Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (163 page)

The sun pierced through the clouds for a few seconds as he reached the lane end and saw what remained of the crossroads shimmering like silver
glass where the telegraph poles went in two directions. This was where he must have stumbled off track the first time. The silence was eerie, the wind whipping his earlobes and the end of his nose. It was time to kick the ice off his leggings and take out a snack from his bag.

It wasn't that far to make for Scar Head and give them a surprise, though better to make down the lane leading up from Windebank. It felt like weeks since he had left the train, the longest time he had ever spent with Mirren alone. The more he'd lived with her the more he'd loved her.

He got up and shook off the snow. No more dithering. Time to head down the valley before the light went. He would face the huge barriers of uncut snow when he came to them. No diggers had got close to this moor yet and nothing was left but a pile of letters and bills for the farm. No sign of boxes hidden on the slate shelf halfway up the wall.

Dieter would be out on digging patrols. All the POWs would be made to work off the farms. As Ben walked, his legs got heavier and heavier and his heart sank into his boots. Funny how he could hear her voice in his head teasing. ‘Move along, slowcoach, stop flither flathering. Get on with it!' He brushed the crumbs from his frozen coat. If only there was another way…
Mirren found she'd laid the table for two and whipped up the cutlery with annoyance. Ben would be where he wanted to be by now, no doubt propping up the bar at The Fleece, boasting about being off to foreign parts.

She could do with making off to sunshine and leaving this whole sorry mess behind. The house was as quiet and empty as it used to be, and somehow that was no comfort at all. Something was missing–rather someone was missing–and she'd let him go without even a murmur of protest.

How would the family pay for all their losses? Only by pulling in their horns. If truth were told, she didn't want Tom and Florrie taking over again, having to share a kitchen with another woman. Doreen was different. Florrie wanted to gossip about folk who didn't interest Mirren.

It was Ben who would've made this harsh life bearable. Now he was gone. Perhaps it was a sign she'd lived too long with only the grandfather clock for company to be looking to him for something that wasn't there.

They'd danced a bit and he'd comforted her over the lost snaps. It wasn't exactly lovey-dovey candlelit dinners with soppy words. He'd sat on his hands. That sort of stuff was for the pictures. It didn't happen in real life, not up here in the Dales. Courting was a shifty sort of arrangement, made on the dance floor or at the Young Farmers'
club. She was far too old for any of that now. Then she smelled the milk burning in the pan and jumped up. Just time for her comfort.

She flopped down with the whisky bottle and the bowl of hot water, and poured the contents into the bowl to soak her feet. If she couldn't drink at least she could use the spirit to dab on her corns.

She felt a sudden draught, a blast of ice and wind, and the door banging open, the dogs barking and wagging their tails, jumping up at the open door.

There was a snowman in the doorway grinning, his beard full of icicles, his coat sticking out like a crinoline. She dropped the bottle in shock.

‘Now don't go blaming me for that,' said a familiar voice.

‘Ben! What are you doing back here? Is it that bad outside?' Her heart was thundering with pleasure at the sight of him. ‘Sit down, sit down…I'll get you a brew.'

‘I got halfway down the hill and then I saw how bad it was. It's not good. Then I thought to myself, there'll be other ships but now's not the time to be deserting yer post. Cragside is my home as well as yours, and I don't want to see you all ruined for want of another pair of hands. I hope you don't mind…' He paused, looking down with furrowed icy eyebrows at her standing in a bowl of water.

She burst out laughing. ‘You've caught me at
my ablutions…but I think you thought I was back on the hard stuff and came back to spy on me. Oh, Ben! Look, it's all here to soothe my corns. Smell it! Proper medicine this time.'

Enough shillyshallying, it was now or never. ‘You're a good man, Ben Yewell. I've never been so glad to see anyone in all my life. The house's been that quiet. I can't believe you've come back. I want to hug you. I missed you so!'

‘Then what's stopping you?' he laughed, his ice-blue eyes sparkling with mischief at giving her such a shock.

She tore at his frozen clothes and flung them on the floor. Her heart was racing as she fingered his icy cheek. Her kiss was closed, dry and tentative, testing, hesitant, just a peck, waiting for him to draw back in shock. He searched her face with his eyes. Then she kissed him hungrily, her lips apart as if she was drinking in the very heart of him. They rolled down onto the old sofa that smelled of dogs and coal, lying in each other's arms, laughing.

‘Oh, Mirren, can you forgive me? I thought the worst. I wanted to catch you out and now it's me who's ashamed.'

She stopped his mouth with a kiss.

Ben was home and this time she was going to give him such a Yorkshire welcome that nothing would make him go away again.

In the early dawn she woke to feel the warmth of the bed and the big hump beside her. She wanted to shake him and kiss him awake, and leaned over.

‘This's the only way to keep warm from now on, better than any hot-water bottle,' she whispered. The bed was rumpled and the sheets awry, but Ben turned towards her and cupped her breast, flicking her nipple alive with one finger and feathering her in a slow deliberate caress as if there was all the time in the world.

Her hands explored him back. There were no boundaries or stone walls between them now, nothing but pleasure given and received.

Somewhere in that precious evening they had crossed the river, over the wooden bridge from friends to lovers, and now her body yearned for more. This was how it should be. This is what she needed, feelings long forgotten as his fingers roamed across her skin and lit a fire no blizzard would ever quench.

Ben leaned over his lover with a smile. To think if he had walked away he'd have missed the fire in her eyes as she welcomed him home. This was his home for good, hefted to her side for the rest of his life. Who needed promised lands when all the world was right here in this bed, burning up with eagerness to draw him back into her? In this curtained-off cocoon was life and
courage and hope; all he had ever wanted. Mirren, his lover, his woman, his friend. He nuzzled her cheek and grinned. ‘Let's be having you again…'

Outside the wind turned from the east towards the south, warmer air crept northwards, changing snow to fat goose feathers. Everything looked the same but wasn't.

The sheep sensed the change, the crows rasped and the cows snorted. Soon the icy gargoyles on the drainpipes would shrink and melt in the morning sun, ice glistening to the sound of sliding snow.

Down in the valley the mechanical diggers ground their way up the gritted track, banks of brown slush parted as the plough divided its spoil. Footprints left a damper patch.

Winter was losing its stranglehold at long last. The curlews bubbled and called, flying over a shrinking sea of snow to find their nesting places. Spring was on the move and new life growing, safe under the blankets in a bedroom at Cragside Farm.

The house creepers sank back into the darkness, content.

The ultimate treat for fans of Danielle Steele and Penny Vincenzi …

Avon
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First published in Great Britain by Harper Collins in 2013

Copyright © Kitty Neale 2013 NOBODY'S GIRL, Pam Weaver 2013 (THERE'S ALWAYS TOMORROW) Marie Maxwell 2013 Ruby, LEAH FLEMING 2013 (THE GIRL FROM WORLD'S END)

NOBODY'S GIRL

Cover [photograph/illustration] © Benedict Winter

Cover layout design © HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd 2009

THERE'S ALWAYS TOMORROW

Cover [photograph/illustration] © Debbie Clement design

Cover layout design © HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd 2011

RUBY

Cover [photograph/illustration] © Colin Thomas/Getty

Cover layout design © HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd 2012

THE GIRL FROM WORLD'S END

Cover [photograph/illustration] © Beard & Howell/Getty

Cover layout design © HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd 2007

Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of NOBODY'S GIRL

Pam Weaver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of THERE'S ALWAYS TOMORROW

Marie Maxwell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of RUBY

Leah Fleming asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of THE GIRL FROM WORLD'S END

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

Ebook Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9780007532445

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Version 1

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