Pitch Imperfect (13 page)

Anjuli rubbed her temples, imagining the fall out.

“If the shit hits the fan you’ll have to choose,” Ash said grimly. “Her, or me, and I’d like to think you’ll be on my side.”

“You’re my sister,” Anjuli said. “But Mac and I have been friends for years, and she’ll need a shoulder to cry on when she finds out. Because you know she will. One day.”

“And you think she’ll want
your
support? I know her type. As soon as her idyllic world collapses she’ll hate everyone and everything in it. You especially, since you’re my sister.”

Anjuli rubbed her temples, hating the feeling of betrayal in her gut. She hadn’t slept with Craig, but she felt as if she might as well have. Much as she hated the thought, she couldn’t spend time with Mac, knowing what she did.

“You have to promise me something else,” Ash said, recovering her usual insouciance. “If anything happens to me you’ll keep
The Far Pavilions
or any other book by M. M. Kaye out of Mum’s reach. Have you seen some of the names in those things?”

Anjuli frowned. “What do you mean, if anything happens to you?”

“Don’t freak out, okay?” Ash said, eying her worriedly. “I’ve got high blood pressure and Dr. MacDonald told me to take it easy. The baby is small, and I’m twenty-two weeks gone, but I have to make it another ten at least, for us to stand a good chance.”

Us? Instant panic at the thought of losing Ash seized Anjuli by the throat and she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t lose her sister—she couldn’t! She grasped Ash and drew her close, hugging her so tightly she shook off her embrace.

“Hold in the hysterical, sis,” she ordered. “I’m not going anywhere. The good news is you can have as many shifts as you want.”

“And here I thought you were trying to help me out,” Anjuli said, clamping down on her worry.

“I work more hours, and do cooking,” Viking announced. He looked like one of his namesakes, bent on trouble.

“Just what is your problem, big guy?” Ash said crossly. “Don’t women get pregnant in Krakow?”

“Married first, to good man, not...irre...irre...” He let out a strangled expletive, half-Polish, half-English.

“Irresponsible bastard who doesn’t deserve to live?” Anjuli supplied.

“
Tak.
”

Ash cleared her throat. “So now that’s clarified, we need to talk shop. It’s going to be packed tonight. Our scrumptious new vicar is celebrating Hazel William’s marriage. She’s on number two, and the low budget means no dance. Guests are bound to drift in here after supper. That means more drinks than food so both of you are on bar duty unless I need help in the kitchen.” Ash waggled her brows at Anjuli. “Damien is coming, Babes, so put some lipstick on. And do something with that hair. I think he’s worth the effort.”

Anjuli heaved an audible sigh. “Is everybody in this town a matchmaker now?”

“I’m your sister. Foisting men on you is one of the perks.”

“No need,” she said sourly. “Mrs. P. is already planning a wedding for Rob and me—or maybe for him and Sarah, after what she just heard.”

“Sarah’s perfect for Rob, and she looks fast on her feet,” Ash said, sweeping her palm through the air. “I can see it now. Rob at the church with everybody waiting, cars still running outside in case bride number two does a runner. I bet you she wouldn’t though. She’d be too keen to get his toned arse to the honeymoon suite.”

With an effort, Anjuli stifled the things she could say about Sarah and arses and honeymoon suites. “You’re not going to make me jealous or set me up with Damien. His idea of friendship is trying to steal a kiss every time we see each other—vet appointments, lunch on the green and even yesterday, when we bumped into each other at Johnston’s DIY. The man has a one-track mind.”

“And that’s exactly what you need, a letch from leprechaun land. If I thought Damien was into bulging tummies I’d give him a spin.”

Viking looked up from the table, broad face turning purple. “Give spin?”

Ash glared at him. “Pump the stick, do the nasty, dance the horizontal polka. Don’t they have sex in Krakow either?”

He gave her a long, insulted look and stalked to the kitchen. For a second, Ash looked sad, as though she’d go after him. Then she shook away the expression with a toss of her head.

Anjuli got off the stool. “I’d better get changed or I’ll be late for my shift. My boss is a cow.”

Chapter Ten

Rob threw another log onto the pile of wood at the back of Anjuli’s house and flexed his arms. It had rained earlier in the day and in the twilight a thick mist descended over the moors. His shirt plastered to his skin and he took it off and threw it on a piece of pine near the shed.

He had stayed at Castle Manor later than usual, walking along the scaffolding after the builders had gone and inspecting the new roof. With the days getting longer, rotating teams of five had worked non-stop to fit the sarking, waterproof membrane and new slates. His foreman, Connor, had given him an update on the Planning Officer’s approval of the roof reconstruction and they’d talked about the next step in the building process: knocking through and repairing the kitchen walls. Then they could put in the boiler and central heating system.

Six weeks was record time to sign off on the first stage of the restoration, but he’d wanted the roof finished—and Anjuli back at the manor—by the beginning of May. She’d moved in the previous day, though he hadn’t seen her. They discussed the restoration and building issues over the phone or by email only. A state of affairs he planned to remedy, but between work at his other builds and supervising at Castle Manor he was up at dawn and in bed at the witching hour, seven days a week.

The last time he’d had a chance to relax, albeit briefly, was when Sarah had suddenly appeared a few weeks earlier and interrupted his progress meeting with Connor. She’d driven up as the other men were leaving for the day, camera in hand. A quick tour of Heaverlock Castle for her piece on the semi-ruin, after which she insisted on cooking up a quick pasta. He’d been hungry and she’d wanted advice on remodelling her cottage so he’d followed her to the village. Conversation had been easy, no flirtation and no attempts to seduce him. Her peck on the cheek at the door had been that of a friend, not a woman who harboured romantic hopes.

On her way to a Halton interview the next morning she’d brought deli croissants by the office. Rob grinned, remembering Mrs. P.’s affronted reaction. Wednesdays were “scone day” and he’d found himself eating an extra helping once Sarah had left, to appease her.

Rob looked at the stack of wood he’d chopped, satisfied with his progress. The silver birch sapling from the roof had joined the pile of kindling next to it. Seeing it was what had prompted him to split the logs. That, and Connor’s amused expression when he’d mentioned “the Carver lass” had begun the arduous task, insisting that she would do it all herself.

Rob surveyed her efforts with a crooked smile. The Anjuli he’d known was dismal at DIY, not to mention anything that had to do with power tools or—God forbid—axes. Yet he’d found a shiny new Johnston’s DIY axe next to wood that looked as though it had been hacked to death by a murderer on speed.

Splitting logs would not only tidy up Anjuli’s grounds, it would help him vent the excess energy he couldn’t seem to get rid of. He was angry with her for avoiding him and frustrated by not being able to stop thinking about her.

Mac was always telling him he was too proud for his own good. Maybe she was right. He’d been too angry and proud to follow Anjuli to Juilliard, that much was true. But who wants to be second best in their partner’s life? And who wanted the woman they loved to stay in Heaverlock because of his...Rob’s mouth tightened. As he’d told her in March: she’d made her choice, he’d made his, and that was that.

Rob hacked at the wood, and hacked it again. He didn’t want to remember how it had felt to love Anjuli or how he’d felt when she’d left him at the church. But those memories crept up on him regardless. Like the mist sprawling over the moors, they covered first only the highest points and then descended, shrouding everything in bleakness.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Anjuli cycling across the bridge.

Why did she insist on riding that bike or driving Ash’s beat-up hatch back? A reliable car of her own was what she needed. If she got snowed in come winter she’d be cut off from civilisation. Did she not have common sense?

Of course not
,
remember?
Anjuli was impulsive. Daring. Jump first and look after. She was made of vibrant colours whereas he was black and white. It was, conversely, why they used to complement each other so well. She alone had possessed the ability to curve his straight lines, to shake his foundations and make him enjoy living the moment.

Rob frowned. Not having a vehicle was okay for now, but once the weather changed she’d need to let go of her city ideals. Maybe she still hated driving. God knows, trying to teach her had been torture. With some of the money he’d inherited from his parent’s will he’d bought her a car for her eighteenth birthday, sturdy and reliable, with an excellent engine. Automatic, so she wouldn’t stress about changing gears. She’d hated manual drive.

Rob could almost hear Ben’s mocking laughter. So what if he’d loved taking care of her? Making the financial decisions and working hard at establishing his firm so he could provide for her had been his pleasure. So had planning their future.

Shit, his brother said he belonged a few centuries back, but what the hell was wrong with taking control and providing for the woman you loved?

Everything
,
if it makes her leave you at the altar
.

Overbearing, she’d called him. Domineering. Rob swung at the next piece of wood and clipped it sideways, knocking it off the block. Anjuli must know he was at the back; he’d parked his car at the bridge and walked the rest of the way. Was she too busy getting ready to go out with Damien to talk to him? Rumour had it that they were lovers, although Mac insisted it wasn’t true.

The ceilidh was on Saturday, and two days later he was heading to America, where he would tour the proposed school sites and meet with local government officials about their requirements. If he decided to take the job he would leave all thoughts of Anjuli behind. Living in Boston, he would be able to walk into a bar or supermarket without wondering if she was inside. Without every part of his body on alert in case he saw her.

As it was now. His back was turned, but he knew the second Anjuli came round the corner. He heard her small intake of breath and felt her lingering gaze on his arms and back. Rob yanked the axe out of the wood and fought back his embarrassment. He wasn’t in the habit of going shirtless in front of women and her abrupt stop made him acutely aware he was half-naked.

He straightened, glanced at her and changed his mind about putting on his shirt. Her gaze was fixed on the V of dark hairs above his waistband, and she looked as though she was being tortured on a rack.

Good
.

He knew it was petty—hell, it was downright arrogant—but he wanted her to get an eyeful of what she’d thrown away and regret it.

Like he regretted losing her.

Rob swung the axe into the large chunk of wood with vicious force. Beaded sweat ran down his chest, and his shoulders and arms bunched tightly as he wrenched it back out. He swung again and the wood split with a loud crack. With a grunt, he flung the pieces into the pile next to him.

Then he rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms, a faint smile on his face. “Have you seen your fill or should I continue?”

Anjuli stepped out of the shadows. The flush on her face made him want to feel her hot skin against his lips. “You didn’t have to inconvenience yourself,” she said hoarsely. “I’m chipping away at it slowly.”

“Learning new skills?”

Anjuli looked between her pile of wood and his and sighed, “Damien bought me the axe and gave me a wood-chopping lesson.”

And what other kind of “lessons” had he given her? Rob grabbed his shirt and slung it over his shoulder before strolling towards her.

She backed away. “C-can I offer you a coffee for your efforts?”

He needed a shower and a change of clothes before meeting clients in Carlisle for dinner. “For starters.”

Anjuli whirled around, and he followed her into Castle Manor, eyes on her hips...her bottom. It’s pert, generous contours made his hands ache to cup it, and he mentally cursed himself for the urge.

Reiver was on his bed in the kitchen but didn’t jump up to greet them. Anjuli bent over, patted him, and crooned, “Oh honey, you still feeling droopy?”

Fuck. Her husky voice wound its way down to his cock and held on like a vice. He used to love easing her onto him, squeezing her cheeks as she came apart and listening to her voice as she sang her pleasure. Gripping her fingers in his as he exploded inside her.

Her hands trembled on the gas lighter, and she fumbled with the old cooker controls.

A wry smile. “My cooker is temperamental.”

“Like its owner?”

“Funny, Douglas,” she said, then blushed a deeper shade of pink and cleared her throat. “Rob.”

Calling him by surname was a slip into the past, to a time when they’d been able to tease each other, a time when he’d exacted his revenge in the best way possible. Rob walked over to Anjuli, holding his hand out for the lighter. Their fingers touched and he looked down, surprised at her skin’s coarseness. Red and chapped, no longer the smooth fingertips that had tapped melodies onto his skin after they made love.

“What have you been doing, lass?”

She yanked her hand away. “Dish washing at the pub, stripping wallpaper in the hallway...playing Canadian logger in the back garden.” She gestured at a small pot on the windowsill. “I’ve tried all sorts of creams, and Ash’s homemade moisturiser smells as bad as her Monday specials.”

Rob lit the hob, then firmly grasped her hands and examined them. “I’ll bring you what I use tomorrow.” At the lift in her brows, he gave her a self-mocking smile. “A man ought to take care of himself—a woman too.”

A rueful glance at her hands. “Well, this woman has filled that bin liner over there with mouldy wallpaper from the kitchen.”

“I’ll hire someone to do that for you.”

Something like alarm flashed in her eyes. “I prefer to do it myself.”

“You’re no’ a pampered celebrity?”

Proudly, she surveyed her handiwork. “I can strip with the best of them.”

Didn’t he know it.

Reiver whined and Anjuli looked at him, a worried expression on her face.

“What’s wrong with him?” Rob asked, crouching to give Reiver a scratch.

“I don’t know, but it’s time to call Damien for a checkup,” she murmured.

As long as he didn’t give
her
one. Rob opened his mouth, then closed his lips over demands that she see the vet only at the clinic. The kettle’s sharp whine disguised his long, deep breath, and by the time Anjuli had put mugs, milk and sugar on the table he was under control. Somewhat.

“Mrs. P. phoned this morning,” Anjuli said, the tiny space between her brows furrowed. “I’m to receive an invoice for works carried out to date. How much...” She paused and sucked in her bottom lip. “How much do you need?”

As soon as he saw Mrs. P. he would tell her to stop making decisions about his client accounts. He would charge Anjuli as per their arrangement and not a day earlier. He didn’t appreciate her interference and neither, it seemed, did Anjuli. Her tense, watchful expression set his back up. Did she think he needed the money or that he was going back on their agreement? “I told her your job is on account and it’s staying that way unless you wish otherwise. I’m a man of my word.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s fine. I can pay but I’ll need to sell some shares and that takes time. Better to do it in one lump sum to avoid...paying too much tax.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have worried about her not being on the ball with the restoration. “I never thought I’d see the day you kept control over your finances.”

“I didn’t either,” she muttered, and set the coffee in front of him.

She’d made it black, two level spoons of sugar, exactly as he liked it. But he couldn’t drink it. Funny how sometimes the little things cut the deepest. How many times had she made coffee for him in the past? At his parents’ house, during his finals at his flat in Edinburgh. After sex.

God damn it! The past was gone and Anjuli was a different woman. One who spent her time doing DIY instead of singing or—

“Where’s the piano?”

She rubbed her collarbone, drawing his eyes to the rise and fall in her throat. “I put it into storage. All that dust from the upstairs walls being knocked through for the en suites wouldn’t be good for it, not to mention the dust from gutting the kitchen.”

He agreed. “You can’t have under-floor heating by the way. The flagstones are part of the ‘listed features’ so all we’ll do is replace the missing ones. If you want marble-top counters, a big range cooker and everything else you detailed in your kitchen wish list, be prepared to spend another twenty grand when the time comes. We’ll have to order the marble cut in advance.”

A barely audible sigh. “I might decide to leave the kitchen as it is for a while. It’s got a certain charm.”

Rob lifted his eyes to the holes in the wall. “You’ve papered them over with the Saltire. I’d say that’s charming.”

Not so charming, the nationalist article against the influx of English moving to Scotland, “stealing” jobs and housing, applying to Scottish universities and “pushing out” supposedly more worthy academic candidates. Battle re-enactments and newspaper articles reminding the population of the bitter past between the two countries were on the rise. Alarming, the increase in xenophobia, and even more so, the spate of new graffiti on the outside walls.
Sassenach
,
go home
.

“Did you see the lovely messages left for me?” she asked angrily. “Here we are, supposedly civilised, and yet people insist on remembering past grievances. They can’t forgive and live in the present, or...” She gave him a look more layered than the deepest foundation. “Accept that it’s over. Finished. Time to move on as friends.”

Rob pushed back his chair and stood. “Isolating yourself will no’ solve your problems.”

“Says the man who lives in the middle of a forest,” she said drily.

“Aye, but I’m no’ alone,” he said. “And I can protect myself.”

She looked affronted. “I do not need protecting, and certainly not from random kids spraying graffiti. Besides, I’ve got Reiver. What more could a woman need?”