woman appeared almost affronted that he might be contemplating staying for even a second longer when she’d clearly demonstrated that his presence wasn’t welcome. Swallowing down the disagreeable sense of rejection that curdled briefly in the pit of his stomach, Jarrett met her unflinching glare with an equally unwavering one of his own. His lip even curled a little mockingly. ‘No … I was simply passing the time of day. Nothing more sinister than that.’
‘Don’t be offended. It’s just that when I’m working I have to give my full attention to my subject. If I allow myself to get distracted then the photograph turns out to be useless.’
‘In that case I won’t distract or disturb you any longer. Enjoy the rest of your day.’
‘You too.’
‘Come on, Dylan … time for us to go.’
The boy on her lap turned his head to steal a helpless glance of longing at the dog. Jarrett saw that the child, too, was uncommonly striking. But his bright long-lashed eyes weren’t the arresting green of the woman’s. They were a dark berry-brown. Was she his mother? he wondered again. He’d love to know. More to the point, did she come from one of the nearby villages? Due to the demands of his business, he didn’t spend a lot of time at home, but nonetheless he didn’t think she was a native of the area. He was certain he would have heard about her if she was. Such beauty would not go unnoticed for long.
Despite his curiosity, Jarrett knew that it was time for him to go. As he turned away it felt as if the bright day had suddenly dimmed. Even the memory of the deal he had just closed couldn’t diminish the blow to his ego that the green-eyed beauty had dealt him with her indifference and distrust.
‘Her name’s Sophia Markham. She’s moved into High Ridge Hall.’
‘What?’ The information his sister had so helpfully provided when she’d rung to let him know that she and her husband Paul had returned from their weekend trip to Paris had sent a thunderbolt jack-knifing through Jarrett’s heart. He’d been trying to purchase the old manor house for years, but the elderly lady who had lived there until two Christmases ago had doggedly refused to sell—even when it became clear that the building was heading for rack and ruin due to her neglect. The place had been standing empty since she’d died, and even though he’d made several enquiries to all the local agencies neither they nor he were any the wiser regarding who owned it or what was going to happen to it now. So now, when Beth so matter-of-factly told him that the girl he’d described down by the stream yesterday had moved into it he was crushed with disappointment.
High Ridge Hall was much more than just a once grand crumbling edifice he yearned to restore to its former glory. Historically, it had always been the seat of one of the richest families in the area. Owning such a place would set the seal on the successes of the past few years during which his ‘property empire’—as Beth teasingly called it—had gone from strength to strength. He couldn’t help but feel jealous that the green-eyed beauty had moved into the place. She must have some important connections indeed for her to be able to live there—even though it must be falling down round her ears. But then, as he remembered the powerful tug of attraction he’d experienced towards her almost on sight, he was reminded of the lustful heat that had assailed him at just a single glance from her bewitching eyes …
‘Local opinion is that she is related to old Miss Wingham,’ said Beth. ‘How else could she move in? The place wasn’t even put up for sale.’
‘Damn it all to hell!’
‘Mum would turn in her grave if she heard you say that, Jarrett.’
‘Thankfully I’m not encumbered by our late mother’s religious proclivities—and nor should you be,’ he answered irritably.
‘Anyway … you say you met her down by the stream in the valley? I hear she has a son. Was he with her?’
‘Yes. He was.’
‘There’s no evidence of a father or husband. Do you think she’s divorced? Or maybe her husband works abroad?’
‘You’re becoming as nosey as the rest of the village.’
‘Don’t pretend you’re not interested. I hear our Ms Markham is a real looker.’
Jarrett elected not to reply. He was still coming to terms with the idea that purchasing the house—a goal he had set his heart on—was no longer an option. At the other end of the line his sister emitted a long-suffering sigh.
‘Couple that with the fact that she’s moved into High Ridge Hall, and my guess is that you won’t be so eager to fly off on any long-haul business trips any time soon … at least not until you find out how she got the house and who she is.’
‘Well, you’re wrong about that. As a matter of fact I’m flying out to New York on Friday. I expect to be away for at last a fortnight, if not more.’
‘I’m only teasing you, little brother.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ replied Jarrett, who at six foot two could scarcely be described as ‘little’.
‘To me you’ll always be my little brother. And with both our parents gone it’s down to me to keep a sisterly eye on you. Changing the subject—have you seen anything of Katie Stewart lately?’
Katie Stewart? The woman he’d taken out on a few dates he hadn’t even wanted to go on? She had barely crossed Jarrett’s mind. Her company was pleasant enough, but her conversation hardly lit up the world. As attractive as she was, he wouldn’t date any woman purely because she was easy on the eye. At the very least she had to be bright and engaging, with a good sense of humour. And of course the most important element of all was that there had to be some fundamental connection between them—an undeniable spark that would keep him interested. At thirty-six he was still single, and it wasn’t hard to understand why. The kind of woman his heart secretly yearned for seemed hard to find—at least in his world. Beth put it down to pickiness, but Jarrett preferred to consider himself discerning.
‘No, I haven’t seen Katie Stewart lately. When and if I do I’ll be sure to give you a report.’
‘I just worry about you having no one who really matters to you in your life. All the money and success in the world won’t make you happy or keep you warm on those bitter winter nights, Jarrett.’
He grinned into the receiver. ‘Now you’re sounding like one of those batty psychics that tell you you’re going to meet a tall dark stranger if you cross their palm with silver.’
‘Is Sophia Markham tall?’
Jarrett’s grin immediately turned into a scowl. ‘I’ve no idea. When I saw her she was crouching to take a photograph. Anyway, I’ve got to get on. I’ll bring the dog back to you around lunchtime, shall I?’
‘Are you angling for a lunch invitation?’
‘Throw a slice of ham between a couple of slices of bread, make me a cup of tea and I won’t dash off. I’ll stay and have a chat with you.’
‘The day I “throw” a slice of ham between two slices of bread and call it lunch, I’ll know I’ve seriously lost the plot!’
Reflecting on some of the wonderful meals his sister had made for him long before she’d
