Winning Winnie's Hand (Men of the Isles #1)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Yorkshire, England
Large raindrops splattered against the windshield of Winnie Knox’s emerald green Aston Martin, distorting the glass in gray, watery pools. She had long-since cranked the wipers to “high” in a futile attempt to see the black, sodden road in front of her, but the swiping arms wouldn’t move fast enough to dispel the water.
Worthless things.
The raindrops pouring swiftly down the windshield resembled those calming rain simulators that higher-up executives always placed on their pretentious desks.
Ironically enough, Winnie had one of them herself at home. Although, she was no higher-up exec. And this water was definitely not calming.
Driving in the rain wasn’t really that big of a deal—not like driving in the snow was. She’d grown up in Utah, after all, and was used to sliding and swerving across five lanes of traffic during her early morning commute to college at the U.
But after a seven-hour flight, three hours of sleep, and four and a half hours of driving on the opposite side of the road in weather that ranged from glaring sunlight to monsoon-like rain, her nerves were officially fried .
Driving in an Aston Martin that wasn’t hers was just green-colored icing on an already burnt bundt cake.
Dad was to blame for all of this. He’d been the one to secure the rental for her. She had asked the Rent-A-Car people if they’d had anything less flashy than the sports car in their ridiculously wide range of vehicles. She didn’t want to give the impression of being the typical “Rich American Consultant Driving a Sports Car Coming to Destroy All of Your Hopes and Dreams.” But her choice had been between that and “Rich American Consultant Driving a Minivan Coming to Destroy All of Your Hopes and Dreams,” and, frankly, her pride had won out.
With both hands still gripping the steering wheel, she darted her eyes to her phone on the dashboard. Google Maps said she’d arrived five minutes ago, yet still, there was no sign of Foxwood Hall. Was their driveway three million miles long?
The radio played over the speakers in the car, moving in and out of her attention as she shifted forward in her seat.
“We all pleyed with gret focus and determination agains’ United,” the man with the thick accent said. She supposed he was speaking about soccer—or football, was it? “Bu’ in the end, it weren’t enough, were it? We just ’ope to stay in the league, that’s all.”
A female with a fancier accent spoke next as the interview with the player ended. “That was Gregory Lumley from Habergham FC. You’re listening to the BBC news. It is now three minutes past eight.”
Winnie glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Sure enough, 8:03 was emblazoned brightly across the screen.
Well this was just perfect. She was now officially late by four full hours. What would Mr. Wintour think? Her being late was hardly the first impression she wanted to give her dad’s old friend—the man who’d hired her based on that connection alone. She’d be able to prove her worth eventually, but having a leg up from the start would have been nice.
A cheesy jingle blasted through the speakers next, singing the radio station’s name and announcing the upcoming host, but Winnie reached forward to turn the music off. The noise was only adding to her stress.
She shifted forward in her seat again, straining to see anything ahead of her, but as the road twisted from bend to bend, each turn remained hidden from the next by thick trees and dimming light.
She had to be on the right road. Where else could she be? Should she call Mr. Wintour again?
No, definitely not. She’d already called him hours ago, letting him know about her delayed luggage, her flight being switched to Heathrow instead of Manchester, and the traffic she’d run into time and time again. There was no need to call him for a fourth instance just to inform him that she was entirely inept and unable to find his massive house—the very house she’d been hired to improve.
She blew out a heavy sigh. “You’ve got this, Winnie. Chill out.”
And she did. For all of two seconds.
Her father’s dark, disappointed eyes flashed across her mind, and her stress returned in full force, swinging toward her like a giant pendulum.
She glanced once more at her phone. She hadn’t been able to get the car’s GPS to work, so she’d been using her own device to point her in the right direction. Unfortunately, the little blue arrow hadn’t updated her location since she’d driven past the dilapidated brick wall—which was what she could only assume was once the front entrance of the estate.
With a frown, she glanced to the small bars at the top of the phone, tapping the screen.
Just as she’d suspected. Zero service. What kind of backwoods country estate was she being called to help if they didn’t even have cell service?
She stared at the road, leaning into another bend and pressing slightly harder on the gas pedal as she returned her attention to the phone. She tried to move the screen forward to look ahead on the map, but nothing moved.
Freaking stupid worthless…
She looked back to what had to be the longest driveway in human existence, intent on curving around another bend, but all at once, the trees ahead of her drew alarmingly close.
Shock struck through her body, electrifying her fingertips and pulling her stomach to the floor as she strayed from the road’s curves. She slammed on her brakes and gasped, trying to take the turn slow enough to avoid rolling the very-expensive, very-not-hers car, but the back of the Aston Martin fishtailed, pulling her off the side of the road and spinning her around.
The moment seemed to endure for an eternity. Prayers spewed from her mouth in incomplete words, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel until the car finally stopped and all was quiet.
Little by little, she became aware of her surroundings. Rain tapped against the car where she sat frozen, the Aston Martin having ended up facing the same direction she’d been traveling before, though the vehicle was entirely off the road.
She looked out the window of the passenger side, experiencing further shock to discover how close she’d been to striking the trees lining the drive.
A shaky breath escaped her lips, and she set the car in park.
That was close.
After another quick prayer heavenward—this time of gratitude—she shook the adrenaline from her hands and drew deep, soothing breaths.
The car was fine. The trees were fine. She was fine. They were all fine. But she really needed to get going.
Without waiting another minute, Winnie shifted to first gear, then slowly eased the Aston Martin forward.
Only it didn’t move.
“No,” she stated firmly. She would not accept that sort of behavior from the sports car.
She drew a deep breath, then tried to move forward once more.
Again, it didn’t move.
“Come on, you worthless, too-good-for-yourself car. Move!”
She slammed her high-heeled foot onto the gas as hard as she could, but the back wheels merely whirred as they spun in circles in the thick mud beneath her.
After another futile moment of watching from the rearview mirror as mud flew out behind her, she stopped, shifted the car in park, then released another sigh as she dropped her forehead on the silver-winged decal on the steering wheel.
The windshield wipers still thwapped uselessly along the window, the rain continuously tapping on the metal roof and echoing loudly around the car.
Well, this was it. She would take one moment more to enjoy the warmth of the car before she accepted the inevitable—walking without cell service in the growing darkness, down an eternal driveway to see if there really was a house at the end of it.
If she were a crying woman, she would have tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes by now. But she was a Knox. And Knoxes didn’t cry. No matter how badly they wanted to.
Raising her head from the steering wheel, she accepted her fortune and unbuckled, checking once more for service before reaching forward to turn off the car.
Her hand froze on the button as a flash of silver between the trees caught her eye. What was that, another car on the twisting road? Were the Wintours coming in search of her?
Taking heart for the first time that day, she narrowed her eyes, straining to see through the trees as the silver flashed again in the dim light.
She frowned. That looked like a super small car. And it was driving through the trees, not around them.
Her jaw grew slack. That was no car. That was a…No. Her eyes were definitely playing tricks on her. And ye t, after another moment, she could no longer deny what she saw driving, or rather, riding toward her.
It was a man on a horse. But not just any man. He was a knight in full-on shining armor gripping a lance in his right hand.
What century had she just driven into?