leave, and then pausing as he reached the door. ‘I hope you’re going to be more reliable than the builder—he should have started work a week ago!’
‘And he arrived this morning,’ Jaz said admiringly. ‘That’s pretty good. You must have made a good impression on him.’
Beau Garrett’s mouth twisted ruefully. ‘No—I just made a damned nuisance of myself by telephoning every day for the last week to find out when he was going to start work!’
She laughed, standing up. ‘Maybe village life is going to suit you, after all, Mr Garrett,’ she said appreciatively. ‘You obviously know how to deal with unreliable workmen,’ she explained at his questioning look.
‘Knowing how to deal with them has nothing to do with it,’ he bit out dismissively. ‘I just don’t suffer fools gladly.’
Now that, even on such brief acquaintance, she could believe!
But even so, Dennis Davis, the only builder for miles around, was well known for his lackadaisical attitude to turning up for jobs on time—in fact, Jaz had been waiting for weeks herself for Dennis to fix a leak on one of her shed roofs!
She grinned sympathetically. ‘I can assure you, Mr Garrett, that if I say I’ll be with you at two-thirty this afternoon, then that’s exactly when I will be there.’
‘Call me Beau,’ he invited abruptly.
Jaz felt the warm colour enter her cheeks, not sure she could take such a liberty—even when invited to do so—by this national television figure; it somehow seemed far too familiar with this distantly haughty man.
‘Jaz,’ she returned uncomfortably. ‘Two-thirty, then,’ she added briskly.
‘Fine,’ he accepted tersely. ‘I’m out of coffee, so I thought I might call in at the village shop on the way home,’ he added dryly, that hint of humour once again in those silver eyes. ‘But I should have escaped by two-thirty.’
Effectively telling Jaz that as well as being aware of the neat precision with which Barbara Scott liked to stack her shelves, she was also, predictably, the biggest gossip in the village; there was no way Barbara would easily relinquish the novelty of Beau Garrett’s presence in her shop!
Jaz smiled appreciatively. ‘You may just get used to village life, after all!’
‘Somehow I’m starting to doubt that,’ he rasped dismissively.
Jaz stood at the doorway watching him as he strode purposefully to the black Range Rover parked in the muddy driveway, raising a hand in farewell as he drove away.
But Jaz’s smile faded as soon as he had gone, a frown marring her creamy brow as she returned to the problem of the pile of bills on her desk even while her thoughts actually remained on Beau Garrett’s last comment.
‘Somehow’ she very much doubted he would ‘get used to village life’, either.
Which posed the question: what was he doing here in the first place?
CHAPTER THREE
‘I’M SO sorry I’m late!’ Jaz burst out flusteredly as soon as Beau Garrett opened the door to The Old Vicarage in answer to her ring on the bell. ‘I did start out in good time to arrive at two-thirty, but the van developed a puncture on the drive here, and I had to stop and exchange it for the spare wheel, and then—’
‘Slow down, Jaz,’ he cut in mildly. ‘And calm down, too,’ he advised with a sweeping glance over her flushed face. ‘You have dirt on your cheek,’ he added softly.
She raised an impatient hand to rub the spot where she thought the dirt might be.
‘The other cheek,’ he told her ruefully. ‘Look, come inside,’ he added impatiently before she could transfer her attention to the other side of her face. ‘The washroom is through that door there.’ He pointed to the left of the front door. ‘The kitchen is at the other end of this hallway. Come through when you’re ready,’ he said dryly.
This would have to happen to her today, Jaz fumed as she went to the washroom and scrubbed the dirt impatiently from her cheek, and after assurances earlier to Beau Garrett that he could rely on her to be on time!
She had been just half a mile away from The Old Vicarage when she realized the van wasn’t responding properly, that it certainly wasn’t going where she was steering it, pulling in to the side of the road to get out and discover that one of her front tyres was absolutely flat.
The spare wheel didn’t look much better, but at least it wasn’t flat, although it had taken some time to get the punctured wheel off the van, the vehicle so old all the bolts seemed to have rusted up. And, as she had never changed a wheel in her life before…
Although none of that changed the fact that she had arrived at Beau Garrett’s home half an hour later than she had assured him she would.
‘I really am sorry I’m late,’ she apologized again as she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway as she looked around the transformed kitchen.
The last time she had seen this large room it had been as old and run down as the rest of the house, cracked lino on the floor, the kitchen cupboards of a particularly unattractive shade of grey, as had been the tiles on the walls, the work surfaces a depressing black, the range that provided heat as well as cooking facilities, old and temperamental.
The lino had been replaced by mellow-coloured flag-stones, the kitchen units now a light oak, the kitchen tiles a bright sunny yellow, the new Aga an attractive cream, and—thankfully!—throwing out lots of heat.
‘Wow,’ she murmured appreciatively. ‘This looks really great.’
He turned from pouring coffee into two mugs. ‘There was no way I could have moved in here with the kitchen the way that it was,’ he dismissed, putting the mugs, cream, and sugar down on the kitchen table before indicating for her to join him in sitting down.
Jaz sat, some of her earlier flusteredness starting to fade in the warm relaxation of the transformed room. ‘I don’t blame you,’ she nodded, adding cream to her mug. ‘It always was a cold, uninviting room.’ She took a grateful sip of her unsweetened coffee.
‘Always…?’ Beau Garrett repeated softly as he sat in the chair opposite.
Jaz looked up sharply; this man didn’t miss much, did he? She really would have to start remembering that!
‘Hmm.’ She gave a rueful sigh. ‘I may as well tell you before someone else does; my grandfather was the last vicar to actually live in this house. The man who took over from him moved into the new vicarage at the other end of the village where the Booths now live. But I spent a lot of time here as a child,’ she added flatly.
‘I see,’ Beau Garrett murmured slowly.
Jaz met his gaze unwaveringly. ‘Do you?’
‘Not really.’ He grimaced. ‘But if I live here long enough I’m sure that one way or another I’ll get to hear most of the local gossip,’ he added with distaste.
She was sure he would too.
