too engrossed in his work, though, to realize how ill Jenny was becoming, how much she struggled with depression after Meg was born...until it was too late.
Ross climbed back into the driver’s seat, closing the door with a heavy clunk. How he felt was irrelevant. He’d lost the right to be selfish. Now it was all about Meg. When Jenny died, he’d sworn to dedicate the rest of his life to his daughter’s happiness, and he intended to keep that promise. He couldn’t expect her to live in a trailer forever, especially not now, when a real house awaited them.
“Well, Meg,” he said, reaching across to ruffle his daughter’s hair. “You’ll soon be home.”
“Home,” Meg echoed, her bright little face shining. “Isn’t it your home, too, Daddy?”
The powerful engine rumbled into life and he nosed the big vehicle back out into the lane, glancing in his wing mirror to make sure that the travel trailer, their home for the past six years, was clear of the verge. “I hope so, Meg.”
The little girl grinned, pressing her face against the window, eager to take in all her surroundings.
It would be strange, Ross thought, as the landmarks became ever more familiar, to stay in one place and live in a house again, especially one where so much had happened. But Meg was school-age now, and she needed that stability. When they found out Anne Maddox had left Rose Cottage to her granddaughter, it was as if it was meant to be.
The sign for Little Dale appeared ahead of them. “Well, Jenny,” he said under his breath, “are you waiting here for us, watching our every move?”
“Who is waiting?” Meg asked, overhearing.
Ross smiled at her. “Your mum, I hope. She’ll be watching over you from heaven, I guess.”
Meg nodded slowly. “She’s still with Jesus, though, right?”
He cleared his throat to cover up a sudden rush of the emotion he rarely showed. “Yes...she’s still with Jesus. She’s helping look after him.”
Ross drove slowly through the village, overcome by memories. He’d first arrived at Little Dale from his native Scotland to take a job on a farm. Sutcliffe’s, a sheep farm farther up the fell. That’s where he first met Jenny. Anne Maddox’s sister, Dora, was married to Ian Sutcliffe, and Jenny often came to the farm to visit with her mum. She’d been just nineteen and he twenty-four when they’d met.
Swallowing hard to ease the dryness in his throat, he glanced across at Meg. She smiled at him, and he ruffled her chestnut curls. “Nearly there, Nutmeg.”
She wriggled on her seat, squirming in excitement. “How long will it be?”
“Five minutes, I guess,” he told her.
She started to count. “How many seconds is that?”
“Three hundred or so. Start again and count slowly.”
Clasping the sides of her seat, she closed her eyes tightly. “When I open them we’ll be there,” she cried. “One...two...three... Tell me when to open them.”
The cottage looked just the same, Ross thought with a lurch of surprise. A bit more run-down and uncared for, perhaps, but there were the same low front door, the same small, paned windows, same backdrop of rugged hills and glorious sky. He pulled over, cutting the engine, staring at the place that held so many memories both good and bad. Shame it was the bad ones that stuck in his mind.
“Are we there?” asked Meg, sneaking a peek.
Seeing a movement from inside the window, he hesitated. There was a small car parked outside, too. “Well...yes,” he said. “This is Rose Cottage...but I think someone’s here.”
Meg’s wide grin filled her whole face, and she grabbed his arm. “Can we go inside now?”
He opened the driver’s door slowly, fighting off the demons that urged him to get back in the truck and drive away.
“Just stay in the truck for a few minutes while I have a look around,” he told her firmly, letting Red out the back door. The big dog slipped in behind him as always, silently faithful.
Ross walked slowly down the narrow path toward the cottage, stopping outside the front door and breathing in the heartrendingly familiar smell of wildflowers and gorse. He’d been told that the key was underneath a plant pot on the window ledge—as if he didn’t know that; it had always been there.
The plant pot revealed nothing...why wasn’t he surprised? Well, whoever was in there could get out right now. Anger rippled inside him. This was Meg’s place...and his. No one had any right to be here. He hammered on the door, his fist reverberating with a satisfying thud. The face that peered out at him as the door slowly opened, however, took him totally by surprise. A young woman, probably mid-twenties, stared at him with alarm in her wide eyes. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“What are you doing in my house?” he responded angrily.
They exchanged heated words, but Ross soon understood that this woman wasn’t going to budge, no matter what he said. Blood boiling, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the truck.
Red pushed his nose against his master’s hand as if in understanding. “What am I going to tell Meg, boy?” He sighed as he saw his daughter’s eager little face pressed against the window.
* * *
MADDIE SLEPT FITFULLY despite her medication and woke at dawn with anxiety fluttering inside her. She’d thrived on anxiety once, but it had been offset by the adrenaline that had coursed through her veins as, mounted on a bulging mass of muscle and raw energy, she’d waited for the race to start. Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to slip back to those giddy days when success had called her at the start of each race, the smell of horses, sweat and fear like a cauldron around her until suddenly the gates opened up and her body took over. And then she’d fly, leaving fear in the stalls, just her and the horse beneath her, battling to win.
A sigh rose in her chest and tears flooded her eyes, making her lids feel heavy. She’d known the risks, the danger. All the jockeys did. And she’d had her fair share of crashing falls from spirited young Thoroughbreds high on life. She’d never expected her career to end in a lonely country lane; that was the worst part. If she’d broken her body on the racetrack, she’d have been a hero, but to lose her hopes and dreams to a cowardly hit-and-run driver as she pedaled to work one morning just felt so wrong.
A sound outside caught her attention, stopping her from dwelling on the past just as her memories were moving on to Alex and his treachery. Some fiancé he’d turned out to be! Maddie crawled out of bed and went to the window. There it was again—a chopping sound accompanied by loud barking.
Her bedroom overlooked the lane, and the window revealed nothing so she went across the landing to the back of the cottage, where the second bedroom looked out into a small copse. She froze, her heart pounding in her ears. A trailer was parked on a patch of grass just beyond the cottage garden, and the man from last night was chopping wood—actually chopping wood—from a fallen tree, top two buttons of his white shirt open and powerful arms raised like some kind of nineteenth century throwback.
He had no right to park there...no right. Then again, she didn’t know who owned the land. Maybe he did. Now what was she supposed to do? He was obviously
