Page 36 of The Damaged Hearts Bargain

“Well, Christmas is kind of important to this story,” Cal said. “The women’s club had a Christmas fund. It was like a way of saving. Every month the women could put in a bit of money and over the year it saved up into enough to buy Christmas presents. It stopped you frittering away your money on things you didn’t need. And, I suspect, in some cases stopped your husband taking the bit you’d saved to put on the horses or use in the pub.”

“Seems like a good idea, I suppose.”

“Maybe,” Cal said. “But a bank account would be safer. It was a holdover, from back in the times when women couldn’t have their own bank accounts. A tradition by the time I was a kid more than a necessity I think.”

She looked out again at the sea and couldn’t think of another way of putting it. So in the end she just said it.

“The town thinks I stole it. The Christmas fund, that is.”

“Oh.”

Cal looked across at Lucy who was watching her.

“What?” Lucy asked, eyes narrowing against the sun. “You told me you weren’t a thief when I asked you, so until I have evidence to the contrary, you’re not a thief.” She paused thoughtfully. “Why’d they think you stole it?”

“My mum was the treasurer of the women’s club,” Cal said.

“Which doesn’t explain much. Why did they think you stole it?” Lucy asked again.

Cal sighed and squeezed her eyes tight shut so maybe the words would seem less real and more like a dream. “Because Doris Renton caught me sneaking into the club rooms to put the money back.”

When she opened her eyes again, Lucy was, quite unbelievably, still there. “Huh. Seems quite damning,” she said.

“You’re telling me,” said Cal. “But I didn’t steal it.”

“You were putting it back but you didn’t steal it?” It didn’t sound like an accusation, not like all the other times Cal had heard the exact same sentence.

All the same, there were parts of this story that she wasn’t going to tell, parts too painful, too private, parts that didn’t affect the outcome in her opinion, but that she couldn’t say out loud. “I found it,” was all she said.

“Right,” said Lucy. “Seems to me like you were the hero in that story rather than the villain then.”

“Yeah, probably didn’t make things better by running away immediately after and never returning,” said Cal.

“Probably not.” Lucy shrugged. “You’re back now though.”

“Which is probably why I didn’t react well when you kissed me,” Cal said. “I’m back but not for long. I don’t plan on staying. And you, well, you’re looking for something more permanent than someone who’s going to love you and leave you.”

“Fair enough,” Lucy said.

Cal laughed. “What? That’s it?”

“Yes,” said Lucy. “You’ve said your piece, it makes sense, I’m not in the habit of making people do things that they don’t want to do or that will make them uncomfortable.”

“Right,” Cal said, not at all sure why this had all ended so… so well.

“Bit of a bastard though,” Lucy went on. “I quite like you.”

Cal smirked. “You’re not so bad yourself. Well, when you’re not attempting a citizen’s arrest on me.”

Lucy stood up and offered her hand. Cal took it and let herselfbe pulled to her feet, her head just reaching Lucy’s shoulder.

“We’ve got a choice,” Lucy said. “We can go back and finish packing your mum’s bedroom, or we can go for a pint. What’s it to be?”

Cal looked at her merry eyes, her sharp cheekbones, the small scar on her chin, the way her hair waved around her face, and suddenly knew that Lucy was someone very, very special. Disturbingly special. And someone not to be hurt under any circumstances.

“Why not both?” she said, far more calmly than she felt. “We’ll do some packing and then we’ll retire to the pub and I’ll buy you dinner.”

“You don’t owe me dinner,” said Lucy.

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