she could trust him.
Laura thought about Gavin’s offer, and on impulse went back to the hospital, found the card and copied down the number, then rang him before her courage ran out.
‘Hello, Gavin Jones,’ he said, and she took a deep breath and rushed in quickly, before she lost her nerve.
‘Gavin? It’s Laura—Laura Bailey from the hospital. Um—about your cottage. Were you serious?’
There was a second of startled silence, and then his voice, soft now, as if he was reassuring her. Of course I was serious. Do you want to come and have a look?’
She chewed her lip. ‘Could I?’
‘Sure. When?’
‘Tonight?’ Quickly, before she panicked and thought better of it—
‘That’s fine,’ he was saying. ‘Have you eaten?’
She laughed. ‘Eaten? No. I haven’t even changed out of my uniform yet.’
‘Well, why don’t you come over now and I’ll give you something to eat and a guided tour? I warn you, I’m no cook, but you’re welcome to share whatever I can find.’
She was exhausted, depressed by the town and faced with a long drive home while she was starving hungry. His offer sounded wonderful, and she said so.
He told her not to get her hopes up, gave her directions to his house and then hung up. Suddenly nervous, she made her way back to her car. Would she be able to find the way? She looked at the hastily scribbled directions. Was it really that easy?
It was. His directions were clear and precise, and she pulled up outside his cottage a mere ten minutes later. A pretty pink-washed cottage turned salmon by the evening sun, it squatted at the end of a small terrace of old cottages, set in a pretty little garden with old shrubs and perennials just coming into flower.
The beds needed some work, but with a little love it would be beautiful, she thought, and her fingers itched to get to grips with it. She turned into the drive as instructed, and found her car just fitted beside his on the drive. As she switched off the engine the door opened and he came out, lounging against the door post with his arms folded and his legs crossed at the ankle, waiting while she got out.
His smile was welcoming, the light in the room behind him beckoning her, and as the evening sun bathed them in a glorious golden light Laura had the strangest feeling that she was coming home.
FROM his vantage point by the door Gavin watched her. He wanted to go to her, to open her door and help her out of the car, but he forced himself to remain by the door, his smile casually welcoming, while he watched her thoughtfully.
Laura liked it. He could see that at once without a degree in psychology. It was written all over her face in letters ten feet high.
He couldn’t stop the smile. He’d felt just the same about the cottage when he’d first seen it, and it was good to share that feeling. He unfolded his arms as she approached and straightened away from the door frame.
‘Hi. Welcome to my humble abode,’ he said with a smile, and, pushing the door open wider, he ushered her in.
She stopped just inside the door and looked round hesitantly, and immediately he saw it with her eyes—bare and rather bleak.
‘It’s a bit sparse at the moment,’ he told her hastily. ‘I’ve only been in it just over a week, and it’s taken me all my time to get it clean and respectable. Now I have to work on homely.’
His grin was wry, and to his relief she answered it, her face softening as she looked round at the clean but almost empty room. ‘It’s going to be lovely. Is there an inglenook in that chimney wall?’
He glanced across at the blank wall where a fireplace should have been. ‘I expect so. I was going to attack it and find out, but it wasn’t exactly a high priority. I was more concerned with having a kitchen sink that worked!’
Her smile warmed him down to his bones. ‘I see your point,’ she agreed. ‘Did you have a great deal to do?’
He gave a little grunt of laughter. ‘Just a touch. I’ll get there, though. Come and see the bits that are relevant to you.’
He led her through the doorway, ducking automatically now, and turned in time to see her face as she followed him.
‘Oh, Gavin, it’s lovely!’ she cried, and he felt his efforts were amply rewarded, just by the smile on her face. The little suite and matching curtains had been in a junk shop, and despite her new baby his sister had washed the curtains and covers for him and helped him put the curtains up. The soft lovat-green carpet was all new throughout, courtesy of the bank, and as he led her up the little winding staircase he found his heart was hammering in his throat.
For some crazy, absurd reason it was suddenly incredibly important that Laura like the bedroom and want to move into it, to share his home with him, so he could keep an eye on her and look after her and shield her from any further hurt.
He needn’t have worried. She loved the little room, simply furnished with an old wooden bed frame he had struggled up the stairs with, a simple chest of drawers and an old loom chair with a pretty cushion on it to match the curtains his sister had been about to throw away.
‘Oh, it’s lovely,’ Laura breathed. She crossed to the window and looked out, her mouth curving involuntarily as her eyes took in the view over the village to the church in the distance. ‘Gavin, it’s wonderful.’
‘Come and see the kitchen,’ he urged, worried now that she might change her mind and run away once she saw the primitive sink and basic plumbing.
She didn’t. Over supper, a simple salad with fresh, crusty bread and crumbly farmhouse cheddar bought in haste at the farm shop up the road, he told her of his plans for the kitchen, and she agreed, offering suggestions of her own that improved on his ideas and filled him with enthusiasm so that he wanted to start straight away.
He restrained himself, making her a cup of coffee instead and taking her through into his own sitting-room, now comfortably furnished with one large, squashy chair to accommodate his rangy frame and another, smaller one that Laura looked just right in.
She kicked off her shoes with a sigh, tucked her feet up under her bottom and wriggled down into the chair as if she belonged there.
He propped his feet on the trunk between them and watched her over the top of his mug. Lord, but she was lovely. Lovely, tired and still so wary. Why?
‘Well?’ he said at last, his patience exhausted. His mouth tipped in a cautious smile. ‘Are you going to come and live here?’
He avoided saying ‘with me’, although it was at the forefront of his mind and quite a different proposition to the one he had put to her.
She met his smile with a tentative one of her own. ‘I’d love to—if I can afford it. You haven’t said how much.’
He
