gave him a look from beneath deliberately frowning brows. ‘I believe that was my parking space, Mr Davenport—and I won’t bother now, if you don’t mind.’ She laughed in spite of herself.
Will nodded politely to the man and woman who had just entered, deciding from their business suits, and general air of ownership, that they were probably the Mr Carter and Miss Jones that March kept referring to.
He glanced back inside before driving away, raising a hand in parting to March as he saw she was looking out of the window at him, too. Still with that self-satisfied smile curving her lips, the little minx.
Pity she had turned down his dinner invitation. Although, perhaps with the controversial circumstances of his being in the area, it was probably better not to involve her.
From what he had already been told, he was going to have enough trouble with certain members of the community, without becoming personally involved with another one of them.
As Max appeared to have done…
MARCH wasn’t in the least surprised to see the powerful red sports car still parked in the yard when she arrived at the farm that afternoon shortly before two. In fact, she had counted on it!
Will Davenport, with his good looks and air of sophistication—his lack of apology for taking her parking spot!—had totally rubbed her up the wrong way this morning. Well, the boot was on the other foot now—as he was shortly going to realize.
Wednesday was half-day at the agency, a fact she had been very aware of when she’d made the appointment for Will Davenport to view this rented accommodation at one-thirty.
‘You really didn’t have to bother to come all the way out here, you know,’ Will Davenport’s unmistakable voice drawled from behind March as she turned to get her bag from the back of the car. ‘I did tell you I would be able to manage for myself,’ he added with confident dismissal.
March slowly straightened before turning to give him a mocking smile. ‘And have you?’ she taunted.
‘Of course.’ Will stepped aside so that the person standing behind him was now visible. ‘Apart from signing on the dotted line, I believe May and I have settled everything.’ He grinned his satisfaction.
March turned to the young woman who now stood beside Will. ‘I don’t think we have a dotted line for Will to sign on, do we, May?’ she prompted lightly.
Her sister smiled. ‘Not that I’m aware of, no,’ she drawled, at the same time now giving March a quizzical look.
May, as the eldest of the three sisters, had always been the more level-headed one too; it didn’t need two guesses to know that she was not going to be pleased with March for the little trick she had played on Will Davenport today.
Never mind; it had been worth it—just to see the puzzled expression as his gaze moved frowningly between the two sisters!
‘“We”?’ he finally prompted slowly, his expression wary now.
March gave a satisfied grin. ‘I didn’t come here to check up on you, Mr Davenport—I happen to live here!’ she took great delight in telling him.
To say he looked stunned by this disclosure had to be an understatement; he looked as if someone had just punched him between the eyes!
Yes, he looked stunned—and something else, March realized as his expression instantly became guarded. She had thought, from the little she had seen of him, that once Will got over the surprise at learning that it was her family farm she had sent him to, he would laugh about the situation. But obviously she had misjudged his sense of humour, because he certainly didn’t look as if he felt much like laughing.
‘It was only a joke, Mr Davenport,’ she told him ruefully. ‘Not a very clever one at that,’ she allowed dryly.
‘After all, we do have the studio for rent, and you did say you were looking for somewhere in the area…’ She trailed off as she could tell that, far from seeing the funny side of the situation, he was now frowning darkly.
‘The two of you are sisters,’ he realized woodenly.
‘I don’t think you get any Brownie points for guessing that!’ March grinned as she moved to stand next to May, the likeness between the two women more than obvious, both tall and dark-haired, their features similar, only the eyes a different colour, May’s a clear emerald-green.
Will Davenport didn’t return her smile. In fact, he seemed momentarily at a loss for words.
‘Why don’t you come into the farmhouse and have a nice cup of tea, Mr Davenport?’ May briskly took charge of the situation, shooting March another reproving look as she took hold of Will’s arm to urge him towards the house.
March followed slowly behind them. Some people just didn’t have a sense of humour, she decided scornfully. It had only been a joke, for goodness’ sake. And he had seemed to like the studio well enough before he’d realized she lived here too.
Maybe that was his problem, she realized a little disgruntledly. Perhaps he thought she might try to follow up on his earlier dinner invitation? That she had done this for some hidden reason of her own?
Well, he needn’t worry, she had no intention of bothering him even if he did move into the studio for a couple of weeks; she was out at work all day, and busy with chores about the farm the rest of the time. Besides, she had the distinct feeling that Will Davenport was way out of her league…
‘Put the kettle on, March,’ her sister instructed firmly once they were in the warmth of the kitchen, Will Davenport still not looking any happier as he sat at the kitchen table. ‘You obviously had no idea that this was March’s home, too?’ May prompted as she sat down opposite him.
‘None at all.’ He seemed to rouse himself out of his stupor for a few seconds as he looked up at March. ‘You would be March Calendar?’
She grinned. ‘I certainly would.’
May frowned across at March before turning her attention back to their visitor. ‘My sister sometimes has a warped sense of humour—’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ March cut in impatiently.
‘It was only a little joke. What possible difference can it make that I live here too?’ she added irritably.
May sighed. ‘Well, if I were in Will’s shoes—’
‘Which you obviously aren’t,’ March taunted; Will Davenport’s shoes, indeed all his clothes, looked much more expensive than anything they could afford!
Her sister glared at her. ‘March, when are you going to learn that you just can’t do things like this? You’re twenty-six years old, for goodness’ sake, not six!’
Her cheeks became flushed at her sister’s rebuke. ‘It was a joke,’ she repeated incredulously.
‘It may have been—’
‘It
