Spirit of the Season

by Cate Dean

  She headed down to the shop, and opened the door at the base of the stairs to find a sheepish Ashton.

  “I am so sorry, Maggie. I wanted to head back to the B&B without disturbing you.”

  “I should have warned you about the security system.” She moved past him, and reset the alarm on the panel next to the door. “I had someone break in and nearly take my shop apart, so I’m more vigilant now about protecting what is mine.”

  “It must have been soul destroying.”

  She blinked at him, surprised by his comment. “Yes, it was. But it didn’t stop me from living my life here. I just made some adjustments to that life.” Adjustments she wished she didn’t have to make. But they helped her sleep at night. “I’ll let you out the front. Will you be coming back, or staying at your B&B?”

  He stared at her, like she was speaking Greek. “Are you—offering me a place to stay?”

  “If you need it.” She took his hand. “I understand how it feels to be afraid, in what you thought was a safe place. You’re welcome to stay here, or in one of the spare bedrooms at my house.”

  “But—you hardly know me.”

  “I’ve been told I’m a good judge of people. Besides,” she flashed him a grin. “I happen to be friends with the local DI, so if you do something foolish, he’ll be happy to take care of you.”

  She wasn’t sure how Ashton would react to her veiled warning. He surprised her by laughing.

  “I would earn any rough handling, if I was foolish enough to cross boundaries. Thank you, Maggie.” He squeezed her hand. “Right now, the thought of staying at the B&B leaves me with knots in my stomach.”

  “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.” She let him go and turned off the alarm before she unlocked the door. “Ashton—if you need to talk, about anything, Martin and I are both good listeners.”

  He nodded, staring at his hands, then stepped outside and walked up the high street. Maggie sighed; he looked so dejected, with his shoulders hunched, his head lowered. She hoped he would take her up on her offer of talking. That sweet young man had a huge weight on his heart. With another sigh, she closed and locked the door, tapping the alarm code into the panel.

  She felt Martin behind her just before he wrapped his arms around her. “All right, love?”

  “Just worried about my soon-to-be houseguest.”

  “Ashton?” He freed her and moved to her side, the frown she expected to see on his face. He looked rumpled, and so handsome it took her breath away. “You invited him to stay with you?”

  “To stay at the house. I plan to hang out here, with you, if that’s all right.”

  He gathered her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “I believe I can accommodate you. I will have to ask my landlady, to be certain.” He smiled at her. “She is a bit of a hardnose.”

  “She might have to think about it—” He responded by tickling her, in the one spot that was sensitive. “Stop—Martin—”

  She tried to get away from him, and he scooped her up, reminding her just how strong he was.

  “No more running, Maggie Mulgrew.”

  She met his eyes, the grey blue depths always so vulnerable without his glasses. “Not ever, Martin.”

  “Do we have time before you open?”

  The glint in his eyes had her heart racing. “Yes, sir.”

  Without a word, he carried her across the shop. She held onto him, this smart, gentle, generous man.

  She planned to hold on for the rest of her life.

  ***

  Martin showed up downstairs just after Maggie unlocked the door, letting in the crowd of people on the sidewalk. She smiled as he dove right in.

  It was so good to have him home, to work side by side with him. The women loved him, and the men respected him—especially after they recognized him. Before Maggie knew it, the morning was done, and her rumbling stomach told her it was time for lunch.

  She waited until the latest round of tourists finished up and left. For the first time since she had opened, the shop was quiet.

  Martin smiled as he walked over to her. “I believe my ears are ringing.”

  “That last couple loved to talk.”

  “I didn’t object. He was quite knowledgeable.”

  She let out a surprised laugh when Martin took her hand and yanked her forward. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and silenced her laugh with a kiss. Her knees turned rubbery, and she held on, kissing him back, not caring if an entire busload of tourists walked in—until cold fingers brushed the back of her neck.

  With a gasp, she broke off the kiss, not surprised when she glanced over her shoulder and saw her ghost. “Anthea,” she whispered.

  Martin tightened his grip around her waist. “Hello, Anthea. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  She smiled at Martin, and glided forward, her hand hovering over Maggie’s wrist. With her head tilted, and her gaze direct, Maggie knew she was asking a silent question.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “The money is mine now. Thank you.” Anthea shook her head, and waved at Maggie. “I may have inherited, but you were the one who set it in motion.”

  Martin leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. “I believe Anthea is trying to convey the fact that you earned the inheritance, by virtue of who you are.” He kissed her cheek. “A good person.”

  She felt heat flush her face at the attention. “I just wanted Aunt Irene to be proud of me.”

  “Trust me, love. She would be bursting.” He moved to Maggie’s side and took her hand, his gaze on the ghost. “Why are you still here? I thought, with the inheritance sorted, that you would be free to move on.”

  Anthea shook her head, and spread one hand over her heart. Maggie understood, and her own heart ached for the ghost.

  “You need to know who killed you.” Closing her eyes, Anthea nodded. “How are we supposed to start?”

  She waited, her grip on Martin’s hand tightening when Anthea finally started to glide across the shop. The ghost hesitated, then brushed her hand over the books on the tall, narrow shelf, before she slid through it and disappeared.

  Maggie let out a breath. “I need to sit down.”

  “Stay right here.” Martin strode to the counter, grabbing one of the chairs Maggie kept there for shopped out spouses. He picked up the chair and carried it back to her, angling it so she could see the front door. “Sit.” She did, and he crouched in front of her, reaching up to cradle her cheek. “Talk to me, Maggie.”

  “I still have trouble believing I actually talk to a ghost.”

  He smiled. “You get used to it.”

  She knew he had been seeing ghosts since he was little. “Martin—how did you know you weren’t crazy, when you started seeing ghosts?”

  “Ah.” He brushed a stray curl off her cheek, and tucked it behind her ear. “My Aunt Etta saw them as well. Everyone in the family thought she was half mad, but when she described the ghost we both saw, down to his cufflinks, I knew we were either both mad, or I had inherited the family curse. When an ancestor appeared in front of his portrait, wearing the same outfit, I knew it was the latter.”

  “Did you ever get used to it?”

  “They surprised me, every time. So, no.” He smiled, before he leaned in to kiss her. “This will most likely be your only ghost, and she appeared because she needed your help. She still needs your help.”

  “How am I supposed to find out who killed her, when it happened almost two centuries ago?”

  “Research, sweetheart. I can help you with that.” He winked at her. “I know some people.”

  She laughed, knowing he would make the research fun. “Thank you.” Movement caught her eye, and she almost groaned when she saw a group of tourists running past the window. They may be heading down to one of the cafes, but they would be back. “Are you hungry?”

  “I am feeling a bit peckish.” He pulled her to her feet. “Would you like to take a break, and fetch us some lunch? I believe I can keep the shop from falling
apart while you’re gone.”

  “Hilarious Martin. But I’m going to take you up on it, before you change your mind.” She moved around the counter, and grabbed her bright blue coat off the hook. When she turned around, she had to fight a smile. The tourists had found them. “I’ll be back.”

  She let the smile win when he finally saw what was headed for him.

  “Go,” he said. “But, please, if you ever loved me, hurry back.”

  She knew he was teasing, but hearing him say the words again made her heart pound. She took long enough to move to him, stand on tiptoes, and kiss him.

  “I won’t be long. I love you, Martin.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and held on. “I love you, Maggie. Now go and scavenge food, while I hold off the hordes.”

  “My brave professor.” She kissed him again, smiling at the panic on his face. “I’m going to Lilliana’s, so I won’t be long.”

  Relief eased some of the panic, and she headed for the door, keeping it open as at least half a dozen tourists converged. She mouthed a sorry to Martin, and escaped.

  The cold air slapped her the second she walked outside. She glanced up, grateful that the morning clouds had blown north. It had turned out to be a perfect, brisk December day.

  The Tea Caddy looked as busy as Maggie expected. She stepped inside, inhaled the fragrance of tea, freshly baked scones, and the lavender Lilli kept on shelves. The queue stretched almost to the door; with a sigh, Maggie joined it, using the time to admire Lilli’s Christmas décor.

  Shelly, the bouncy waitress, appeared next to Maggie. “Hi! I’m taking orders ahead of time, so the kitchen can keep up. Do you know what you want?”

  Maggie smiled at her. “Two tuna sandwiches, and tea, for takeaway.”

  Shelly wrote it down on her pad, then tore off the bottom half and handed it to Maggie. “Good to see you. This is crazy, isn’t it? I had no idea such a small village could hold so many people.”

  “I’m right there with you. Spencer never warned me, and I’m trying to think of ways to get back at him for that.”

  “Let me know if you need help plotting revenge.” Shelly winked at her, and bounded over to the couple who had just walked in. “Welcome to The Tea Caddy! Here’s a menu—and I’ll take your order as soon as you’re ready.”

  Maggie smiled as she moved forward. It faded when she saw the two men who had been fighting outside her shop yesterday. They sat at a table, glaring at each other, obviously still angry. Now that there wasn’t a window between her and them, she recognized one of the men.

  Nick Reed, another new arrival. Maggie had avoided him since he tried to pick her up at the Bonnie Prince Charlie. The pub’s owner, Chris, had intervened when Nick refused to take her no as a no.

  His friend looked just as unpleasant. Maggie made a mental note to avoid both of them.

  The queue moved faster than she expected, and in less than five minutes, she stood at the counter. Lilliana smiled at her, looking as harried as Maggie felt.

  “Surviving your first holiday, Maggie?”

  “Barely.” She accepted the handle bag that Lilli handed her. “I would have been prepared, if Spencer had warned me in advance.”

  “He didn’t tell you?” Lilli sounded surprised. “I thought he had, which is why I didn’t mention the festival. I thought you knew already, and had braced yourself for the onslaught. I don’t believe he intentionally forgot.”

  Maggie handed over a ten-pound note.

  “He didn’t—and spent most of the afternoon apologizing when I asked him. He’s been so busy at the museum, he thought he had told me.”

  “Poor Spencer.” Lilli leaned in, lowering her voice. “I heard that Giles Trelawney left his department in a shambles, too busy acquiring for the museum. A job that was not his job.”

  “Spencer said the same, which is why I didn’t take revenge. Yet.”

  Lilli laughed, and gave Maggie her change, which Maggie dropped into the tip jar, before she waved, and made room for the next customer. She wasn’t surprised to see the line snaking out past the door. The Tea Caddy was a popular place with the locals, and the bright, oversized teapot hanging over the door drew in tourists.

  “Hello there.” The familiar voice turned her around. Terry Harmon stood behind her, smiling, and bundled in a fashionable coat that matched his tweed trousers and obviously handmade leather shoes. He would have looked completely at home on Bond Street. “It seems I found the most popular spot in Holmestead, next to your delightful shop.”

  She returned the smile. He was a charming, incredibly good looking man, and the fact that he chose her to flirt with boosted her ego. The fact that he looked familiar still nagged at her. She just couldn’t place him.

  “Their food is delicious,” she said. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “Then I will join the queue, so I can enjoy it. Will I see you at the festival?”

  “Yes—along with every other person in the village.”

  His smile faded a little, but he nodded, winking at her. The tension she had sensed from him faded. “I hope we run into each other, Maggie. I relish your company.”

  “Thanks.” She relaxed, and held up her takeaway bag. “I’d better get back, before my help dies of starvation. Enjoy your lunch.”

  Terry smiled at her again, and jumped into the queue, glancing back at her. A fresh crowd of tourists poured in, blocking her view of him. Tourists who would no doubt crowd her shop next.

  Maggie took a few deep breaths, braced herself, and headed back to the shop, ready to help Martin with the hordes.

  ***

  Only after Maggie locked the door, practically shoving out the last tourists, did she take another deep breath.

  The shop was a disaster, and she would spend at least a couple hours restocking. Maybe she could bribe Martin into helping.

  He was draped over the mahogany counter, and she smiled. Maybe they could restock in the morning.

  “Martin?” He grunted in response, and her smile widened. He had been spending too much time with Spencer. The drama was rubbing off. “I was thinking we could head down to The Anchor, but if you’re too tired, I can make sandwiches upstairs.”

  He straightened, looking more human and less like a rag doll. “Supper at The Anchor? I believe I can gather my remaining strength for an evening out with you.”

  “I feel so honored.”

  The gleam in his eye warned her before he jumped, aiming for her sensitive spot. With a shriek, she sprinted across the shop—and let out another when Martin caught her, trapping her against the wall.

  “I have captured you, princess.” He studied her, his grey blue eyes intense. “What shall I do with you?”

  She reached up, brushing sweat damp hair off his cheek before she removed his glasses. “Kiss me until I faint dead away, my brave knight.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth as he lowered his head, his breath warm on her lips. “As you wish.”

  Maggie clutched the front of his shirt, thankful there was a wall behind her. Martin’s kisses always turned her knees to rubber, his warm, spicy scent overwhelming her senses as much as his kiss. When he finally eased back, she had trouble seeing straight.

  “Is that—” She took in a shaky breath. “Is that a yes?”

  “It will always be yes, love, unless I am on my deathbed.” He pressed his finger to her lips when she opened her mouth. “Even then, I would give it my best.”

  “I don’t want to think about you like that, ever.”

  He pulled her into his arms, his hand running down her braid. “I didn’t mean to throw water on the fire, so to speak.” She let out a muffled laugh. “Death is a part of my profession, and I think of it differently. Less an end, more of a transition.”

  “Good to know.” She met his eyes. “Let’s go eat.”

  “Before we do, I would like to formally ask you.” He took his glasses from her and slipped them on. “Maggie, will you accompany me to the festival?”
<
br />   She smiled up at him. “You bet.”

  His laughter rumbled through her. “There’s my Maggie.” He kissed her forehead, and let her go, taking her hand. “Let’s go enjoy a well-earned supper.”

  Six

  The night of the festival was clear, and colder than Martin was used to.

  He paced in the library as he waited for Maggie, stopping in front of the roaring fire more than once to warm his hands. They had decided to change and get ready at her house, closing the shop early.

  A throat cleared behind him; he turned—and halted at first sight of Maggie.

  She stood in the doorway, wearing an off the shoulder green velvet dress, her wild hair tamed into a coronet braid. It took all of his control not to take her in his arms and kiss her.

  “Martin—you look incredible.”

  He brushed the lapel of his tuxedo. “Something I had hanging in the back of my closet.”

  It has been tailor made for him when he received his position at Oxford, as a gift from his father. It was also one of the only items he had of his former life.

  “Your closet has impeccable taste.”

  He laughed, and let go of the last of his nerves. “Come here.” She moved forward and took his outstretched hand, a charming blush coloring her cheeks when he bent over her hand and kissed it. “Where did you find this gorgeous dress?”

  “London, on one of my buying trips. It was impulsive, and far too expensive. I never thought I’d find an occasion to wear it.” She smiled, and his heart skipped. “Thank you for giving me an occasion.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He made certain that Maggie was bundled in her warmest coat; as much as he wanted to admire her in the emerald green velvet dress she wore, he wanted her to greet tomorrow without a nasty cold.

  Martin had hired a car to take them up to the castle, instead of climbing the hill, or the endless staircase. Tonight was special, and he wanted to start it off that way.