Chapter One
Marley was dead, to begin with. Well, she wasn't breathing, and that was pretty dead, in Kit's opinion.
His father used to joke about stuff like that all the time. Whenever a death was mentioned, someone was bound to say, "What did he die of?" and his dad would always reply, "Shortage of breath," before cackling away to himself.
Kit's mother always said he was heartless, which was a bit rich, come to think of it.
Anyway, ironically, his father had died of a heart attack, so there must have been a heart in there somewhere. Kit wasn't with him when it’d happened. He was abroad—just about as far away from his parents as it was possible to get, without launching himself into outer space—so he hadn't seen him actually die. He'd never seen anyone die, and he wasn't about to start that night.
Looking at Marley, lying so still on the floor of The Blue Lamp public house, he knew he had to do something fast, or she would stay dead. She'd never forgive him for that. Knowing Marley, the shame of dying on the floor of a pub would kill her—so to speak.
Christ, all this on his first night back in Yorkshire, and only his second back in England. A dead body to deal with, and Marley’s, of all people!
"Do something. Please."
Hazel eyes—quite like Marley's own, Kit realised with a shock—stared at him, wide with fear. The young woman beside him was pleading with him to act, as if he was the only one who could do so.
Would it sound pathetic to shout for help?
He supposed if there was a doctor in the place, they'd already have stepped forward.
He tried to fight the growing panic. That wouldn't help anyone, least of all Marley. He'd already slapped her on the back several times, and then he'd tried abdominal thrusts, but whatever she was choking on had refused to budge. She'd slumped in his arms, and, full of desperation, he'd laid her on the floor and tried again.
Part of him thought it was hopeless, but he wasn't about to give up on her. Not this time.
"Come on, Marley," he muttered. "Don't do this to me. Breathe!"
Something whizzed by his ear, followed by a faint ping of an object hitting someone's glass.
Marley made a weird sort of noise, and it was Kit's turn to slump—with sheer relief. He felt drained.
She opened her eyes and stared up at him.
His heart thumped. God, those eyes! Without even thinking about it, he brushed back a strand of her hair and smiled down at her. "It's okay. You'll be fine now."
"Jesus?"
It was barely a whisper, but Kit's heart fluttered in response. Then he realised what she'd said. She thought he was Jesus? Well, that's what you got for not having a haircut in months, and he still had his beard, too. He knew he should have shaved it off that morning, but he'd got used to it. Getting rid of it would’ve been like accepting that he was back. That life was about to change—and not for the better.
Anyway, he'd rather she thought he was Jesus, to be honest. If she recognised him, things could get very awkward.
"Marley! Oh, thank God you're all right." The girl with eyes like Marley's crouched beside Kit, placing her hand on his shoulder.
Then another young woman threw herself to her knees and grabbed Marley's hand. "You scared me to death! Trust you to take all the attention."
Her enormous breasts were threatening to suffocate Marley. How, Kit wondered, could anyone take the attention from that cleavage? She certainly had it on display for everyone to admire.
Hastily, he stood up. As more people crowded around Marley, he bent down and whispered to the first woman, "I'd get her checked over at the hospital, just to be sure."
"Yes, yes, I will. Thank you so much." She nodded, and Kit had an awful feeling she was about to ask who he was.
More women looked away from Marley and towards him, a question in their eyes.
Time to go.
He pushed his way out of the pub, gladly swapping the heat that’d grown unbearable, the garish Christmas lights, and the annoying festive songs, for the welcoming, cool, quiet darkness of the village street.
Well, that had been a baptism of fire. He'd only nipped into the pub to have a quiet meal before heading back to Farthingdale. Trust him to pick The Blue Lamp, where a raucous hen party had arrived just after his steak and chips had been placed on the table. He'd intended to eat quickly and leave immediately, but events had scuppered those plans. Marley had scuppered those plans. Marley, of all people!
The memory of the last time he'd seen her made him shiver. But she could have died! He'd almost lost her. Again. Not that she was his to lose—not anymore. Even so, seeing her like that, so lifeless ...
Kit's stomach turned over, and he fought back the nausea. It was just the shock, he thought. It had been traumatic, seeing someone—anyone—almost lose their life like that. It didn't mean anything.
Over the years, he'd comforted himself with the thought that, just maybe, she'd grown matronly and plain. No such luck. Even lying on the floor, after nearly choking to death, there'd been something about her. And when she'd opened those hazel eyes, he'd felt something stir within him that had lain dormant for years. How could she still have that effect on him? They'd been little more than kids, really. It was crazy.
Still, he'd known he was going to see her again, and at least this way, the shock was over and done with. And, of course, he had the advantage. She had no idea that he was going to be back in her life.
Yes, Marley would be one very unhappy lady, come Monday morning. Let her have the weekend to recover from the trauma of the evening. She was going to need it.