Chapter 72
Tug woke early on Sunday morning. He opened the patio doors of his room and stepped, in bare feet, onto the cold grass outside.
The morning air was sharp. Tara’s garden, awash with fallen leaves, even after their marathon clean-up session of yesterday, sloped gently down towards the nearby river, its edges hazy with mist. Sometime in the night, the wind had dropped.
He hadn’t slept well. His ribs hurt from the tussle with the bloke from the yurt.
He’d spent most of the night conscious of Tara’s drinks cabinet on the floor above and it didn’t say much for the man he’d become that he’d been longing for the bottle of Scotch more than for the woman herself.
He’d go home today, he decided, after the Magnificent Seven had been and gone, once they’d discussed, one last time, Logan Quick’s invitation to St Helen’s.
Things were happening too fast. He needed some time alone, to take stock.
From the lane outside came the sound of a car engine pulling up outside the gates.
A second later, Tug heard the entrance buzzer somewhere in the house.
It continued. Someone was leaning on it; someone who really wanted to come in.
Tug was on the point of stepping across to the gates when they began to open.
A car sped through, sending gravel flying, and a second later a young woman jumped out.
Holly. Tug took one look at her face and knew that events had taken a very dark turn.