скачать книгу бесплатно
Too Short A Blessing
PENNY JORDAN
Penny Jordan needs no introduction as arguably the most recognisable name writing for Mills & Boon. We have celebrated her wonderful writing with a special collection, many of which for the first time in eBook format and all available right now."You can't cling to the past forever, Sara!"Why wouldn't Jonas Chesney just leave her alone with her memories? Why was this arrogant new neighbor so determined to intrude on Sara's emotions - and arouse her passion?After her fiance's sudden death more than a year before, Sara had resolved never to fall in love again. But she'd reckoned without the strong-willed Jonas Chesney…To her own surprise, Sara found herselfresponding to his kisses - responding with a fervor so intense it overshadowed all her memories.
Too Short A Blessing
Penny Jordan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u7629fa52-3451-506a-b58b-23afd06a5878)
Title Page (#uab46a719-881d-590c-8f08-b21af49a9367)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u1386205a-dc00-5ff7-a430-d4ee966f29d2)
THE moment she stepped inside the front door, Sara Barclay saw the change in her brother. Gone was the morose, withdrawn man she had left behind two weeks ago, and in his place was the older brother she remembered from her teenage years.
‘Managed to tame the wild beast, did you?’ he teased as he rolled his wheelchair forwards to relieve her of her suitcase.
‘Just about.’
The wild beast in question was the very advanced computer-cum-word processor which her brother had just purchased, and which she, as his secretary-cum-assistant, had spent the last fortnight learning to operate. In addition to its basic functions, the machine was so advanced that it could be locked into the information banks of other computers on a worldwide scale, thus enabling Sam to keep himself completely up to date with the economic world. Before the devastating accident which had robbed Sam of the use of his legs and killed both Sam’s wife, Holly, and Sara’s own fiancé, Rick, Sam had been part of the frenetic world of currency dealing, with a brilliant future ahead of him.
Now that was gone, along with so much else; Sam was virtually confined to his wheelchair, able to walk only a dozen or so steps unaided, his health far too uncertain to permit him to work in the gruellingly demanding world of currency dealing, where young men could be burned out by the time they were thirty, unable to keep up with the ferocious pressure of the work. Sam now worked from home, writing for various economics magazines, and working on the book he was trying to write—a blend of fact and fiction based on the world he had once known.
Getting the computer had been Sara’s idea—a last-ditch attempt to rouse her brother from the miasma of depression that had engulfed him since Holly’s death, but it was obvious to Sara as he ushered her into the sitting-room of his London house that something had happened during her absence to restore her brother to something approaching his old self.
‘Where’s Carly?’ she asked him as she sat down.
All of them had been affected by the tragedy of the two shocking deaths and Sam’s physical disability, but surely the person to suffer the most damage must be her little niece? In one short evening Carly’s small world had been virtually destroyed. Her mother had been killed, and her father so badly injured that for days the doctors had despaired of being able to save him.
Perhaps it was no wonder that she and Carly should have grown so close in those early weeks after the accident. Physically Carly had clung to her, but emotionally she had been the one to cling to the little girl, Sara acknowledged. Without the responsibility of Carly, she doubted if she could have found the will to survive those dreadful early days.
Even now, over eighteen months later, they were still etched sharply on her memory: the laughter when Holly set off with the two men to drive them to the station to catch the train for Cambridge—Rick, her fiancé, had been at university with Sam, and it was Sam who had introduced them. Sam and Rick were attending a new computer course together, and she and Rick had been spending the weekend with her brother and his family. She and Rick had been going to be married, six weeks after the course ended.
They had met and fallen in love over a long period of time, but she was still at the ecstatic disbelieving stage, still giddy and delirious with the pleasure of being in love and loved in return.
And then in one short, horror-filled afternoon her whole world was overturned.
She hadn’t worried when Holly didn’t come rushing back. Her sister-in-law had said that she might take advantage of having a resident babysitter to do some shopping, so when the knock came on the door and she opened it to a white-faced police constable the very last thing in her mind was that there had been an accident.
At first she had been too shocked to take very much in. The first numbing discovery that Holly, lovely, laughing Holly whom her brother adored, and Rick, dear, wonderful Rick, who had made her whole world come alive, were both dead, was so immensely unbelievable that it blotted anything else out.
Scooping up Carly, she had gone numbly into the police car, and from there to the hospital, leaving Carly in the care of a calmly smiling nurse while she was ushered into a room where a grave-faced doctor tried to explain to her why it was impossible for her to see her brother.
After that there had been a week of disbelief, broken sharply by unbearable bursts of pain; Holly’s and Rick’s funerals; the shock and despair on the faces of their families. She and Sam had only one another; their father had died from a heart attack when Sara was in her mid-teens, and their mother had slowly faded away after that, dying when Sara was nineteen.
Sara had had a good job as a secretary, which she had planned to give up when she and Rick married. In the circumstances, leaving a little earlier had presented no problems. During those first early weeks there had been a lot for her to cope with Visits from Sam’s employers, Sara’s keen perception showing her that beneath their concerned enquiries was an implacable determination to let her know that there could be no place in the company for a man with Sam’s disabilities—a man who would virtually be confined to a wheelchair—if he was lucky.
There had been no immediate financial problem—she had her savings to draw on to keep herself and Carly; it was out of the question for her to approach Sam concerning money. He was far too ill to be worried by anything like that.
Even when it was clear that he would survive, the doctors were very reluctant to let him come home. He had had to spend time in a rehabilitation centre, learning how to deal with his lack of mobility, and from there his doctors had wanted him to go into a home until they deemed him well enough to leave, but Sara had insisted that she was perfectly capable of looking after him; indeed, she had fought untiringly to get him home.
After the funeral, Holly’s parents had offered to take Carly, but they were an older couple who, much as they loved their granddaughter, lived a life far too quiet and retired for a lively five-year-old, and so, without making any deliberate decision, Sara had found herself slipping into the role of surrogate mother to Carly, and nurse-cum-companion to Sam. If nothing else, it gave her some reason to keep on living.
Over the last six months Sam had commented on several occasions that she should get out more, make new friends. New men friends, he meant, but that part of her life had gone for ever. Where she had once been warmed by her love for Rick, she now felt cold—dead, really. She had no desire to replace him. A psychologist would no doubt put her lack of interest in men down to the fact that she was afraid … afraid of loving and losing again, but logic, no matter how well founded, was no opponent for feelings. She had loved Rick and she had lost him, and she could never again be the girl she had once been. Everything about her now was muted and slightly withdrawn. She had become a woman who preferred the cool protection of the shadows to the heat of the sun.
As she sat down in an armchair opposite her brother, her eye was caught by a letter lying on the coffeee table. As she read the letter heading and recognised the name of her brother’s solicitors, her body tensed.
Ever since the accident, a long legal battle had been going on between Sam’s solicitors and those acting for the man who had caused the accident.
Even now, Sara could not think about Wayne Houseley without her stomach cramping with agony and bitterness flooding her heart.
The first time he approached her she hadn’t known who he was. The police had simply told her that the driver of the large, powerful car which had smashed into Holly’s small Citroën had been drinking before the accident.
Wayne Houseley was fairly well known as an entrepreneur, and certainly Sara had seen his name in the papers. Sam had been convinced that he was driving the car, and it was later confirmed that he and his wife had been on their way home from a luncheon party, but when the police reached the scene of the accident, Wayne Houseley had informed them that his wife had been driving the car.
There had been no witnesses to the accident, barring Sam, who of course could not be considered impartial … and although Sara was sure that the police believed her brother, legally speaking it looked as though Wayne Houseley was going to get off any charges, other than that of careless driving levelled at his wife.
Sam’s insurance company and solicitors had assured them that financially this would not make any difference—the Houseleys would still have to pay considerable damages, and Wayne Houseley had been properly insured—but it was the man’s arrogant ability to avoid any responsibility for what he had done that made Sara bitter. She was convinced that her brother had been right when he said he saw Wayne Houseley in the driver’s seat of the large BMW and not his wife, and it seemed to Sara that Wayne Houseley was typical of that breed of men who considered that their wealth and the power it brought them set them above the law.
It was wrong that Wayne Houseley should not be punished, wrong that his wife should be forced into accepting the blame, but then of course his wife had not been drinking …
‘Houseley wants to settle the damages out of court,’ Sam now told her, seeing her frown. ‘Jenkins thinks I should accept.’
He watched as Sara’s mouth tightened, saddened to see what the last eighteen months had done to his sister. Sara had always been a pretty girl, and now she was a beautiful woman, but one who carried with her a haunting aura of pain. The blue eyes, that once danced with laughter and happiness were clouded and withdrawn; her dark auburn hair seemed to have lost some of its gloss and glow. She was thinner, he recognised guiltily. He had been so wrapped up in his own pain that he hadn’t always realised that his tragedy had been Sara’s, too.
‘I’ve asked Mrs Morris to look after Carly for the afternoon,’ he told her, answering her earlier question. ‘I wanted to have a talk with you.’
He paused, and Sara had the impression that he was intensely excited about something. His thin face had a colour she had not seen in it for months, his eyes—the same shade of blue as her own—snapping with the fierce enthusiasm that had once been such an integral part of him, but which had been lost since the accident.
‘Look at this.’ He picked up a glossy magazine from behind his chair. It was open at the property advertisement section, and a brilliant red circle was drawn round one of the ads. Sara read it slowly.
‘For sale—part-Tudor cottage badly in need of sympathetic renovation in accordance with Grade One Listed Buildings requirements, plus one acre of land and private gardens.’
‘It sounds idyllic,’ commented Sara idly, ‘but it’s very much off the beaten track, isn’t it?’ The address given was in a part of Dorset that Sara knew to be rather remote. As children she and Sam had lived some twenty miles away from the village mentioned, and both of them knew the area reasonably well.
She looked up and and saw the expression in her brother’s eyes, her own opening wide as she breathed unbelievingly, ‘Sam, you aren’t thinking of buying it, are you?’
‘Not thinking of it,’ he agreed with a grin. ‘I’ve already decided.’ He saw her face and added hastily, ‘Look, before you start objecting, let me tell you what I’ve got in mind. I rang the agents up last week and arranged to go down and see the place. I took Phil Roberts with me—you remember, he’s an old friend of mine from Cambridge who’s now with one of the big London estate agents. I wanted him to check the place over for me, and he was quite impressed. Basically it’s pretty sound, although very, very run down. But best of all, it’s got enough outbuildings for us to convert them into a ground floor self-contained unit for me,’ he grimaced faintly, ‘I’m sick of sleeping in the sitting-room, and a traditional bungalow doesn’t really appeal, so …’
‘But Sam, it’s miles from anywhere … totally cut off … and all that land—–’
‘It’s what I want, Sara,’ he interrupted, looking directly at her. ‘Holly was the one who liked London, and it was always on the cards that we’d leave one day. There’s nothing to keep me here now. I can work just as easily from Croft End as I can from here—more easily once the new computer’s installed. And think of the benefits for Carly—and for you. You always did have a yen for a cottage with roses round the door.’
He was teasing her, Sara knew, but there was a grain of truth in what he said. Their father’s job had been one which necessitated almost constant moves, and as a child she had longed for security, for what she had seen as the comfort and protection of a small village atmosphere.
‘But all that land …’ she protested again.
‘Not just the land,’ Sam told her with a grin. ‘A donkey, two cats and a dog go with it.’ He laughed when he saw her expression. ‘It’s quite a story. Apparently the property was owned by a rather eccentric old lady, and she specified to her solicitors that the house was only to be sold to someone who could take on the responsibility of her animals. Apparently she also specified that it was not to be sold to her next-door neighbour—the chap whose land runs adjacent to hers is Croft End’s equivalent of the local squire—owns the largest house in the neighbourhood, that sort of thing. He also owns and runs a highly profitable nursery garden, apparently, selling mainly wholesale, and he very much wanted the paddock attached to the cottage to extend his operation.
‘I don’t know the full story, but according to the estate agents there was some sort of quarrel between him and Miss Betts which led to her specifying that on no account was he to be allowed to buy either the cottage or the land. Apparently the proceeds from the sale are to go to an animal charity. Anyway, no one else seems to be interested—the property isn’t cheap, and the alterations won’t be either, because of the building being listed, but with the money I’ll get from this place I should be able to afford it. There’s a huge garden, complete with vegetable plot and fruit bushes; you always did fancy yourself as something of a back-to-nature freak, as I remember! It will be good for Carly, all that fresh country air …’
He wanted to go, almost desperately, Sara recognised on a deep twist of pain. This was the first time since Holly’s death that she had seen Sam enthusiastic about anything. He wanted her to share his enthusiasm, she knew, but as yet she was too surprised … too shocked by his news to know what she felt.
Only one thing was certain. Wherever Sam chose to live, she would be going with him. He and Carly were her only reason for living now. The three of them were a small, very close-knit family unit, and if Sam wanted to bury himself in a remote Dorset village in what sounded like a wreck of a house, then, like it or not, she would be going with him.
Taking a deep breath, she summoned a shaky smile. ‘Well, I hope it has electricity,’ she warned him. ‘Otherwise that very expensive piece of equipment you’ve just ordered will be no use at all.’
He gave a deep laugh and reached forward to rumple her hair. ‘Yes it has, my little pessimist, and not only that, but there’s also an ancient generator in the garage. I don’t know if it works, but if not I can amuse myself by taking it to bits and then putting it back together again.’
‘Yes, minus several parts,’ agreed Sara with a grin, remembering the variety of dismembered radios and televisions that had filled their garage at home when they were children. Invariably Sam would be left with several ‘parts’ over, and yet, incredibly, he had nearly always managed to make the things work.
‘I know this has come as a shock to you,’ he said quietly, covering one of her hands with his own, ‘but I feel in my bones that I’m making the right decision, Sara. I want you to come with us, you know that … but if you feel you can’t, then Carly and I will still go.’
‘I’m coming with you.’ She forced herself to sound light-hearted and cheerful as she added, ‘When do we actually get to move in?’
‘Not for a couple of months yet. I’ve put Phil in charge of organising the essential work that needs to be done. The property actually becomes ours at the end of the month, and Phil reckons it’ll be another couple of months after that before we can move in. Décor and furnishing I’m leaving up to you. Phil is going to come round later in the week with the plans of how it’s going to look, and that should give you an idea of what we’re going to need.’
‘Can’t I go down and see it before then?’
Sam shook his head.
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ he told her with a faint grin. ‘It looks so ramshackle that if you saw it in its present state you’d probably refuse point blank to move.’
‘But what about these animals?’
‘All being taken care of until we actually move in. The two cats are apparently half wild; the dog’s boarded out and the donkey is being fed twice daily by a neighbour.’
All in all, she had had an extremly eventful homecoming, Sara thought later as she curled up under her quilt.
Carly was asleep in the bedroom next door, while she, Sara, slept in what had once been the spare bedroom. No one slept across the landing in the bedroom that had been Sam’s and Holly’s; Sam slept downstairs in what had been the dining-room, in a specially adapted bed. Although he could do most things for himself, his legs were too weak to allow him to climb the stairs. The accident had not caused any paralysis, but the many operations involved in the rebuilding of his legs had meant that Sam would always have a degree of disability, although in time he should be able to walk, even if he had to resort to his wheelchair occasionally.
As she sank slowly into sleep, picture-book images retained from her childhood mingled with her dreams. A Tudor cottage in the depths of the country. What could be more in keeping with the secret adolescent dreams she had once woven for herself? Dreams that had been upstaged by Rick’s emergence into her life, but which were now resurfacing, offering her comfort and something to cling to.
But what about their neighbour-to-be? The local would-be ‘squire’ whom the old lady had specifically refused to allow to buy her home and land?
Every paradise had to have its serpent, Sara reminded herself drowsily, mentally picturing a heavy, brash male with a ruddy complexion and a manner very like Wayne Houseley’s. Did he bully his wife the way Wayne Houseley had bullied his? Probably, she thought bitterly. Men of that stamp liked bullying women.
Before Sara finally let sleep claim her, she summoned up Rick’s beloved image, a ritual she had performed every night since he had been killed. As always, she felt the enormity of what she had lost consume her, her dry eyes burning more painfully than if she had shed tears.
If only she and Rick had been given more time … if only she had his child to comfort her as Sam had Carly. If only … The saddest words in any language, surely?
CHAPTER TWO (#u1386205a-dc00-5ff7-a430-d4ee966f29d2)
‘WOW! It’s terrific, isn’t it, Aunt Sara? Just like that jigsaw Gran sent me for Christmas?’ Carly demanded enthusiastically as Sara emerged from the driver’s seat of the car to stand alongside her. The rutted track which had led from the main road to the front of the house had jolted Sara’s small car roughly from side to side, and she grimaced slightly, wondering how long her ancient Mini’s suspension would last if it was constantly exposed to the rigours of the cart track. Little wonder that Sam had not seen fit to mention it during his eulogy on the delights of their new home!
Carly was quite right, though: the white plaster-work and black beams of the cottage, and the lavish display of cottage garden flowers in the beds bordering the road, made an ideal picture-postcard scene. A narrow brick path led towards the open front door, the bright May sunshine bouncing off the diamond-paned windows.
Sam had travelled down to their new home the previous day with Phil, leaving Sara and Carly behind to finish cleaning up the house and to check that the furniture removers did their job properly.
The furniture van had not yet arrived, and Sara suspected that its driver would be none too pleased with their cart track of a road. Still, she certainly could not carp at the setting: lush fields, broken up by green clumps of woodland spread all around out on three sides of the cottage. On the fourth was what Sara guessed must be the paddock, complete with the donkey, which had just caught Carly’s eye. On the far side of the paddock was a high brick wall, presumably the boundary of their land and the beginning of that belonging to their one neighbour.
Sara had driven through the village before turning off for the cottage. It was only a mile or so away, but it seemed a pity that the nearest neighbour had to be such an unpleasant sort of person. Mentally shrugging the thought aside, she pushed open the small gate and ushered Carly up the brick path ahead of her.
Sam was waiting to welcome them inside, and he was actually standing free of his wheelchair, Sara noticed with delight, and beaming at both of them as he stood back to let them get past him and into the small square hall.
The soft cream walls and exposed beams made Sara cry out with pleasure. The stone floor underfoot was worn and polished by time. As yet the hall was unfurnished, but in her mind’s eye Sara saw the floor covered by the Persian rug Holly had bought the first Christmas she and Sam were married.
A narrow staircase twisted upwards, light pouring into the hall from a casement window with a seat just big enough for Carly to perch on.
‘Come into the sitting-room. Luckily everything’s been finished on schedule. Phil told me the builders were working late every night last week to get it all done. I must say they’ve done a superb job. Just wait until you see the kitchen—complete with Aga, I might add.’
When consulted about what she would like in the kitchen, Sara had opted for the traditional fuel-burning cooker, knowing that it could be relied upon to provide both heat and somewhere to cook food should there ever be any problems with their electricity supply. The cottage was too remote to have been supplied with gas, and despite Sam’s claim that he could get the generator working, Sara felt that she would prefer not to have to depend on it. Dorset was notorious for its heavy snow-falls, and the last thing she wanted was to be snowed up in a remote cottage without any form of warmth or means to cook by.
‘When the builders started work, they discovered this fireplace,’ said Sam. ‘It was bricked up and hidden behind some plasterboard.’
He stood to one side so that Sara could admire the large traditional fireplace that had been uncovered. As with the hall, the walls in this room had been painted a soft cream, the starkness offset by the dark beams.
The sitting-room was suprisingly large, with windows at either end. The rear windows overlooked the gardens, and Sara wandered over to look out, catching her breath in a gasp of pleasure as she did so.
Beyond the overgrown brick-paved patio area stretched an emerald-green lawn bordered by a wilderness of traditional cottage garden plants. A lattice trellis, broken in places and smothered in roses and clematis, separated the lawn from what Sam told her was the vegetable garden and a small orchard.
‘You can explore it all later,’ he told her firmly, grinning at her. ‘Come and have a look at the rest of the house.’
