It took some rearranging, and collecting favors, but Martin managed to leave the site a week earlier than planned.
With less than two weeks to Christmas, he wanted to spend his time with Maggie. The new year was early enough to announce the news of their discovery—a fact he spent hours arguing over with Geoffrey.
It was worth all the pain and effort.
He walked down the high street, hands tucked in his coat pockets. What felt like an arctic wind was blowing off the Channel, and it had already chilled him, two blocks down. He walked faster, knowing that Maggie’s shop would be warm and welcoming, that she would be even more welcoming—
A figure stumbled out of the narrow side street and slammed into him.
Martin caught the man’s arm when he stumbled. He wore only shirtsleeves, his skin under the thin cotton like ice.
“Are you all right?”
“Sorry,” the man mumbled. He straightened, pushing curly brown hair off his face. “I need to go.”
“Come with me.” Martin tightened his grip when the man tried to pull away. “You’re frozen to the bone. I’m headed just down the next block.”
“Right.” He pushed the unruly hair off his face again, and Martin got a better look at him. He was younger than Martin first thought, with fine, chiseled features, and an air of vulnerability. Maggie would gather him right in. “I didn’t realize how cold it was when I—left my room.”
The hesitation had Martin listing the questions he wanted to ask. He decided to get the young man inside and warm first, before he started interrogating.
“Come.” Martin led him down the street, toward Maggie’s shop. “There will be hot tea and a warm sweater for you.”
This was hardly the romantic reunion he had envisioned, but he could hardly leave the young man on the street, half frozen and obviously disoriented.
By the time they reached The Ash Leaf, the man was shivering. Martin opened the door and pulled him inside, looking for Maggie. His heart started pounding when he saw her, bent over a twee plate, deep in discussion with the customer next to her.
The wild, beautiful red hair he loved was in a barely contained braid today, hanging down her back. The bright blue sweater she wore made him smile; he had bought it for her during a trek into the village closest to the dig, and sent it to her as a surprise. It warmed him that she wore it now, and he was relieved to see that it fit her perfectly.
She must have noticed the door opening, and glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll be right with—Martin?” She set the plate on the table in front of her and walked toward him, surprise in her crystal blue eyes. “What are you doing here? Oh, heavens.” She rushed forward, catching the young man’s arm when he started to sink to the floor. “Come over by the fire. You must be freezing.”
“Thank—you.” He managed to spit out the words between clenched teeth.
Maggie led him to the wood-burning stove in the corner, near her beautiful mahogany counter. “Sit. You,” she pointed at Martin. “Come with me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He followed her into the back room, and let out a grunt when she threw herself at him. She buried her face against his shoulder, her arms wrapped tight around his waist. There was nowhere else he wanted to be. “Hello, love.”
“How—” She lifted her head and met his eyes. “I thought you were stuck at the dig indefinitely.”
“I called in some favors.” Every one he had, but it was worth the trade. “I could not stomach the thought of spending Christmas standing in a muddy hole in the ground.”
“I missed you, so much.”
He kissed her, letting her know just how he had missed her. She cut it short, framing his face and studying him for a long moment before she let him go, grabbing the cardigan he kept in the back room.
“Don’t interrogate him, Maggie.”
She paused in the doorway, and flashed him a smile that had his heart racing. “I won’t. Not until he looks more like a human, and less like a walking icicle. Can you put on a fresh pot?”
He nodded, and moved to the doorway after she left, watching her fuss over their visitor. She had such grace, and such kindness in her. He loved her, more than he could ever express in words. But he hoped the ring in his coat pocket would be a good start.
***
Maggie closed the shop, gave the man Martin had dragged in with him a huge mug of steaming tea, and a few minutes to warm up, before she started questioning him.
“I’m Maggie. What is your name?”
“Ashton. Ashton Stewart.” He cradled the mug, his fingers still red and raw from the cold. “Thank you, for taking me in like this, when you have no idea who I am.”
“Martin wouldn’t have brought you here if he thought you were a threat.” She glanced over at Martin, looking so handsome as he stood near the woodstove. He had lost weight, and his features were even more angular because of it. Lord, she had missed him. With an effort, she turned her attention back to Ashton. “Can I ask what you were doing out in this weather, with no coat?”
He stared at the tea in his mug. “I was just outside my room in the B&B, and I—saw someone. From my past.” He looked up at Maggie, and the haunted look in his green eyes made her want to hug him. “I’ve only been in Holmestead for a few weeks, and I’ve been staying at the B&B while I search for a flat I can afford.”
Martin pulled up a chair and sat in front of him. “Who was it, mate?”
Ashton shook his head. “Not important. They must be here for the festival. I know they don’t live round here. I would have picked another village if that were the case.” He looked up at Maggie. “Please, don’t involve the local police. This will pass once they leave. I can keep a low profile, at least until the festival itself.” He gave her a shy smile. “I am in the production of A Christmas Carol.”
“How exciting. I was only going to make a quick round at the festival, but now,” she smiled at Martin, not surprised by the flush that colored his cheeks. “I believe Martin and I will enjoy your performance.”
“I would be honored, Dr. Martin. I recognize you, now that the panic isn’t obscuring everything else. And you, as well, Miss Mulgrew. You are big news here, with your resident ghost, and your inheritance.”
Maggie sighed. “I know.” She had not been happy when Floyd Wilton, the editor of the local paper, had leaked her private business by running a front page story. Thankfully, Ian quashed the story before it could go beyond the local edition. Even more thankfully, Floyd hated the internet, and refused to put the paper online. “If you could not share it, I’d be grateful.”
“No—I would never...” Ashton shook his head. “You wouldn’t know that about me, since we’ve only just met. I’m not a rumormonger.”
Maggie smiled at the archaic word. “Shakespeare fan?”
He shrugged. “Guilty, as charged.”
“So am I. We do tend to use interesting words, don’t we? I spent years curbing it. And I was doing well until I met Martin. He brings out my internal geek.” She winked at Martin, and another flush appeared, before he took off his glasses and bent over them.
She was on the verge of apologizing for her teasing—until she saw him smile.
Ashton looked from her, to Martin, and back to her. “Ah,” he said. Then he changed the subject. “Would you happen to have a few crackers, or a stray muffin?”
Maggie laughed. “I think I can scrounge something—” A loud pounding on the door interrupted her, and she almost groaned when she recognized the face pressed to the window. “Martin, can you take Ashton into the back room? I have leftovers from lunch in the fridge. I’ll take care of this.”
“Maggie—”
“It’s Floyd. I’ll deal with him.” She stepped in front of Martin and laid her hand on his chest when he started toward the door. “Please. I need to deal with this on my own.”
He studied her face, his grey blue eyes intent. Finally, he nodded, and leaned down to kiss her. “Shout if you need me.”
“I always need you, Martin. There will also be times when I need to stand on my own.” She cradled his cheek. “But it’s good to know that you’re standing behind me.”
This time she kissed him, until her knees felt wobbly.
Martin eased back, smiling at her. “I will tend to our guest. Are you free for supper?”
“Absolutely.”
He laughed at her obvious enthusiasm, and kissed her one last time, too short, but tender. “Give him hell, Maggie.”
“You bet.”
She watched Martin walk across the shop, and took a deep breath before she turned around, marching to the door. Floyd rushed over as she unlocked it, his handheld recorder headed for her face.
“Maggie—I need a few follow up—”
“Stop, Floyd.”
He looked shocked, but like a true reporter, he pushed on. “How has the new wealth changed you?”
“Turn the recorder off.”
“Maggie—I need—”
“A new, sensationalist headline. Ian warned you to let it go. Now I’m going to do the same, as politely as I can. Please, leave me alone.”
She closed the door on his objection, set the alarm, and turned the lights off. Then she changed the time on the Will Return At sign, and slapped it up for good measure. She would have to let Ian know about Floyd’s visit.
“Tomorrow,” she muttered, heading toward the back room.
Tonight, she was going to welcome Martin home.