Winter Wishes at the Farm on MuddypuddleLane (The Farm on Muddypuddle Lane #8)

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Beatrice’s eyes flew open. One second she’d been fast asleep, the next she was totally and utterly awake. What had she done?

‘It was a kiss, just a kiss,’ she muttered, but the dream she’d just woken from had been so much more.

Oh, boy…

Hot and flustered, she pushed the covers back and got out of bed, the soft darkness hiding her flaming cheeks. A cold shower might be in order before she woke the girls.

Padding quietly into the bathroom, she pulled the light cord and winced as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. From the glow on her face and the sparkle in her eyes, she looked like she’d done far more than kiss Mark. And in her dreams, she had .

She hoped she hadn’t looked like this when she’d got in last night, because if so, her mother would be asking questions. Ones that Beatrice didn’t have any answers to.

Despite her intention to have a cold shower, Beatrice wimped out and turned the dial up. It was bloody freezing in here: the temperature had dropped overnight and she’d forgotten to set the heating to come on, and as she waited for the water to warm up, she asked herself again, what had she done?

Filled with equal measures of dismay and excitement, she couldn’t decide whether she’d been incredibly stupid or incredibly adventurous.

Maybe Lisa could enlighten her?

Shivering, Beatrice hurried to the bedroom to fetch her phone, the steamy warmth of the bathroom a welcome reprieve from the chill when she returned.

‘Are you up?’ she asked, when Lisa’s sleepy voice answered.

‘What time is it?’

‘Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker.’

‘What’s that noise?’

She stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over her head, the thought of a cold one long gone. ‘I’m in the shower. It’s six-thirty-five.’

‘Why are you phoning me at half past six in the morn—? Mark! Did something happen?’

‘I woke you, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, but I have to be up in ten minutes anyway, to get the kids ready for school. Go back to sleep Robin, it’s only Bea,’ she said to her husband, then to Beatrice, ‘What happened last night?’

‘Mark kissed me.’

‘Bloody hell, Bea!’

‘I know .’ She lathered her hair, her eyes tight shut. ‘He said I’ve got under his skin, and he wants us to start again.’

‘Do you believe him? I don’t want to rain on your parade, but he hurt you badly once before.’

‘I think I do.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Give it another go.’ She rinsed the suds out of her hair and reached for the conditioner. ‘If I don’t, I’ll always wonder what if .’

‘Just be careful.’

‘I’ll try. But Lisa?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I think it’s too late for that.’

‘That’s what worries me,’ Lisa said, before hanging up.

It worried Beatrice, too.

‘You look like something the cat’s dragged in,’ Dave told Mark as he put a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs down in front of him.

‘Thanks! That makes me feel a whole lot better.’

‘Didn’t you sleep well?’

‘I didn’t sleep at all.’

‘Nothing wrong, I hope?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Is your room too cold? The temperature’s dropped and there’s an Arctic blast on the way. They reckon we’re in for some snow. It’s too early for snow, if you ask me. We don’t usually get any this side of Christmas.’

‘No, we don’t,’ Mark agreed.

Dave harrumphed. ‘I keep forgetting you’re from around here originally. Anyway, is your room warm enough?’

‘It’s fine, thanks.’

‘You don’t need a blanket?’

‘No, honestly, I’m fine.’ Mark realised that Dave wasn’t going to leave him alone to enjoy his breakfast until he’d explained why he hadn’t slept. ‘I was working,’ he said.

‘All night?’

‘It happens like that sometimes.’ He’d been on a roll, finalising the drafts for the illustrations ready to send to his agent, and he’d also completed the cover art. After breakfast he intended to email everything off to Angela, and then he was going to have a well-earned nap.

Satisfied with Mark’s reason for his sleepless night, Dave sloped off, leaving him free to reflect on the real reason he hadn’t been able to sleep.

Beatrice.

My god, that kiss! It had blown him away. Had her kisses been as wonderful all those years ago? He had a feeling they may have been, but he’d simply been too much of an idiot to realise it at the time. His lips still tingled, he could still taste her, smell her…

Every time he thought about her, it knocked the breath right out of him, and his heart stuttered before finding its rhythm again.

He felt more alive than he’d ever felt, every colour brighter, every sound more vivid. It was as though he’d been in a fog all these years but it had now cleared. And if he felt like this after just one kiss…?

Leaving the bacon and eggs to grow cold on the plate, he pushed his chair away from the table. Can’t sleep, can’t eat – he was a walking cliché.

Take it slow, he told himself as he climbed the stairs to his room. He and Beatrice needed time to get to know one another again, because neither were the same people they had been half a lifetime ago.

But, by god, was he looking forward to it!

The shrill ringing of his phone woke him, and Mark reached for it, blinking owlishly. ‘Yeah?’ he muttered, rubbing his free hand over his face.

‘Is that any way to greet your favourite agent?’

He sat up, shuffling up the mattress so his back rested against the headboard. ‘Angela.’

‘You don’t sound very happy. Is anything wrong?’

‘What time is it?’

‘You worked all night, didn’t you?’

‘Guilty as charged.’

‘It’s not good for you.’

‘What are you – my mother?’

‘I’m the woman who has just this second heard back from Estelle. She’s thrilled with your new manuscript. So am I. The artwork for the cover is stunning. I defy any little boy or girl not to love it. Santa Paws,’ she chuckled. ‘She says there’s talk at Pinkymoon of a cuddly toy franchise. They want a meeting.’

‘For Santa Paws plushies?’

‘Exactly! They’ve got to move fast, because of the design and the manufacturer’s lead times. They want to do a special boxed edition: a book and cuddly toy. It’ll make a fantastic Christmas present. Oh, and Estelle wants to have a chat about the possibility of more in the series.’

‘More Santa Paws books?’

‘No, the other characters. The market for Santa Paws is limited to Christmas, so can you change the focus? The main character could be—’

‘Hang on,’ Mark interrupted. ‘You want me to change the whole story?’

‘Not exactly. Just the focus. Take it off Santa Paws and put it on one of the other characters. Santa Paws works as a Christmas release, but if we run with the series idea, then—’

‘Can I think about it?’ For Pete’s sake, it had taken him long enough to come up with this story, let alone change it now. ‘How many books are they thinking of?’

‘That’s what we’ll need to thrash out. I’ve gone ahead and set up a meeting for Friday. Does that sound good to you?’

Not really, he thought. ‘So, to summarise, Pinkymoon Publishing loves my book but they want me to change the story and the main character?’

‘In a nutshell.’

‘And we’re meeting with them on Friday?’

‘That’s right. I trust you can make it?’

‘I’ll be there.’ There was more than a hint of resignation in his voice.

‘Fabulous. I know it’s short notice but you’re only an hour and a half by train.’

‘I’m not in Bristol.’

‘Where are you?’

‘A little place called Picklewick.’

‘Picklewick… Picklewick…? Where have I heard that name before?’

‘On my author bio. It’s where I grew up.’

‘I thought your parents lived in Bath?’

‘They do.’

‘So what are you doing in Picklewick?’

Falling in love, that’s what he was doing. And he didn’t know whether it was wonderful or terrifying.

Beatrice was making a casserole for tea. She’d ummed and ahhed over what to cook, wondering whether to stick to what she was good at (and what the kids would eat) or whether to pull out all the stops and make something fancy. She’d ended up deciding to play it down. This was Mark, a man who’d been known to eat baked beans out of a tin, and cold pizza left over from the evening before.

He might be a hot-shot children’s author, but he was still the same bloke she once knew. She hoped. Anyway, he had two choices – like it or go hungry.

Beatrice was beginning to wish she hadn’t given in to Sadie’s insistence that she ask Mark to tea this evening, but at least if he saw first-hand the chaos that was her daily life, it would make him realise what he was letting himself in for, if he was serious about wanting them to start over. After this evening, he may well change his mind. It was one thing knowing that she and her children came as a job lot: it was quite another seeing it in action.

As Beatrice tidied up the kitchen, the most recent copy of The Picklewick Paper caught her eye. Her mum had brought it with her when she’d babysat on Tuesday and had forgotten to take it home. Or had she left it on purpose, because it had a piece about Mark in it?

Beatrice had read the article twice, and the part she kept going back to was the bit where Mark had said he would be going home after Picklewick. She knew his home was in Bristol, but what she didn’t know was how long he intended to stay in Picklewick. And when he did leave – which he must – what would that mean for any future they might have?

Right now, Beatrice wasn’t sure of anything, despite what Mark had said, despite the way he’d kissed her. She supposed she would just have to take it slow, and try not to get in too deep, too soon.

When the doorbell rang, even though she was expecting it, she jumped. ‘Can you get that, please, Taya?’

‘I’ll go!’ Sadie yelled, charging to the door before her sister could respond.

‘Mark!’ Beatrice heard Sadie squeal, then she heard him say something in return, but she couldn’t make out the words.

When he entered the kitchen, he had a small child hanging onto him for dear life.

‘Sadie, leave Mark alone, he doesn’t need you clambering all over him. Taya, can you lay the table, please?’

‘Why do I have to do it?’

‘Taya…’ The hint of warning in Beatrice’s voice was enough to persuade her daughter to do as she was asked, but wasn’t enough to wipe the sulky look off her face. Honestly, Taya was getting more teenagerish by the day. Goodness knows what she would be like when she actually was one. Beatrice dreaded to think.

Taya didn’t perk up much throughout the meal, but Sadie was lively enough for them both. She didn’t stop talking.

Right now, she was in the middle of telling Mark all about the toadstool costume that her nana was making for her. ‘It’s got sequins, and glittery thread, and it sparkles. I like sparkles.’

Beatrice laughed. ‘I never would have guessed. This child should be called Princess Sparkle.’

Sadie ignored her. ‘It’ll be the bestest costume and I’ll be the bestest toadstool. Even better than the fairies because I can do magic, can’t I Mark? You said so.’

‘Real toadstools can, but you aren’t a real toadstool. You’re a little girl.’

‘I want to be a fairy.’

‘I want to be an astronaut and fly into space.’

‘In a spaceship?’

Mark nodded.

‘Fairies can fly. Can you come watch the play? Mummy, can he?’

Beatrice saw Mark’s eyes widen and she decided to rescue him. ‘I expect Mark will be busy, so he won’t be able to come.’

Taya finally spoke. ‘Will Dad be there?’

‘I don’t know, sweetie. I’ll ask him.’

‘He never comes to anything,’ she grumbled.

Taya was right, Eric rarely went to any school events. Sometimes she wished he would put his children first for once.

Beatrice decided to change the subject, steering the conversation into less fraught waters. ‘Are you doing anything special for Christmas?’ she asked Mark.

‘I’m going to my parents in Bath,’ he replied, ‘but I’ll be back in the New Year.’ He sent her a look that made her shiver with anticipation.

Then she sobered. He might be coming back to Picklewick, but for how long? His home was in Bristol, after all.

After tea, whilst he helped her clean up, he told her about his trip to London tomorrow, and she listened with growing dismay.

‘It sounds very glamorous,’ she said. Picklewick was a far cry from meetings with agents and editors, book deals and cuddly toy franchises. Would he want to come back?

‘Believe me, it isn’t. Most of the time, I’m cooped up in my house, trying to get the images in my head onto paper. It can get rather lonely. I envy you.’

‘You wouldn’t say that if you had to deal with this pair day in, day out,’ she replied, the sound of squabbling reaching her. The children were arguing over what to watch on TV.

‘I love this, being here with you and the girls,’ he said, and her heart fluttered.

He stepped closer and his gaze locked onto hers. The air grew thick as he reached out to brush his thumb against her cheek, his touch electric. ‘I want to kiss you.’

Her breath hitched and a rush of warmth spread through her, but she was brought back to earth by a shriek. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t want them to see… There hasn’t been anyone since their father.’

He drew back. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for – it’s me who should apologise. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to… The children come first, I get that. But please can you stop being so damned sexy?’ he whispered.

He looked deep into her eyes and for a moment the rest of the world faded as she saw his hunger. It sparked an answering longing in her.

But was desire enough to keep him here? Was she enough?

She hadn’t been the last time…

Mark parked the car on the drive, his eyes scanning the house. It looked drab and unwelcoming compared to the other houses in the street. All of them, except his, were readily embracing the festive season. It was a shame to let the side down and be the only Grinch in the street, but it was pointless putting any decorations up when he would only be here long enough to do some much-needed laundry and repack his case.

His meeting was at one p.m. – a working lunch, which suited him fine, because it meant he didn’t have to take time out of the day to eat. He’d only left Picklewick a couple of hours ago and he was already missing it. Or should he say, he was missing Beatrice .

After a check around the house to make sure everything was in order, he had a shower, opened the post, then flopped down on the sofa with a sigh of relief. It was great to be back in his own place, with a proper sitting room and a kitchen. Living in one room, as nice as The Black Horse was, had become somewhat claustrophobic. The space of a proper house around him felt totally luxurious and the thought of going back to the pub and his one-room existence didn’t fill him with joy. But if he wanted to be in Picklewick what choice—

Mark slapped a palm to his forehead. He was an idiot. A moron, an utter numpty. Of course he had a choice. He could rent somewhere: a house, a flat or a caravan even, although a caravan would have to have bloody good heating to see him through the winter, because it was freezing out there.

Fired up with enthusiasm, Mark drove to the station at Temple Meads a short time later and spent the entire journey to London searching for properties to rent when he should have been concentrating on the impending meeting with his agent and publisher.

For Mark Stafford, successful children’s author, his book didn’t seem quite as important anymore.

Sadie and Taya dashed into the house as soon as Beatrice opened the door, in a flurry of discarded coats and flying hair, and from the smear of red sauce around her youngest daughter’s mouth as she shot past, Beatrice guessed their father had taken them to McDonald’s for their tea.

Trust him to fill them full of additives and leave her to deal with the fallout. It would be ages before they calmed down enough to go to bed. At least it was Friday, so she didn’t have to worry about getting them up for school in the morning. She had to go to work, but Mum was coming here, rather than her having to bundle them out of the house and drive them to their grandparents.

A knock on the door caught her by surprise and she opened it again, assuming one of the kids must have left something in their father’s car.

Eric’s hands were empty. ‘Have you got a minute?’

‘What’s wrong?’ Beatrice glanced over her shoulder worriedly. The girls had seemed alright, and from the sound of them charging around upstairs and yelling like a pair of banshees, they appeared to be fine.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Eric said, to her relief.

‘Do you want to come in?’

His gaze flickered to the stairs. ‘Can we do this outside? I don’t want them to hear.’

Beatrice’s spirits sank. Don’t tell me he’s got his latest girlfriend pregnant, she prayed, because if he had, he could bloody well break the news to his existing children himself. She wasn’t going to smooth the way for him. On second thoughts, maybe she should tell them herself, because he’d only make a pig’s ear of it and upset them.

Beatrice glowered and stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind her. Blimmin’ heck it was cold! ‘Well?’ she demanded, crossing her arms and shivering.

Eric stuffed his hands into his coat pocket, and she almost growled in annoyance. He looked warm and cosy in a puffer jacket so thick that it could probably be worn up Everest, whilst she was freezing her ears off waiting for her ex to announce that he was going to be a father again for the third time.

‘It’s Taya,’ he began. ‘She isn’t happy.’

‘Excuse me?’ If he’d told Taya already, Beatrice just might make sure he’d be incapable of having any more children, ever.

‘This new chap of yours,’ he continued. ‘The author bloke. Taya doesn’t want you to see him.’

Beatrice blinked as she struggled to get her head around what he was saying. ‘Why? What has she told you?’

‘That you’ve got a boyfriend and lied to her about it.’

‘I didn’t lie!’ Beatrice retorted hotly. ‘He wasn’t my boyfriend.’

Eric picked up on her use of the past tense. ‘But he is now?’

She pursed her lips and glowered. She had no idea what Mark was. Anyway, what gave Eric the right to comment on her love life? He had a different woman every week and Beatrice never uttered a peep, unless it concerned the kids.

As though he’d read her mind, he said, ‘I know it’s not my place to say anything – who you go out with is your business – but Taya seems really upset.’

‘Too damn right it’s none of your business and Taya’s only upset because, unlike you , this is the first relationship I’ve had since you left.’

‘Since you kicked me out, you mean.’

‘You deserved it.’ She crossed her arms tighter, hugging herself in an attempt to keep the cold out and her temper in. ‘I’m not going over this again.’

‘Bea, I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah, so you said – about a thousand times.’

‘It was a mistake.’

Her brows shot up. ‘Which time? The first or the second?’

‘Both. I was stupid.’

‘You can say that again! You stupidly thought you wouldn’t get caught, and you were even more stupid to think I’d forgive you a second time. Eric, you’re an arse.’

‘I know. I was a shit husband. I admit I treated you badly, but I still care about you, I don’t want to see you hurt.’

‘That’s rich, coming from you.’

‘I read the article in The Picklewick Paper. He might be from around here originally, but he’ll be gone soon and—’ His eyes widened. ‘Did you used to know him? You went out with him, didn’t you?’ His tone was accusing.

‘What if I did? It was long before I met you.’

‘He’s turned your head, coming back here, flashing his cash. Taya told me he took you to dinner in that restaurant run by that London chef, whatshisname… Otto York.’

Beatrice blew out her cheeks, not bothering to explain.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s Taya and Sadie I’m worried about. I don’t want them getting to know him, then him buggering off to wherever he came from. It’ll upset them. Sadie already thinks the sun shines out of his backside.’

Beatrice was done with the conversation. To have Eric quote her own words back at her after she had asked him not to introduce yet another fly-by-night girlfriend to her children was the last straw. ‘I’ll take your concerns on board when I make my decision that it’s none of your damn business who I date,’ she growled.

Realising she was about to lose her temper big time, she snapped her mouth shut and without another word she turned on her heel and marched back inside, slamming the door so hard it made the windows rattle.

Bloody Eric! Who does he think he is? she ranted silently. It was alright for him to have a love life, but the minute she showed any interest in a man, he was warning her off? And to think he had the cheek to use Taya as a way to get to her. Obviously Taya was going to find it hard to adjust to her mother having another man in her life: it was only to be expected. And obviously Beatrice would put her children’s happiness first. Her relationship with Mark was in the very early stages, despite their history, so it wasn’t as though she was moving him in next week. She was going to take it one day at a time, and if it didn’t work out, it didn’t work out.

But even as she was thinking it, Beatrice knew she was already in too deep, and that if their relationship ended for a second time, she would be heartbroken all over again.

Mark was bone weary when he walked into The Black Horse on Friday evening, his suitcase in his hand. He’d been on the go all day and he was knackered. But after he’d unpacked and collapsed onto the bed, his brain decided it was time to give him a slideshow of everything he’d done, said and seen today, and within a few minutes his mind was whirling and he was becoming increasingly restless.

A glass of water didn’t help, and neither did a long hot shower: he was still too wired to relax.

Maybe a walk would do the trick?

Dressing warmly, he slipped out the side door. It was only ten-fifteen, so the pub was still open, but he wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone, and especially not to Dave.

Letting his feet take him where they wanted, Mark re-ran the meeting in his head, but he simply couldn’t pin anything down long enough to examine it properly. Every time he tried, his thoughts veered to Beatrice.

Should he tell her that he was planning on renting somewhere nearby? Was it too soon to be thinking along those lines? Would she even want him to make that kind of a commitment yet? Was he jumping the gun, and getting ahead of himself? Questions, questions… He had so many and he wanted to ask them, but he was too worried he would frighten her.

On the way to London, he’d pinged some enquiries off to a couple of estate agents in Thornbury, figuring that there was no harm in starting the ball rolling, and with less than two weeks to Christmas nothing much would get done beforehand. He knew it would take time to find a suitable property, and then there would be the rental agreement to sort out, the references and the finances, so he would probably be living out of a suitcase for a while longer.

There was also the Christmas period itself to contend with. He had promised to spend the festive season at his parents’ house in Bath, and he was looking forward to seeing them, but part of him wished he didn’t have to go.

Mark stopped outside a shop, the window softly lit by a twinkling tree, and as he imagined himself living in the village he was filled with a warm glow.

When his feet took him into Lavender Lane (of course they did: it had been inevitable), he noticed there was a light on in Beatrice’s living room, which meant she was still awake. Dare he?

Mark dared, but instead of ringing the doorbell, he tapped gently on the window and waited. After ten seconds – which felt like an hour – he tapped again. A little harder this time.

He was rewarded by the twitch of a curtain as it was pulled aside, and Beatrice stared out. When their eyes met and she smiled, relief washed over him. He had been worried she might be cross.

And when she opened the door and gestured for him to go inside, he realised just how not cross she was when she stepped into his arms. Her lips parted, her chin tilted, and her eyes drifted shut as his mouth found hers. His hands were in her hair as he kissed her urgently, and she snaked her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him.

Mark groaned and she let out a sigh. His blood was aflame, desire scorching through his veins, heating him from the inside out. As the kiss deepened, his hands left her hair and skimmed down her back to grasp her bottom.

He wanted her so badly, so very, very badly, that when she drew back, breathing hard, her cheeks pink and her lips swollen, it took every ounce of self-control he could find to release her.

She glanced at the dark stairs behind. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered, her voice husky.

‘I know.’

’I want to. More than anything.’

‘I think I should go, before we do something we regret.’ He barely managed to get the words out.

The look in her eyes as she said, ‘I wouldn’t regret making love with you. Just not here, not now,’ made his pulse roar.

How he managed to tear himself away he didn’t know, and as he floated back to The Black Horse, there was one thing he was certain of – not having this woman in his life was unthinkable.