she started questioning him.
“I’m Maggie. What is your name?”
“Ashton. Ashton Stewart.” He cradled the mug, his fingers still red and raw from the cold. “Thank you, for taking me in like this, when you have no idea who I am.”
“Martin wouldn’t have brought you here if he thought you were a threat.” She glanced over at Martin, looking so handsome as he stood near the woodstove. He had lost weight, and his features were even more angular because of it. Lord, she had missed him. With an effort, she turned her attention back to Ashton. “Can I ask what you were doing out in this weather, with no coat?”
He stared at the tea in his mug. “I was just outside my room in the B&B, and I—saw someone. From my past.” He looked up at Maggie, and the haunted look in his green eyes made her want to hug him. “I’ve only been in Holmestead for a few weeks, and I’ve been staying at the B&B while I search for a flat I can afford.”
Martin pulled up a chair and sat in front of him. “Who was it, mate?”
Ashton shook his head. “Not important. They must be here for the festival. I know they don’t live round here. I would have picked another village if that were the case.” He looked up at Maggie. “Please, don’t involve the local police. This will pass once they leave. I can keep a low profile, at least until the festival itself.” He gave her a shy smile. “I am in the production of A Christmas Carol.”
“How exciting. I was only going to make a quick round at the festival, but now,” she smiled at Martin, not surprised by the flush that colored his cheeks. “I believe Martin and I will enjoy your performance.”
“I would be honored, Dr. Martin. I recognize you, now that the panic isn’t obscuring everything else. And you, as well, Miss Mulgrew. You are big news here, with your resident ghost, and your inheritance.”
Maggie sighed. “I know.” She had not been happy when Floyd Wilton, the editor of the local paper, had leaked her private business by running a front page story. Thankfully, Ian quashed the story before it could go beyond the local edition. Even more thankfully, Floyd hated the internet, and refused to put the paper online. “If you could not share it, I’d be grateful.”
“No—I would never...” Ashton shook his head. “You wouldn’t know that about me, since we’ve only just met. I’m not a rumormonger.”
Maggie smiled at the archaic word. “Shakespeare fan?”
He shrugged. “Guilty, as charged.”
“So am I. We do tend to use interesting words, don’t we? I spent years curbing it. And I was doing well until I met Martin. He brings out my internal geek.” She winked at Martin, and another flush appeared, before he took off his glasses and bent over them.
She was on the verge of apologizing for her teasing—until she saw him smile.
Ashton looked from her, to Martin, and back to her. “Ah,” he said. Then he changed the subject. “Would you happen to have a few crackers, or a stray muffin?”
Maggie laughed. “I think I can scrounge something—” A loud pounding on the door interrupted her, and she almost groaned when she recognized the face pressed to the window. “Martin, can you take Ashton into the back room? I have leftovers from lunch in the fridge. I’ll take care of this.”
“Maggie—”<
br />
“It’s Floyd. I’ll deal with him.” She stepped in front of Martin and laid her hand on his chest when he started toward the door. “Please. I need to deal with this on my own.”
He studied her face, his grey blue eyes intent. Finally, he nodded, and leaned down to kiss her. “Shout if you need me.”
“I always need you, Martin. There will also be times when I need to stand on my own.” She cradled his cheek. “But it’s good to know that you’re standing behind me.”
This time she kissed him, until her knees felt wobbly.
Martin eased back, smiling at her. “I will tend to our guest. Are you free for supper?”
“Absolutely.”
He laughed at her obvious enthusiasm, and kissed her one last time, too short, but tender. “Give him hell, Maggie.”
“You bet.”
She watched Martin walk across the shop, and took a deep breath before she turned around, marching to the door. Floyd rushed over as she unlocked it, his handheld recorder headed for her face.
“Maggie—I need a few follow up—”
“Stop, Floyd.”
He looked shocked, but like a true reporter, he pushed on. “How has the new wealth changed you?”
“Turn the recorder off.”
“Maggie—I need—”
“A new, sensationalist headline. Ian warned you to let it go. Now I’m going to do the same, as politely as I can. Please, leave me alone.”
She closed the door on his objection, set the alarm, and turned the lights off. Then she changed the time on the Will Return At sign, and slapped it up for good measure. She would have to let Ian know about Floyd’s visit.
“Tomorrow,” she muttered, heading toward the back room.
Tonight, she was going to welcome Martin home.
Five
Wednesday meant a break from the tourists coming in by bus, but not those who had arrived early for the festival, and roaming Holmestead. Maggie woke early, and prepared herself for another busy day.
Their unexpected guest had stayed the night, sleeping on an inflatable mattress that Maggie kept in the back room. An insistent beeping had her striding out of the bedroom and to the panel next to the front door. Since the break in that had nearly destroyed her shop, she had installed an excellent security system, and any attempts to open the doors downstairs would alert her up here.
