1
Paige Dougall breathed in a lungful of fresh Scottish air and took a right into Lockton High Street, just as her three-year-old let out a sleepy huff from the back of her ancient Peugeot 505.
‘Don’t give up,’ Paige begged the car as the engine spluttered and coughed.
She let her eyes skim the pavement and cluster of shops to the right of her, tracing the familiar shapes.
The village hall with its resplendent new roof; the pathway which led to the school and The Book Barn, the small library where she’d helped out on weekends and evenings in her teens before working there full-time; then the red-brick post office where Morag Dooley collected gossip before embellishing and sharing it with the world.
Further in the distance, Paige could just make out Apple Cross Inn and beyond that, the all-year-round Christmas shop where her mam worked, which had opened years after Paige had left her life in Lockton.
Framing it all was a huge range of mountains speckled with lush summer grass, and a blue, almost cloudless sky.
A bubble of apprehension crept into her throat and she pushed it down, along with the overwhelming desire to turn the car around and head back to London.
She was homeless and jobless for the next four weeks and had nowhere else to go – at least until she figured something out.
She started the car again and crawled slowly down the high street, marvelling at how few people were around considering it was Friday afternoon.
In her corner of Notting Hill the pavements were always teeming during the summer months, from the crack of dawn to late into the night.
Somehow the quiet unsettled her.
It took only another five minutes and thirty-two seconds to reach her parents’ house and Paige pulled into the gravel driveway, pausing for a beat to take in the pretty double-fronted cottage she’d grown up in.
Her mam had obviously been in the garden recently, nurturing the stunning array of summer flowers including begonias, sweet peas, geraniums, pansies and petunias which waved in the wind like a colourful welcoming committee.
Paige’s gaze rested on the pretty white name-plate that hung to the right of the front door with the words ‘Kindness Cottage’ painted on it in red lettering.
No one knew where the name had come from, but according to legend, years before the owner had had a reputation for delivering food parcels to poorly villagers, who in turn had presented her with the carved name-plate for the house.
Paige let out a shuddery sigh, thinking how long it had been since anything resembling kindness had touched her life.
Paige opened the door of the car and swung herself out slowly, taking a moment to stretch.
Ignoring the exhaustion dragging at the edges of her mind and limbs, she gritted her teeth and grabbed one of the small suitcases she’d jammed into the footwell of the passenger side, closing the door gently so as not to wake her little girl, Grace.
Paige was determined to unpack the boot and talk to her parents before her daughter stirred and wanted to explore.
They had no idea about the visit, and she needed to explain that her time with them would be short.
As she approached Kindness Cottage and its bright red door, she heard a sudden patter of footsteps to her right.
Then, before she knew what was happening, a ball of beige and cream fur with an enormous set of teeth launched itself at the suitcase and began to tug.
‘What are you doing?’ Paige yelped at the Golden Retriever, as it pulled at a red bra strap which had somehow caught in the side of the clasp, almost jerking her over.
‘Leave it!’ She used her mum-voice, the one that always worked on Grace when she misbehaved, and yanked the case towards her, stumbling backwards towards the car.
But the dog held on, its brown eyes glittering with playful delight as it waved its head from side to side, intent on continuing their game.
It was small, fluffy and as cute as a button, despite its strength – and in any other situation Paige would have dropped to her knees to pet it.
But she was tired and it was gnawing on her favourite silk bra.
The only one she owned with knickers to match it – not that anyone ever got to see those.
It was then that she looked up and saw the man standing on the pavement to the side of her.
He was somewhere in his mid-thirties, tall, probably six foot, with dark brown hair, and eyes that made her think of a clear blue lake on a hot summer’s day just before you dived in.
His hands were in the pockets of faded jeans, a dog lead was hooked around his large tanned wrist, and a black T-shirt with the words ‘Chill Out’ stretched across a muscular chest. She ignored the appreciative flutter in the pit of her stomach, which quickly morphed into a hot fizzle of fury when Paige realised he was laughing – worse, his whole body was now shaking with amusement as if he could barely control himself.
‘This isn’t funny – will you come and get your mutt!
’ She clenched her fists and yelled as the dog gave one last, enthusiastic tug and the case burst open, flinging her most intimate possessions across the gravel driveway and flower borders.
Two of her G-strings landed in her mam’s begonias and the rest sprayed across the lavender in a series of vivid Ts.
One lacy black bra dangled from the wing mirror of her car; the other two splatted against the windscreen and slid out of sight.
The book she’d been trying to read for the last six months, The Magic of Making it Big , lay open beside her mam’s welly boot stand, and Paige realised with a spurt of irritation that she’d lost her page.
Worse, her make-up, hairbrush, toiletries and medicine now lay scattered like multicoloured paint splodges over the pebbles.
She stood for a second blinking as the energetic young dog made off with the red bra, bouncing up to its owner before dropping the sliver of silk like a trophy beside his walking boots.
‘I’m so sorry.’ The man flashed Paige a stunning grin before bending to pick it up.
Then the dog whirred around, spinning and almost tumbling over itself as it strained up, waiting to see which way his owner was going to throw it next.
Instead the man’s eyes danced with amusement as he clipped the lead to the dog’s collar before striding onto the drive.
‘Yours, I think?’ he asked, holding the bra in the air between them, as his grin deepened, exposing dimples under sexy, sharp cheekbones.
His accent was from somewhere down south, reminding Paige of everything she’d just been forced to leave behind.
‘It hardly belongs to anyone else,’ she hissed, snatching her underwear from his fingertips, stuffing it into the back pocket of her trousers, while the dog panted and raked its paws on her smart black slacks as it tried to jump up.
‘Will you control your animal, please?’ she repeated, bending and pushing the dog away as it strained to lick her.
She picked up one of her lipsticks and a couple of small hair clips, looking up as she gathered more.
The man pulled his errant pet away from her, laughing at its antics, his limbs loose and easy in sharp contrast to the irritation and stress biting into Paige’s shoulders and neck.
‘I apologise, he’s a pest. Stop it, Mack!
Put that down and sit.
I’ve got snacks.’ His voice was hoarse, more with amusement than ire.
But the hound continued to strain at the lead.
‘He’s not that good at responding to commands.
I’d like to think it’s because it’s the afternoon and he’s tired, but he’s been living with me for seven weeks now and I’ve realised it’s the same no matter what time it is.
He’s not the best listener – our fault.
I think we might be a little too lax,’ he admitted.
We? Paige wondered, giving herself an internal kick when disappointment tickled the back of her neck.
‘Let me help.’ The man bent and gathered her hairbrush with one hand, holding the over-excited dog back with the other.
‘I can do it,’ she snapped, as he picked up the suitcase and placed it on the bonnet of the car, tossing the brush into it before picking up the black and midnight-blue bras which were lying next to the front tyre.
Paige felt her cheeks heat as the man tucked them carefully inside the case without ceremony.
‘Really, I don’t need your help,’ she continued, as he grabbed the bra dangling from her wing mirror, and she saw his attention dart to the back seat of the car where Grace was still sleeping.
He turned back to her, more curious now.
‘You know the Dougalls?’ His tone was languid, but she could see a spark of interest in those blue eyes.
‘They’re my parents.
I grew up here,’ Paige answered, because it was easier than telling him to mind his own business.
He nodded slowly, perhaps expecting her to elaborate.
‘Good people. You don’t have much of an accent.
’ He put his hands in his pockets, ignoring the dog which was now attacking the laces of his shoes.
‘I’m Johnny Becker. I work with my twin brother Davey at Apple Cross Inn.
I’ve lived in Lockton for the last three years and I’m pretty sure we’ve never met…
’ He squeezed his lips together as he gradually and thoroughly traced her face, making her whole body shudder in unwelcome response.
‘I’d definitely have remembered.
Your name is?’
‘Paige.’ She cleared her suddenly dry throat, surprised that she’d told him.
Living in London for so long had made her a little more suspicious than that.
Perhaps it was all the fresh air from the mountains befuddling her brain?
‘And I haven’t been home for a…
while.’ Not since she’d eloped six years ago, in fact.
He nodded, putting her on guard as something about the slow, lazy movement triggered a hundred different memories she’d spent the last year trying to forget.
‘Staying long?’
Paige shook her head.
‘No more than a week.’ She might have been signed off from work with stress for four, but she was determined to get back sooner.
‘Pity.’ His lips curved before he sauntered over to the other side of the drive to pick up a jar of her medicine, which was resting next to a rock.
Then his smile disappeared as he read the label and his forehead scrunched for the first time since they’d met.
‘Yours?’ he asked, handing it to her, tugging the dog back as it spotted her best make-up brush lying to his left.
‘I used to take this myself,’ he added softly, picking up the brush and tossing it into her case.
‘For insomnia and stress. If you need someone to talk to while you’re here…
’
Blushing, Paige snatched it and popped it into her back pocket.
‘Thanks for your assistance, but I’m pretty sure I can deal with the rest.’ She looked down at the young dog who was now slumped over Johnny’s shoes snoring, his small pink tongue lolling out.
‘Have you thought about training?’
The easy smile was back, although this time it didn’t reach his eyes.
‘I tried it, believe it or not, but it didn’t work out…
The dog’s not just mine – my brother and I have divided the chores, and training is my responsibility.
This is a timely reminder I need to sort something out.
’ He grimaced and jerked his chin towards his feet before bending to carefully pick up the fluffy bundle.
The dog snorted and pressed its nose into Johnny’s chest, its legs flopping this way and that, a picture of cuteness.
‘Davey’s on a mission to give me something to get serious about, so he got a rescue for us to share.
To give my life some purpose, he says,’ he confided with a wink.
‘Just wait until he meets you.’ He smiled again, then turned and waved before loping back onto the pavement and walking in the direction of the high street.
Paige watched him for a moment, her forehead crinkling.
His movements were so familiar, the whole don’t-give-a-damn, relaxed attitude raising her hackles.
But there was still a flicker of interest in her belly which she was doing her best to ignore.
Because she wasn’t looking for romance or to be swept off her feet by a stranger; she’d been there and done that six years before, and just look how that had turned out.
She frowned as an uncomfortable ache of grief settled in her throat.
Squeezing her hands into tight fists, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness in her limbs, she took a deep breath, ready now to face her parents and all the memories in Kindness Cottage.