Chapter 1
Nine years later
Maia Jacobs parked in front of the farmhouse her aunt used to own, which now belonged to her. She climbed from her car and inhaled the fresh country air. Notes of pine and dry tussock grasses filled her lungs, along with a hint of animal manure from the nearby paddock.
She spun in a slow circle, trying to take in everything about the buildings and surroundings. True, the house required work, and the lawn needed mowing, but after years of standing still, she was on the path to achieving everything she wanted.
Maia seized her overnight bag and, by city-girl habit, locked her vehicle and skipped to the door.
Long grass edged the footpath, the riot of greens brightened by the weeds bearing sunshine-yellow flowers.
Everywhere was long and overgrown. The trustee had warned her, but Maia had no qualms about her purchase.
She wasn’t afraid of hard work and had two weeks before she needed to report for rugby training.
A grin surfaced at the thought, and she bounced in delight.
She’d scored a contract with the Dunedin women’s rugby team. An actual contract when her aunt had accused her of being an unnatural tomboy. Yep, they were paying her to play sports—not a huge salary because she was still unknown, but her writing income made up the difference.
Middlemarch was an hour’s drive from Dunedin, and the airport was handy if she needed to travel for personal reasons. Her grin widened, and she pinched her inner wrist.
Yep, pain.
Yep, wide awake.
She had a contract!
Apart from the once cherished lawn and gardens, now overgrown, Maia noted the sun-bleached net curtains screening the windows bore rips.
These were things she could fix. All she needed was a bed, a workable bathroom and kitchen, and a place to sit her laptop so she could continue with her other passion: writing urban fantasy.
A boo hiss on the accountancy degree her aunt had forced her to acquire. She’d used her trustee powers to ensure Maia behaved. Maia had learned young to placate her aunt and stage her protests in other unseen ways.
It gave her great satisfaction to know her aunt would spin in her grave because Maia had purchased her former home, and she’d done it with writing proceeds. She’d never used her accounting degree; it would be a fiery day in hell when she succumbed to the dark side of ledgers and numbers.
No more spreadsheets or budgets for her.
“Not unless they’re my own,” she muttered, and even then, she might hire the chore out to a local accountant.
Maia fished the keys out of her pocket and found the right one for the front door. It turned stiffly as if the house bore her aunt’s anti-Maia tendencies.
A grunt slipped free at that. Wow! Over dramatic, much? That was her writing self, allowing her imagination free rein. Once the lock yielded, she had to use her shoulder to shove the door open.
A musty, damp smell greeted her, but Maia refused to let the property’s deficiencies get to her. She could fix the cosmetic stuff, and that was all it was, according to the building inspector who’d reported on the house before she signed the deal.
Her aunt hadn’t left the property to Maia, even though Maia was her last living relative. She’d never approved of Maia’s father and, heck, had the elderly woman clasped her resentment tight to her bosom. Aunt Beatrice had left her home to charity, even though she’d known Maia had wanted it.
Yeah, her aunt had held a mean grudge, which had lasted until death. Maia grimaced, memories of tetchy orders and demands for Maia to do as she was told and obey her betters.
An old wound. Best to lance the lingering sore and let the past go.
Her aunt was gone, and her current trustee had handed over control of her parents’ estate when she turned twenty-one. Not that Maia needed the money. She was doing nicely with her writing and now her rugby contract. Yep, no financial problems. Self-sufficient, that was her.
She loved her life.
Maia set her bag at the entrance and stalked along the creaky hall to explore and run a mental list of the essential tasks to slot into her coming week.
The kitchen was as she recalled—the old yellow lino on the floor faded and cracked.
She twisted a tap, and water spilled into the sink.
As she went back out, she flicked on the light switch. Yes, she had power.
“Groceries.” She noted the time. Huh! She’d need to hustle if she wanted to grab food and go for a run.
Maia speed-walked along the passage to the end bedroom—the one that used to be her aunt’s. The photos on the website had shown it empty, and she hoped that was still the case. Her furniture wouldn’t arrive for a few days, but she had a roll mat and her sleeping bag. It would do.
The bedroom was empty but also dusty, with an impressive display of spider webs. At least she’d brought a broom and basic cleaning materials with her.
She completed her tour with the bathroom. Basic but serviceable.
Maia grabbed her bag and placed it in the bedroom. She unloaded her cleaning supplies, sleeping bag, and roll mat but left her laptop and box of research books in the trunk.
Ten minutes later, she pulled up near Middlemarch’s supermarket and hurried inside to grab a few basics. If the selection was limited, she could stock up on groceries when she reported to the rugby administration in Dunedin.
The supermarket shelves were well stocked, and the prices weren’t too bad.
Maia filled a basket with milk, wholemeal bread, a bag of apples, two cans of baked beans, a dozen eggs, sliced ham, and a small packet of cheese.
She lined up behind a stooped gray-haired woman and a freckled teenage male, waiting patiently for her turn at the checkout.
“Good afternoon.” The attractive woman behind the counter had long black hair drawn into a ponytail and was of Indian descent. Her accent was pure Kiwi. “Are you doing the Middlemarch Rail Trail?”
Maia shook her head. “No, I purchased Beatrice Ramsey’s property.”
“Wow! Welcome. We’d lost hope of anyone buying that old house. It didn’t come with sizeable land, which put off prospective buyers. I’m Ambar.” She held out her hand, her smile as bubbly as her explosion of words.
“Maia Jacobs.” Maia didn’t intend to explain her relationship to her aunt. It was enough for her to grapple with without nosy questions from outsiders. “Do you live in Middlemarch?”
“Yes,” Ambar said. “My brother and I moved here from Auckland several years ago.”
“I don’t suppose there is a gym?”
“No, most locals are farmers and don’t need get-fit equipment.” Ambar paused and brightened. “Isabella runs a regular boot camp. If you’re interested, the details are on our community noticeboard near the door.”
“Thanks. Can you recommend places to run where I won’t be in danger of speeding cars?”
Ambar’s nostrils flared, and she sucked in a deep breath before replying.
Strangely, her shoulders slumped a fraction, but her smile never dimmed.
“The main road is out, but some side roads are less traveled. You could run from your place, do laps around the rugby field, and return home. Isabella does most of her boot camp at the school fields.”
“Thanks,” Maia said. “That will suffice until I familiarize myself with the area.”
“Are you a fitness freak?” Ambar asked.
“I’m a rugby player. Our season starts in April.”
Ambar’s eyebrows lifted. “A professional rugby player?”
“Yeah, I’ve signed a contract to play for the Dunedin team.”
The door opened, the tinkling bell signaling a new arrival. A woman with long, straight brown hair and a freckled face pushed through the door.
“London,” Ambar said, and genuine pleasure shimmered in her voice. “This is Maia Jacobs. She’s new to the area. Beatrice Ramsey’s place.”
The slightly plump woman turned blue eyes on Maia and extended her hand. “Welcome. I’m so pleased someone has purchased the Ramsey property. Maia, I hope you’ll be happy there.”
“Maia is a rugby player,” Ambar said.
London’s mouth opened a fraction, and her freckled nose wrinkled as she gestured at her curvy body. “Rather you than me. I’m not built for sport.”
Maia laughed, charmed by the honest reaction. “Me neither until a university friend dragged me to rugby practice. They were short of players and drafted me before I knew what hit me. I enjoyed it, and the physical exercise balanced out keyboard time for my degree.”
“What sort of degree did you do?” Ambar asked.
“Accountancy.”
“That’s more my scene,” London said with a laugh. “I do administration work plus design stuff for several online clients.”
“No offense, but I find working with numbers boring. I finished my degree because of family pressure, but rugby is my passion.” She didn’t mention her writing because that was private.
She wrote under a pen name because she hadn’t wanted her cantankerous aunt to discover her moneymaking hobby. A moot point now.
“Are you in a hurry?” London asked. “I’m heading to Storm in a Teacup for coffee. I can introduce you to a few other locals.”
“Is Isabella there today?” Ambar asked. “I was telling Maia about Isabella’s boot camp.
“She was when I popped in to see Saber,” London said.
“Sure.” Maia blinked. She hadn’t meant to agree, but it would be fantastic to meet locals.
Maybe she’d see him.
A frisson darted through her body, and with the ease of practice, she shoved it away. She’d been a kid, and him an adult. The man was probably married with six children. “I have perishables.”
“I popped in to get milk and won’t stay long,” London promised.
“Sounds great.” Maia waited while London purchased six three-liter bottles of milk. “Wow, big family?”
London chuckled. “No, we have three families sharing a residence. We have private apartments within the house but have communal meals. It sounds complicated, but it works for us.”
Maia nodded, understanding because at least two girls she’d played rugby with in Auckland were solo mothers, and they’d shared with other single mums. It was a cost-effective way of housing a family and paying bills.
“I’ll meet you outside.” She picked up her bag of groceries. “Nice to meet you, Ambar.”
“Are you single?” Ambar asked.
“Yes, but I’m too busy for a man.” Maia glanced at the boot camp flyer. Huh. Worth checking out, since she enjoyed varying her training.
“Try two,” Ambar muttered.
That’s what Maia thought she heard before the door closed.
She’d parked in the shade and placed her shopping in the passenger side footwell, frowning as she did so.
She hoped Ambar and the other local women didn’t decide to fix her up with men.
Not interested. Maia had done the dating thing, and it never worked for her. The men never measured up to…
And there she went again. She refused to dwell on the grumpy man who’d ruined her for others when they hadn’t exchanged more than a few words.
Yeah. How whacked was that?
Once again, she pushed the pesky man from her thoughts.
“I’m ready,” London said.
“You have an English accent,” Maia said.
London winked. “Noticed that, did you? Came here on holiday, met Gerard, and fell in love. Middlemarch people are lovely. You’ll see. They welcomed me when I first arrived.”
“I’ll be commuting to Dunedin for rugby and traveling for games, so I won’t spend much time here during the season. I have two weeks before training starts.”
“Why Middlemarch?”
“It’s handy to Dunedin—an hour by vehicle—and living in the country appealed. Real estate is cheaper here than in the city. After living on campus, I craved a less frantic life.” Free of nosy people who wanted to know why she was spending so much time using her computer.
London nodded and gestured at a store. “That’s Caroline’s shop. She designs and sells gorgeous clothes. She also has fantastic knitwear a local girl makes. I buy tons of my clothes from her. If she doesn’t have what you want, she’ll make garments to order.”
“Evening wear?”
“We’re casual around here, but she’s talented and capable of producing formal gowns.”
Maia considered that. Maybe… “We have a formal prize giving, and finding something decent to wear is always a drag.”
London scanned Maia. “You’re tall, and that’s an advantage with clothes.”
London walked through an open gateway and onto a footpath leading to an old house someone had converted into a cafe.
Rose bushes edged the path, and the heady scent perfumed the air.
Several hanging baskets of purple and white blooms hung from hooks on the verandah.
London opened the door, and the hum of masculine voices floated to them.
“Gerard must’ve finished his job early.” London burst through the doorway and hightailed toward a table with two men.
Maia scanned them and the cafe. It was bright and colorful and full of a decadent cinnamon scent that made her tummy sit up and take notice. A blonde woman operated the till, and Maia caught glimpses of another working in the kitchen.
“Maia.” London gestured for her to join them.
Without warning, Maia’s skin prickled. The man facing her had shaggy black hair and pale eyes. Green, she noted when she forced her body into motion. He smiled.
“My husband, Gerard Drummond. This is Maia Jacobs. She purchased Beatrice Ramsey’s place. I ran into her at the supermarket and invited her for a coffee.”
The other man turned, slanting his body while London made introductions.
Maia froze, her mouth turning dry as shock pummeled her. The first day. Why did it have to be her very first day in Middlemarch?
London introduced the other man. Henry Anderson. She’d already known his name and where he lived but stupidly hadn’t connected the dots. She heard the introduction through an echo chamber and stood like a ninny, with her mouth wide enough to entice intrepid bugs.
Even as shock pummeled her, she cataloged his appearance.
He was still big and muscular—solid—but he’d seemed a giant when she was a kid.
Now, his dark blond hair was long enough to pull into a ponytail and expose his face’s hard angles.
His chocolate-brown eyes flared with the same shock that struck her like a fist.
He paled and shoved away from the table. Without a word, he strode from the cafe and disappeared, leaving her gaping. That answered one question: He wanted nothing to do with her, and she’d made a colossal mistake in purchasing a Middlemarch property.