Forty Things to Do Before You're Forty (13 page)

His mind continued to whirr right up until the moment Annie returned to the garden and flopped down in the opposite deck chair.

‘Well,' she puffed. ‘Hopefully that will be the last I see of my daughter until morning. She's been so excited about the fair the last three nights that she's ended up in my bed.'

Jake almost choked on his wine. Deep in contemplative mode over the last fifteen minutes, he'd found himself imagining what it might be like having Annie and Sophie in one's life and, for all the notion of sharing a bed with Annie had crossed his mind, he had swiftly dismissed it. Now, though, the mere mention of that three-lettered word caused a stream of images to pop into his head, all of which involved a horizontal Annie, wearing nothing more than a wanton smile and a strategically placed sheet.

‘Are you all right?' she asked.

Was he all right?
He couldn't think of a time when he'd been less all right. Try as he might, he couldn't shift the images, nor could he bring himself to look at her. With her golden curls tickling her bare shoulders, her cheeks pink from the combination of sun and wine, and those gorgeous long legs outstretched, looking at her would not help his predicament at all.

‘Fine thanks,' he muttered, his gaze desperately scanning the garden for something to distract his thoughts. It settled on a pink hydrangea at the edge of the flower bed. Great. Now what interesting facts did he know about hydrangeas? He dredged his mind. Nothing. He knew nothing about hydrangeas. Except that the colour of that particular one reminded him of Annie's baseball cap, which led to him picturing Annie in her running kit – with those legs – which brought him rather too neatly back around to the image of her horizontal with the strategically placed sheet. Not helpful at all.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, praying that Pip, snoring contentedly on his lap, didn't notice the effect of this imagery on his groin area. Consumed with a need to extricate himself from the situation, he glanced unseeing at his watch. ‘Goodness, is that the time? I really should go.'

Annie sat upright in her chair, linked her hands and stretched her arms over her head. ‘I'm shattered. I think I'll have an early night.'

Jake didn't reply. He couldn't. As if the image of her horizontal with a wanton smile hadn't been bad enough, that simple stretching manoeuvre – which had revealed several inches of flat, smooth stomach and accentuated the curve of her full breasts – had sent every one of his senses rocketing into orbit. Pip opened one eye and looked at him warily. Jake gave him a reassuring stroke hoping desperately to convey the message that it was at times like this that the males of all species needed to stick together.

‘You'll have to start charging Pip rent soon,' said Annie, rising to her feet and taking the three steps necessary to reach Jake's chair. ‘He seems to have taken up residence on your lap.'

She bent down to scoop up the dog. The proximity of her in that moment was more than Jake could bear. Her face was just inches from his. He could smell her perfume – something subtle and flowery, something incredibly feminine. His gaze moved to her mouth and his lips began to tingle. Blood soared in his ears. He tilted his head- And then Pip popped up between the two of them and began licking Jake's face.

Picking up the dog, Annie straightened and cleared her throat, her eyes brighter and her cheeks noticeably pinker than before. ‘I, um, think that's him saying goodnight.'

‘I think it is,' agreed Jake, his head reeling.

‘Do you think you can make it home in one piece?'

Could he make it home?
Jake wasn't sure he could stand up, never mind hobble across the lawn. He felt as though he had three crutches not two. Thank god for baggy shorts. Whoever invented them should be immediately knighted, he decided. ‘I'm not entirely sure,' he heard himself say. ‘What's the penalty for drunk in charge of crutches?'

Annie smiled shyly. ‘Fifty quid fine and four points on your licence.'

A hooting owl outside the window woke Jake at two fifty-seven precisely. The moment he'd returned to the manor, he'd lain down on his makeshift bed and promptly fallen asleep. Not surprising given how much wine he'd consumed. Thank goodness he'd left when he had. If he'd carried on drinking, he would not have been held responsible for his actions. Naturally, it was the alcohol on which he had dumped the entire blame for his louche thoughts the previous evening. It was the only explanation. He rarely drank these days and consequently it had affected him in the strangest of ways. He hadn't been himself at all. Conjuring up those images of Annie was … well … he didn't know what it was, but it couldn't be right.

When she'd gone to pick up Pip, he'd had to employ every ounce of self-restraint not to grab hold of her, pull her down to him and kiss her senseless. No, it could only have been the wine. And the sun. Hadn't there been a warning on the radio a couple of weeks ago about the combined effects causing hallucinations and lack of judgement and all kinds of weird things? Plainly, the potent mix was also to blame for his uncharacteristic reaction to her revelation about Sophie's father. Bar the minor inconveniences of a flight halfway across the world and his current incapacity, Jake would have hunted the man down and punched his lights out. He didn't make a habit of punching people, but for some inexplicable reason he had been overwhelmed by an urge to protect Annie. Not, he quickly reminded himself, that she needed protecting. She was a strong, independent, extremely capable young woman as well as being drop-dead gorgeous. But just because he found her attractive, didn't mean he was
interested
in her. Of course he was
interested
in her – she was an interesting person. But not
interested
in the romantic sense. Just as she wasn't
interested
in him. In his semi-drunken stupor last night, he may have kidded himself she wanted him to kiss her, but in the – almost – light of day, he recalled the look of horror on her face when the German doctor had assumed they were a couple. Thank god for Pip. If the dog hadn't broken the moment when he did, Jake's lack of restraint would undoubtedly have resulted in a slap across the face – no more than he would have deserved.

But face slapping or not, this wouldn't do. None of this would do. He hadn't the slightest idea what was happening to him but it definitely involved a lack of control. And control was something Jake normally kept a very firm grip on. He couldn't risk finding himself in a similar situation again. From now on he would avoid white wine like the plague, and it would hopefully pour down for the remainder of his stay in Buttersley.

Perhaps, though, that wasn't enough. Perhaps he should put some real space between him and Annie – in the form of a few hundred miles. Go back home. But how? In his present state the mechanics were messy to say the least. No, he'd just try and keep his distance. Lie low until he could drive again. Then he'd head straight back up to Scotland where there were no gorgeous long legs to distract him. No effusive Jack Russells. And no bossy five year old girls in ladybird outfits.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘Hello, Annie.'

Jolted from a very nice dream in which Jake Sinclair had been just about to kiss her, Annie snatched up the phone from the bedside table and pressed it to her ear. Lance's less than dulcet tones floated out.

‘Annie? Are you there?'

Annie briefly considered telling him she wasn't. Her head felt as though it were full of cement, while her tongue seemed to be coated in sandpaper. Obviously she'd had one glass of wine too many the evening before.

‘What do you want?'

‘Well, good morning to you too.' His sanctimonious tone riled her. ‘How are you?'

‘I've been better. Why are you phoning?'

‘To see how you both are.'

‘We're fine.'

‘Good. That's really … good.'

‘Is that it?'

‘Um, no actually.' He paused for breath. ‘I was thinking about coming up there.'

Briefly forgetting her incapacitated state, Annie jerked bolt upright. ‘Why?'

‘To see you, of course.'

‘Why?'

‘Well, I don't know. Because I want to. Do I really need a reason to visit my own daughter?'

‘Having only seen her ten times in the last five years, I think it's safe to say you do. Call again when you can think of one.' Annie slammed down the phone and flopped back against her pillows.

Not that Annie was counting or anything, but three days had now passed since the ‘near kiss' incident with Jake. She'd labelled it the ‘near kiss' incident because, when she'd bent down to retrieve Pip from his lap, she'd been convinced Jake had wanted to kiss her. More to the point, she'd
wanted
him to kiss her. In that moment she'd wanted nothing more than for him to wrap those strong arms around her, pull her down to him and kiss her senseless.

Running out of energy in what she now realised was a losing battle, she'd given in to her feelings. She did fancy Jake. She fancied him a lot. But, more importantly, she actually liked him too. He was good company, great fun, and genuinely seemed to enjoy being with her and Sophie. He was the very antithesis of Jasper's other outrageously privileged, lazy friends. He really did seem normal – almost. Of course there were those pensive slips of mood she'd witnessed several times now. Slips that implied hidden depths – that there was much more to Jake Sinclair than met the eye. But he was hardly likely to reveal his innermost secrets to her when he'd only known her a matter of days, was he? Besides, she was more than content to enjoy what did meet the eye. And, despite not giving kissing a single thought over the last five years, she suspected that, if Jake Sinclair attempted to kiss her again, she might just let him.

Sophie wasn't herself usual effervescent self when Annie collected her from school. For the first time Annie could recall, the child didn't utter more than a few one syllable answers as they walked back from school.

‘Are you okay, sweetie?' she asked, when they arrived at the cottage and Sophie plumped down on a kitchen chair with an almighty sigh.

The child shook her head.

Annie slipped into the chair next to her. ‘Do you want to tell me what's wrong?'

A plump tear rolled down Sophie's cheek.

Annie leaned over and pulled her onto her lap. ‘Has someone upset you?'

Sophie swiped away the tear. ‘We had to talk about our mummies and daddies today.'

Annie's stomach began to churn.

‘And I said my Mummy had a cake shop and my Daddy lived in Japan.'

Annie held her breath.

‘And Thomas Mullen said Daddy lived in Japan because he didn't love me any more. He said if Daddy loved me, he would live here with us.'

Annie closed her eyes for a moment, combating the urge to jump in the car, drive to Thomas Mullen's house and throttle the brat with her bare hands. Instead, she drew in a calming breath and on the exhalation, asked, ‘Would you like it if Daddy lived here with us?'

Sophie gazed up at her with watery green eyes. ‘I don't know.'

*

Unfortunately for Jake, his prayers for rain, floods or a mild hurricane – indeed any meteorological condition which confined folk to their homes – appeared to have gone unheeded as, yet again, a dazzling sun cast its golden rays over the pretty Yorkshire village of Buttersley. But whilst the weather was out of his control, the ability to keep his distance from Annie – and indeed the Richards' household in general – was not. He congratulated himself on the achievement of this objective with minimal effort. Well, perhaps not
minimal
effort. There had been that day following the barbecue when, from his desk, he'd caught sight of Annie and Sophie in the garden. Dressed as a pumpkin, Sophie had attempted to do a cartwheel and Annie had tried to stand on her head. Both activities had resulted in much hilarity. Something painful had tugged at Jake's heart again as he'd observed the scene. Then, the day after that, he'd spotted Annie returning to the cottage in her running kit. That sighting had proved equally emotive. His pulse had galloped at such a rate, he'd thought he might be having a coronary.

Not wishing to subject his ticker to more stress, he'd changed his writing room and was now holed up in a corner of the library, away from any windows and, more importantly, any distractions. Still, though, he could not write. His usual steely focus had melted into a molten pool, and he couldn't even be bothered to think about what had happened to his motivation. He felt very … alone. Which had never bothered him before. He liked being alone, enjoyed his own company. He was independent, emotionally self-sufficient. Usually. Over the last few days, though, he found himself missing Annie's smile, Sophie's constant chatter and even little Pip. An image of the dog's face popped into his mind when he'd happened upon a tin of hot dogs in one of the kitchen cupboards. But still Jake determined to stick to his decision. These diversions amounted to nothing more than a temporary glitch in his usually well-ordered routine. In a couple of weeks he would drive back to Scotland and resume his normal life. Resurrect the barriers to the emotional pitfalls of the real world. In the meantime, he had another book to write. And he should get on with it, instead of wasting valuable time. He took a deep breath in and stared at the computer. A blank screen beamed back at him.

An hour later, Jake was still staring at the computer, and a blank screen still stared back at him. Hmm. Perhaps he should take a break. Have a cup of coffee. Regroup. Was that possible with only one of you?

He limped down to the kitchen, flicked on the kettle, then opened an overhead cupboard. There sat the tin of hot dogs. He promptly shut the door. Why had he opened that cupboard? He knew perfectly well the coffee wasn't in there. Heavens. He must be going mad. It must be the country air. Not that he'd had much country air. To minimise the chances of bumping into Annie, he hadn't set foot outside the manor for three days. Maybe that was the problem. Cabin fever. He should wander down to the village and pick up a few provisions. He had a rucksack in the car he could use to carry them back. And if he bumped into Annie, so be it. He could handle it. He was a grown man. It would be perfectly fine.