of a sledgehammer. January, March, and May. All months of the year. All months in the Gregorian calendar.
Calendar…
It was all too much of a coincidence, January having two sisters, their names all months of the year; January’s surname had to be Calendar!
Damn, damn, damn!
‘JANUARY, where on earth are you going?’ May demanded incredulously as she followed her outside.
January didn’t even pause in her long strides across the yard. ‘To get my car out of the ditch, of course,’ she dismissed impatiently.
‘But there’s no hurry to do that until the weather improves,’ May protested reasoningly as January climbed into the cab of the tractor. ‘After all, you said it’s probably a write-off, anyway.’ Her sister grimaced.
It probably was, the whole of the front wing on the driver’s side of the car seeming to have concertinaed into itself as it hit the other side of the ditch.
But it had at least stopped snowing, and January needed something to do, desperately needed to keep herself physically busy in an effort to stop herself from thinking too much. From thinking at all, if possible!
M. P. Golding! She had recognized the name instantly, clearly remembered it as the signature of the lawyer at the bottom of the letter they had received before Christmas—from the Marshall Corporation, offering to buy their farm. The same name of the lawyer who had visited the farm yesterday and spoken to May on the same subject…?
January still couldn’t believe it! Couldn’t stop thinking of it, no matter how much she tried…
‘It can’t just stay there, May,’ she insisted grimly.
‘It can stay there for a couple of days, until the snow clears a little,’ her sister insisted.
January gave a firm shake of her head. ‘I’m going now.’
‘January, what’s happened?’ May looked at her concernedly. ‘You were bright and bubbly this morning, before the accident. Perhaps that bump on the head was more serious than we initially thought. Perhaps we should call Dr. Young—’
‘I don’t need a doctor, May.’ Not that sort of doctor, anyway! She forced herself to relax slightly, turning to smile at her sister. ‘It’s just a bump,’ she insisted lightly—the throbbing pain at her temple was nothing compared to the one in her heart. And a medical doctor could do nothing to cure that! ‘Look, I’ll just drive down and see if it’s possible to tow the car out of the ditch,’ she offered as a compromise. ‘The fresh air will probably do me good,’ she added encouragingly.
May still didn’t look convinced, frowning up at her concernedly. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be going out again later this evening?’
January blinked, no longer able to hold her sister’s gaze. ‘Change of plan,’ she dismissed. ‘Look, it’s cold out here, why don’t you go back inside?’ she suggested with an encouraging smile. ‘I promise I won’t be long.’
‘Okay,’ May sighed. ‘I’ll have a mug of hot tea waiting for you when you get back.’
January gave an inner sigh of relief at her sister’s belated capitulation, starting the noisy tractor engine before giving her sister a friendly wave and driving out of the farmyard.
She just needed some time to herself. Time to work out exactly what had been happening the last couple of days. Time to consider exactly what Max Golding had been doing the last couple of days!
Because, despite what he had said before she’d abruptly ended their telephone conversation, she couldn’t help thinking that he had to have known all the time that she was one of the Calendar sisters.
Was that the real reason he had shown such a marked interest in her? Had it all been some sort of devious plan on his part, to divide the sisters and, in doing so, perhaps conquer?
That was her worst fear, the dread that held her in partial shock at the realization of exactly who he was. Because last night, as the two of them had kissed, January had known that she was falling in love with Max, that perhaps she already was in love with him.
He was like no other man she had ever known, was possessed of a self-confidence that was totally reassuring, was obviously intelligent, as well as sophisticated, his wealth beyond question.
She had simply been swept off her feet by him!
But was she meant to have been? That was the question that plagued her battered and bruised heart.
One thing she knew for certain: once he had had time to think this thing through, it wouldn’t take Max too long to make an appearance at the farm. Which was another good reason for her to make herself scarce from the farm as much as possible over the next few days.
Although that didn’t appear much of a likelihood as she turned the tractor round a sharp bend in the snow-covered track and found a car creeping slowly along from the other direction, blocking her own way in the process, the person behind the steering wheel visibly Max Golding!
January braked so sharply to avoid actually driving into him that the tractor instantly came to a shuddering halt, Max obviously breaking at the same time, the wheels on his car not having quite the same traction as the vehicle skidded slightly but didn’t quite go off the track.
January stared at him in absolute horror; the last thing she had expected was that Max would actually drive out to the farm almost immediately after she had so abruptly terminated their telephone call. She had thought she had some hours to gather her own scattered defences, possibly twenty-four hours if Max needed the same time to think that she did.
But as he climbed out of the car she realized how wrong she had been. He was no longer wearing the ‘tailored suit and handmade shoes’ that May had taken such glee in watching him get muddy yesterday—and that had struck such a chord with January last night when she’d thought of them. Now he was dressed in a thick blue sweater and denims, heavy hiking boots to protect his feet—obviously he had learnt his lesson about suitable clothing for visiting a working farm the previous day!
Her fingers clenched about the steering wheel as he approached the tractor, his expression grim. What was he going to say to her? What were they going to say to each other?
Attack is better than defence, she remembered her father once telling them, pushing open the cab door to climb down onto the running-board before lowering herself down into the snow, her head back challengingly as she waited for Max to reach her side.
‘I didn’t know, January,’ came his first abrupt comment.
She gave a humourless smile. ‘Didn’t know what, Mr Golding?’ she scorned. ‘That my surname is Calendar? That I’m one of the three sisters who owns the farm the corporation you work for is trying to buy out? Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe!’ she derided hardly.
And she did find it hard. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Max should turn out to be the lawyer who had sent that initial letter on behalf of the big American corporation
