Page 2 of Hearts Colliding
“Come on, Tina, let’s—”
Ryan stopped in mid-turn when a couple of other men scurried out of the house, stumbling back when Sports Car Guy whipped around and flung his arms into the air, the gesture angry and impatient. The two men nodded furiously in response to whatever the guy was saying before they jumped into the Land Rover, throwing up a spray of gravel as they sped away, leaving the guy shaking his head. The men unloading the van slammed the back doors shut, exchanging a few words with him before moments later they, too, drove off. Opening the back door to the low, sleek car, they guy retrieved some kind of bundle, hugging it close, before disappearing inside the house.
“Whoever that was, I don’t think it was old Sir Anthony.”
But if it wasn’t the absentee owner, then who was it who’d been stomping around and sending what looked like the fear of god into the Land Rover men? “Maybe we should take the long way back to the village, eh? Just to give you a bit more of a walk. What do you reckon?”
Tina wagged her long, straggly tail as they set off along the path skirting the New House’s gravelled driveway.
CHAPTERTWO
Alex slammed the door shut and fell back against it, clutching the small bundle he’d retrieved from the car. Closing his eyes, he let out a long uneven breath in an attempt to calm his thundering heart, the only sound to be heard in the cavernous, empty house. Sweat prickled against his skin as his stomach rolled, and he swallowed back the rising nausea. The house had no right, no damn right, to make him feel any of those things again. It was only a house. An old, outdated house, dust covered and musty.
But it wasn’t just any house, and never would be.
Opening his eyes and pushing away from the door, Alex glared at the huge, cold entrance hall. Through the open door of what had been the drawing room, the newly delivered boxes waited to be unpacked, ready for Alex to make this cold pile of a house a home again.
It hadn’t been his home for years, and it never would be again.
“What the hell am I doing, Henry, coming back after all this time?” He looked down to see a long snout, and two shining brown eyes staring up at him. “Do you think I’m mad? I must be, because it’s the only sane explanation.” The little dachshund answered with a throaty whine. Alex snorted. “Hedging your bets, hmm? Very wise.”
His rash decision, just a couple of days before, to camp out in the house had left his PA slack mouthed with shock. There had been no careful planning, noi’sdotted, nort’scrossed, when he dotted and crossed everything. She hadn’t asked why and he hadn’t explained. No doubt she thought he was losing his mind to some form of mid-life crisis, although at thirty-eight he didn’t think he qualified. Yet, it had been a crisis of sorts, and one that had brought him here.
“What a stupid idea, Henry. God alone knows what I was thinking. Don’t get too used to it here, boy, because we’re not staying.”
Alex buried his face in Henry’s warm fur, breathing in the comforting scent, before he put him down, leaving the little dog to snuffle off and explore. Rummaging in his Barbour’s pocket, he pulled out his mobile. He’d head off hiscrisisand have his PA book a suite in a nearby good hotel, putting her mind at rest that he hadn’t dived off the deep end after all.
“Bloody hell.”
No signal. Alex shoved his phone back into his pocket and rubbed his dry, gritty eyes. His bad idea had come back to bite him on the arse, because for now he was stuck. He could hack it for the night. If he told himself that, he’d make himself believe it.
Alex shook out his stiff, tense shoulders. If he was going to stay, even for a night, the place would need airing. He snorted. What it really needed was a team of bull dozers, a stack of dynamite, and a bolt of righteous anger from the big guy up above — but in the absence of any of those, or at least for now, Alex flung open the front door.
“What the—” He staggered back, only just stopping himself from landing on his arse, as a barking bullet of a dog rushed in and disappeared under a moth-eaten old sofa in the corner of the hall.
Alex swung around at the heavy crunch of gravel. A young guy ran across the driveway, skidding to a stop at the base of the short flight of steps leading up to the door. He leaned over, hands planted on his knees, head hanging down, his back rising and falling with each laboured breath.
“I’m really sorry,” the guy said, his breathing levelling out. He pulled himself to standing, a crooked, sheepish smile on his lips as the deepest, bluest eyes Alex had ever seen met his. “We were on the public path and my dog… something spooked her.”
Alex’s stomach lurched at the rich local accent he’d not heard in twenty years.
“Do you realise you’re trespassing? This is private property, and the public footpath is clearly defined.” And fenced off, or at least it had been years before.
The guy’s face tightened, and his lips pushed together in a hard line. A wash of red spread over his cheekbones, but he tipped his head back, just the smallest fraction, and didn’t drop his gaze.
“I know I am, but—”
“Good. Then I suggest you extract your dog from under the sofa and make your way back to the path.” Alex jerked his head towards the dusty, moth-eaten piece of furniture, from under which a long snout and a pair of paws protruded.
The guy said nothing as he stomped inside. Alex waited at the door, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm as the guy dropped to his knees, his jeans stretching over his firm backside as he tried to coax the dog out.
Tall, broad, and good looking, and with colourful ink winding its way around one of the guy’s solid biceps, at any other time Alex would have been happy to feast his eyes, but his nerves were stretched to breaking point and the headache that had been a dull, background throb for the last couple of days was turning up the dial to pounding. He scrunched up his brow, squeezing his eyes closed as a bolt of pain detonated in his skull. Christ, was it a migraine? The last time he’d had one of those was—
“Come on Tina, stop mucking about.”
Alex opened his eyes. The guy was now lying on his front, and reaching under the small space beneath the sofa. The dog yelped as claws clattered on the tiled floor as it shuffled around, its tail poking out from the side and wagging hard.
“I’m sorry about this.” The guy pushed himself up to standing and brushed himself down. The hallway was large, but the stranger’s presence seemed to fill it. “I’m going to have to move your sofa, because she won’t come out. I can’t see what else I can do.”
