Picnics and Promises
(All the profits from the sale of Zara's Folly are going to charity.)
Blurb:
British equestrian, Zara Michaels,
heads south to convince TJ Greggson to sell his property to her developer father.
Any way she can.
TJ co-owns the stables, catering to
disabled children—his life’s purpose. His brother wants to sell. TJ doesn’t.
Can TJ help untangle Zara from her
past follies, or will their secrets destroy them both?
Excerpt:
ZARA MICHAELS RAN
DOWN THE STAIRS to the platform, praying the train wouldn’t leave before she
boarded it. The guard was closing the doors as she reached the train. “Wait,”
she called.
He turned and
held the last door open long enough for her to plunk her case inside and climb
in after it. “Have a good trip, miss.”
“Thank you.”
Somehow she
stowed her case and rucksack in the one remaining space on the luggage rack.
The automatic doors to the main carriage hissed open. Zara made her way down
the already swaying carriage in search of her seat. She’d almost missed the
train, thanks to her sister Kim’s incessant meddling, not to mention yet
another lecture from her father.
One blessing in
disguise. At least her forward facing seat was empty. These days not even a
reserved sign guaranteed that. And the way the day was going she’d expected to
find someone already sitting there.
She regarded the
old lady in the aisle seat and managed a faint smile. “Excuse me. May I get
past you, please?”
“Of course,
dear.” The old lady stood to allow Zara access to her seat.
“Thank you.”
Zara suddenly teetered into her seat as the train jolted over the junction
points to the main line. She put her handbag on her lap, squashing it between
the table and her middle. She turned to the window, pushing her glasses up her
nose as the train sped up. The houses and factories of York slid by, becoming
sparser before turning into fields and trees as the city was left behind.
Zara focused on
the window, the trees and forests, fields and streams zipping by. Faster and
faster, clickety-clack, the train
sped through the English countryside—relentlessly taking her into pastures
unknown, but at the same time along a path she knew all too well.
“Tickets,
please, ladies and gents.”
Zara pulled her
ticket from her bag, along with the reservation card and held them out to the
conductor. He glanced at them and nodded as he handed them back. Zara returned
them to her purse. Her phone beeped and she sighed. The photo of Jordan was
obscured by a message that read Kim Mob.
Can’t you leave me alone for an hour, sis?
What do you want now?
The message made
her heart sink lower. Are you really going to do this? Aunt Agatha
loves that place. Tell Dad no more. So what if he disinherits you b/c you want
a life of your own and don’t want to do his dirty work anymore? Is the money
really more important?
Another text
quickly followed.
Are
you there? You made a commitment to Christ, Za. You can’t go back on that and
compromise your soul.
Then a third message.
Call
me. Or at least promise me you know what you’re doing. And make sure you call
Jordan every night.
Zara scowled.
“Course I will,” she muttered. “I’d hardly go away and not call, now would I?”
She shoved the offensive phone to the bottom of her bag. “Now try bothering
me.”
The old lady
cocked her head and stared at her. “Are you all right, dear?”
“Yeah. Tired of
my phone beeping.”
“My son is
always on his phone. He wants me to have one, but I don’t see the need. I’m too
old for this face thing or the non-stop chirping. And you miss out on so much
with your head constantly peering down at a tiny screen.”
“I know what you
mean.” Zara settled back in her seat, and crossed her ankles. “Kim, my sister,
is permanently attached to hers. I really wish I’d left mine at home. I only
use it for calls and texts, nothing else. It’s what she calls a thick phone.”
“Thick?”
The bloke
opposite chuckled over his book.
“Not smart like
hers. Oh, I can access the internet, email, take photos and so on, but I have a
computer at home for that. I don’t need it on my phone as well.”
As the old lady
rattled on about her son, grandchildren and the weather, Zara studied the man
seated opposite her while replying. He was kind of cute with short, slightly
wavy dark hair. His dark eyes flitted across the pages, his full lips pursed,
his long tanned fingers holding the book almost reverently. Oh, there was
something sexy about a man who read. Her gaze slid across his broad shoulders,
and down the tanned muscular arms his shirt sleeves didn’t hide. The tan
indicated he either lived abroad or worked outside. Going on appearance alone,
he was definitely her type.
Finally the old
lady beside her stopped chatting and fell asleep.
Zara sighed with
relief. Then whispered a prayer of apology. She should be grateful anyone took
the time to speak with her without recognizing her and asking for an autograph.
The bloke
opposite stood. “Could you watch my things for me for five minutes or so,
please?”
“Sure.” Zara
tried to ignore the goose bumps the sound of his chocolaty-smooth voice raised.
She watched him stride down the swaying carriage. Once he was out of sight, she
grabbed his book. Taking care not to lose his place, she read the back cover.
It sounded interesting and she made a mental note of the title. A historical
thriller set during the last war. Exactly the sort of thing she loved to dive into and get lost
inside. She laid the book back down, making sure to place it exactly how she’d
found it.
Tucking her hair
behind her ears, she wished she’d thought to have packed something to read, but
she’d left in such a rush, she was amazed she’d packed a suitcase for herself.
Jordan’s things took up so much more room than her own. All she had in her
handbag was a notebook, pen and coin purse. And the phone she hated with a
passion. Her Bible and puzzle book were in the case. No way was she unpacking
that on a crowded train. Knowing her luck, a pair of her knickers would tumble
to the floor. Or worse, that black lace bra she loved so much.
She’d left the
laptop at home, having closed all her social media accounts that morning. She
needed a complete break from everyone and everything—Jordan being the
exception, but that was different. Yes, she was still reluctantly working for
her father—one last job. She was tired of the way he ran his business and what
he expected her to do. She really was tired of helping her father get richer
than he already was by scamming their property out of the poor fools.
She’d become
more and more uncomfortable with that aspect of the job and becoming a
Christian made it impossible. She found herself having to compromise more and
more, until she reached breaking point.
The only way out
was to break free. The hold her father had over her, made that impossible.
Losing her inheritance didn’t bother her. But Jordan…
Kim called it
folly. Zara would rather call it… Honestly? She didn’t know what she called it.
It wasn’t running away. Reality check maybe? A new beginning? The Lord knew how
much she needed one. How much she longed to run away and start over. Somewhere.
Anywhere. She wanted someone to accept her, along with her past and the baggage
she came with.
She heaved a
sigh. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon. At least not one that was good
enough for her father to approve of the relationship.
No, she had to
leave. If turning her back on everything in York made her broke so be it. Once
this was over, that was it.
Done. Dusted.
Finito.
Perhaps Aunt
Agatha would help—or at least have an idea of what to do.
Snoring
resounded in her left ear, and then the old lady snorted, shifted in her seat
and settled down again. The scent of coffee floated through the carriage. At
that moment there was nothing in the world Zara wanted more than an infusion of
hot coffee. Preferably a large strong one. But there was no chance of that for
a while—at least not until her seat mate woke. Did this train even have a
buffet car? For all she knew, the aroma could be coming from someone who might
have thought ahead and included a thermos flask with their packed lunch.
The cute bloke
reappeared with a cup in each hand. “I thought you might like a coffee.” A
bright smile lit his face. He plonked down the take away cups and slid one
across the table. “I could see you weren’t able to get out and it seemed mean
to drink in front of you.”
She returned his
smile. “Thank you. I’m dying of thirst.”
“Good job they
have plastic lids. I nearly came a cropper on that last set of points.”
“That could have
been messy.”
“You’re telling
me.” He reached into his pockets, pulled out several sachets of sugar and
creamer and a couple of stirrers. “Almost as messy as dying in your seat from
thirst.”
She tilted her
head and held out a hand. “Well, not literally dying. I’m Zara.”
“TJ.” His firm
warm grip encompassed her hand for far too short a moment as he slid back into
his seat.
“How much do I
owe you?”
“Nothing. Call
it a thank you for diverting our sleeping friend from talking my ear off.”
Zara gently
removed the lid from her cup and inhaled deep of the enticing scent. She ripped
open the sugar, tipping one sachet after the next into the hot liquid.
“Honestly, I wasn’t really listening. Just nodded and responded in the
appropriate places.” She added creamer, stirred, and replaced the lid. She
sipped, burning liquid scalding its way down her throat.
The train began
to slow as it approached Sheffield. The old lady woke, gathered her things and
headed to the end of the carriage.
Zara glanced
after her. “Bye, then,” she said quietly.
TJ snorted. “My
brother does that. Along with shouting ‘thank you’ when motorists don’t give
way at crossings. Or ‘you’re welcome’ when he does something for someone and
doesn’t get a thank you in return. One of these days he’s gonna get thumped for
doing it.” He set his coffee on the table. “It was a good idea of yours to
reserve a seat. I thought I was going to have to stand all the way home before
I found this one.”
“It was the only
train going direct,” she explained. “Well kind of. I have to change once if my
aunt can’t collect me. Some of the trains meant changing three or four times,
plus a tube trip. I hate the underground with its closed in spaces.”
“Me too. You
going far?”
“Reading, to
stay with my aunt.”
“Holiday?”
She shifted and
hid behind her paper cup for a few seconds. “Kind of. What about you?”
“Back to work.
I’ve been staying with my brother in Scotland for a few days. Trying to
persuade him not to sell his half of the business we co-own.” He swigged the
coffee. “It didn’t work.”
“Can you buy him
out?”
TJ gave a short,
bitter laugh. “I wish. But there’s no way. Someone is coming to value the place
on Monday, but even without that valuation I know I can’t afford a mortgage.
Sides, we inherited the place together when Dad died.” He wrinkled his nose.
“But you don’t want to hear all that.”
Zara’s phone
beeped. “Excuse me.” She picked it up as TJ went back to his book. The screen
read Aunt Agatha.
Of
course I will pick you up at Reading. Saves changing trains and getting the one
to Earley. I’ll meet you on the main concourse. They’ve done away with platform
tickets. Something to do with cracking down on people riding trains without
paying. Theory being without a ticket you can’t get on the train or platform.
Stupid idea if you ask me. If you really want to jump a train you’d find a way,
platform ticket or no.
Zara grinned. Yup.
Looking forward to seeing you. Train gets in around half past four.
She tucked the phone away and glanced across at TJ. He was engrossed in his
book. Zara leaned against the back of the seat and drained her coffee. Then she
closed her eyes. Time for forty winks instead of worrying about the task ahead.
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