Starting Over in Butterbrook (Butterbrook #1)

Chapter 1

Rocco Beck narrowed his eyes as he slowed his pickup truck to a kerb crawl along a steep narrow lane, cursing under his breath at the snow falling thick and fast, obscuring the tilted sign up ahead.

He needed to see if he was going the right way, as his satnav had given up the ghost around ten miles back.

He’d memorised some of the street names, as he was good at stuff like that, but it was hard to figure out where he was when he hadn’t seen a sign in over an hour and the weather had decided to make life harder.

Half a signpost was covered in snow clumps, revealing the last part of a word.

‘Brook? It has to be Butterbrook.’ He turned up the heat for the front windscreen, sure he had hit the Cotswolds, but driving in a blizzard in the dark while hungry, tired, and fed up was limiting his ability to think straight.

There were no other cars coming, that he could see, so he quickly jumped out of his black truck and sprinted to the lump of wood poking out the ground to swipe away the snow, cursing once more at how cold it was.

The sign did say Butterbrook, so he dashed back to the warmth of his purring vehicle, appreciating the air vents defrosting his fingertips.

Perhaps if he hadn’t jumped the gun and headed off sooner than necessary, Butterbrook would have been easier to find.

It didn’t look that far away on the map, but not much did in England.

If he had come straight from his previous home in London, the trip wouldn’t have taken so long.

But no, he had to go and listen to his brother, Rex, and stay with him and his family for a while up in Liverpool first.

City life was what Rocco wanted to leave behind, but Rex had whined about it being Christmas, so Rocco had caved.

The Christmas holiday had dragged, but Rex and his family was all he had left since their mum died nine years ago, and their dad married someone else five months later and then moved to America to be with his new family.

All Rocco wanted was to get on with moving to the place his late grandmother had often spoken about, telling stories of her first love in the quaint village.

Looking out at the narrow road ahead, praying there was no oncoming traffic, as he was sure two cars wouldn’t fit, he tried to remain positive, bobbing his head at how possible it was for him to find some sort of peace again.

Back in London he’d faced more than a few challenges as a police officer, but nothing came close to witnessing one of his closest friends in the force being shot.

It was a miracle the constable had survived, but the whole ordeal was a turning point.

Respite was needed, and somewhere away from noise and chaos.

At the age of thirty-one, Rocco had the idea that quaint and quiet would be his saviour.

A small village, new faces, and a lower crime rate was key to his shaky heart and frazzled brain.

So with his imagination filled with stories by his gran of a trickling river, a pointy steeple, and cute cottages, it definitely sounded like Butterbrook would hit the spot.

He planned to take Sunday morning strolls and stop to pet horses in fields, sit back and read in the garden, perhaps get a cat.

The blizzard was whipping up a frenzy in all directions, showing no signs of passing, and Rocco slowed some more, knowing he could walk faster but not fancying his chances.

‘How hard can it be to spot a castle?’ He groaned, gripping the steering wheel hard as though it had done him wrong as stress crept up the back of his neck once more. What he wouldn’t give for a long hot soak in the tub.

Somewhere close by was an estate with a B&B that had a separate cabin he had rented.

Cookie Castle B&B did sound a tad festive, and he hoped it wasn’t one of those year-round Christmas places, and if it was, the tinsel stayed well and truly out of his lodgings, as he wasn’t the biggest fan of the holiday, especially when people dragged it into the new year.

He really should have paid more attention when Rex said he’d found the perfect home for him. Rex was always way more organised.

‘Oh, come on. It’s a castle. Surely it must stick out.’ He pulled over and sighed. It was so late, and he needed food in his stomach and a soft pillow for his achy neck.

January was definitely making its mark, and Rocco mulled over giving up his search and spending the night in his truck. At least he was warm.

A thump hit his window as soon as he pulled up along the verge, making him jump.

‘You can’t park here,’ said a man in a green anorak and yellow bobble hat, taking a battering from the weather.

Rocco inched his window down to peer at the old timer glowering his way. ‘I just stopped for a minute to catch my bearings.’

‘You lost?’

‘Looking for a castle.’

Bushy eyebrows as white as the snow lifted, apparently amused. ‘You want Cookie’s place.’

‘Yep.’

The elderly man tugged his yellow check scarf up to his bottom lip, then pointed towards a bend. ‘That way, then right, then left. You’ll see a country lane. East Hill. All the way up. Done.’

They all looked like country lanes to Rocco. ‘Erm…’ He didn’t get to finish his sentence because the man hurried off. ‘Thank you,’ he mumbled, closing the window.

It wasn’t driving at a snail’s pace that made the journey slow, it was more how long each road seemed to be.

Being a city slicker all his life failed to give much of an education about the countryside, but a road was a road, so surely he could navigate long winding lanes in a night-time blizzard.

He was smart. His truck built for such adventures, and where the heck was this castle?

Rocco drove along East Hill, straining his eyes as a large brown house came into view in the near distance.

Brilliant. He had arrived at his destination.

Hopefully. If not, perhaps the owners would let him nip to the loo and maybe offer some tea and toast. He would tell them he was a police officer, and that would help make them feel safe around him.

He hoped, as he preferred it when the public had trust in his job, as he was dedicated to being one of life’s helpers.

The large building looked old and slightly greyish in corners, but that could have been the hefty snow clumps obscuring the brown stonework.

Either way, it definitely wasn’t a castle.

He stretched his neck, peering up as much as possible, looking out for a turret or two.

He couldn’t see much, just a manor house, and no sign of any cabins.

The main door flew open and a woman in a cream raincoat appeared on the doorstep, waving him towards her.

Rocco checked his face and short dark hair in the rear-view mirror for signs of disarray before shrugging on his coat and making a dash for the house.

‘You must be the new constable, Beck. I have your key.’

Blinking away the bitter chill in his eyes, he studied the woman, taking her for mid-sixties. There was a shrewd twinkle in the piercing blue eyes blatantly examining him back. ‘Rocco,’ he announced.

‘I’m Cookie. This way, follow me.’ She plonked a wide brim black hat on her head, held it tightly, and was off before he had time to ask anything.

The snowstorm fought them all the way to the cabin around the back of the grounds, where Cookie took shelter beneath an A-shaped porch.

Dreams of a cosy log cabin with an open fireplace crackling away and the scent of homemade stew simmering on the stove quickly evaporated as Cookie opened the door and Rocco took in the empty barn renovation.

‘Erm, this wasn’t what I was expecting.’ His teeth chattered, so his words weren’t exactly coherent as he followed his new landlady inside. Oh, dear lord. Where was the furniture? The bed? Surely she would supply a bed. He was certain Rex had mentioned a bed.

‘That’s okay.’

He watched her flap a dusty curtain, as if that would make things better. ‘I was told I’d be renting a cabin. I assumed it would be…’ He wasn’t quite sure what to add.

‘It has a fridge.’ Cookie opened its door as if to prove the point. The light didn’t come on, and if there was a cold blast, he wouldn’t have noticed, seeing how it was colder inside than outdoors.

‘I see there’s no food.’ He was at least hoping there would be a welcome food parcel there for him. Maybe he’d misheard that bit when Rex had rambled excitedly about his affordable find in Butterbrook.

‘It’s a cabin, not a supermarket.’

Rocco had no words. He was still wondering where on earth he was going to sleep. The truck seemed the likely option.

Cookie huffed. ‘Look, I know it’s not what you city folk are used to, but it has four walls, rent is cheap, and the roof doesn’t leak.’ He followed her finger pointing upwards.

If her pitch was supposed to make him feel better, it didn’t work. Being hungry and tired always made him a grump, but he clenched his jaw and offered the smallest of smiles. ‘A bed would be good.’

‘Work in progress.’ She shrugged, and a twitch hit the corner of her mouth. ‘Vern said it would be ready by now, but his prize goat kicked the bucket, so he had to take leave. This is what we’re left with till he feels better.’

Rocco glanced over at the wood burner. At least that held potential. He guessed he could bed down on the floor with the emergency blanket in his truck. One night wouldn’t hurt, then he could do some shopping in the morning and sort out his new home.

‘Reg said you might not like it here once you arrive, what with you being used to the city. Reg always has a good eye for people.’ Cookie folded her arms, giving him the once over.

‘I don’t know who Reg is.’