The storm hit as Martin reached the car park at the top of the high street.
He cursed under his breath, and made a dash for his car. The snow blinded him, assisted by the screaming wind. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, never mind his car. There was no possible way that he was leaving. Not today, and most likely not for days.
Now, all he had to do was find his way back to the antique shop—and hope that Maggie would accept his apology. He certainly owed her one, after his spectacularly horrifying treatment of her.
His chance of reaching the shop to offer that apology looked grim. He used the closest vehicle as support, and what little cover it offered as he crouched beside it, and tried to orient himself.
The wind shifted, and he got a glimpse of the line of shops at the edge of the car park Afraid to expose himself to the lash of the wind, he hiked his backpack over one shoulder, and crawled across the tarmac, headed toward where he saw the buildings.
His head found the sharp corner of the first shop. He hunched against it, cursing under his breath as he rubbed his forehead. Step one was complete. Now, all he had to do was follow the shops down to Maggie.
“Right, mate,” he muttered, his head throbbing from the impact. When he pulled his hand away, he saw blood on his fingertips. “That’s all you need to do.”
He slipped the other strap over his shoulder, and wrestled with the waist straps, snapping them together. That was one less thing to deal with, while he made his way through the storm.
The cold seemed to focus on the laceration on his forehead, and his head pounded every time he moved. He ignored the pain as best he could, kept one hand on the building next to him, and leaned into the storm as he inched forward. His fingers slid over glass; it felt like ice against his skin, and he wanted to snatch his hand away. Instead, he spread his palm over the glass and kept moving.
A hard gust slammed into him and tossed him at the window. He feared for a moment that he would go straight through the plate glass. Finally, the wind let him go, and he sank to his knees, shaking from the shock, from the increasing cold.
I will not give up, steps away from her.
Martin knew he was more than steps from Maggie. Blocks would be a better indication of distance, but the words helped him stand, pushed him forward. He couldn’t see beyond his nose—and realized that part of the problem were his glasses.
He took them off, and carefully tucked them in the pocket of his coat. Their removal improved his visibility, but left his eyes vulnerable to the assault of the wind and snow. He pulled his scarf up, until it covered most of his face, leaving just enough clearance for him to peer over the top of the ice crusted wool.
After a few shallow breaths, he started moving again. His lungs ached from the cold, every old injury he had sustained in his career coming to painful life. He silently cursed his body, his temper, and the fact that he had left his gloves in the warm flat above Maggie’s shop.
A flat he would be in at this moment, if he hadn’t allowed his foolish pride to take over when Maggie had refused to agree with him.
It was as if his father had been speaking through him. Good lord, he had even looked down his nose at her. If Maggie did open the door to him, he would spend the rest of his life making up for his callous treatment.
A strong gust knocked him against the building, and his throbbing head smacked the brick wall. A white-hot burst of pain nearly buckled his knees. He fumbled for his mobile, and prayed that he would have service.
When he squinted at the screen, he saw one bar. It might be enough.
***
Maggie kept herself busy by helping Ashton bring in wood for the woodstove near the front counter, and the two fireplaces in the shop. She wanted to stay downstairs, just in case. Once the fires were stoked and crackling, she made a pot of coffee for Ashton, and plugged in the tea kettle. Her nerves were already frayed; caffeine would only make her jittery at this point.
She moved to the window for the hundredth time—and jerked back when a face appeared out of the snow.
“Enid? Good heavens—” She ran to the door and unlocked it, shoving it open against the screaming wind. Enid huddled next to the window, covered in snow. “Come inside, quickly.”
She helped Enid into the shop, tightening her grip when the older woman stumbled.
“Thank—you, dear.” Enid’s voice shook. Her entire body shook, and Maggie was afraid the woman would go into shock before she could get to the fireplace.
“Ashton—get me a blanket. There’s a stack of them—”
“I know where.” He sprinted to the next room, coming back with several blankets. He dropped them on the floor, and helped Maggie lower Enid to one of the chairs they’d placed in front of the fireplace. “Stay right there, Mrs. Phillips. We’ll have you right as rain in no time.”
With a care that surprised Maggie, he eased Enid out of her snow-covered coat, then wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, laying a second over her legs.
Maggie crouched next to her while Ashton ran to get a hot cup of tea. “What were you doing out there?”
“Oh, I am such a fool.” She huddled in the blanket, her cheeks red. Maggie took her hands and gently rubbed them, shocked by how icy her skin felt. “I was at The Tea Caddy when the storm hit, and I thought I could reach my shop with no problem. But the snow came in, so hard and so quickly, before I was halfway across the street.”
She swallowed, and Maggie stood, pulling a chair closer so she could hug the older woman. “You made it here. You’re safe now, Enid, and you can stay as long as you need.”
“Thank you, my dear girl.” She smiled up at Aston, accepting the tea with a steadier hand. “Thank you, lad. What a dear, kind young man you are.” She took a sip, and sighed. Maggie felt her shudder, and picked up another blanket, draping it over the first. “I can’t seem to warm myself.”
“It’s going to take a little time. Stay by the fire, and drink your tea. There’s plenty more, as long as the power doesn’t go out. And if it does, I can fire up the generator in the back room, or heat water over the fire. Are you hungry?” She knew she was babbling. Thinking about Martin out in that storm terrified her.
How far did he get before it hit? Was he trapped somewhere, in his drafty car? She felt so helpless—
The shop phone rang, and all three of them jumped.
Maggie pushed to her feet, not daring to hope. She reached over the counter and grabbed the phone. “The Ash Leaf, how can I help?”
“Maggie—I—out—storm—”
The connection kept breaking up, but she recognized Martin’s voice. “Where are you? Martin—tell me where you are.”
Static answered her.
“No—Martin, I need you to repeat that.” Please, don’t let the connection die. Not yet. “Martin—”
“High street. I—don’t—after me.”
“Too late. I’m halfway out the door.” She tossed the phone to Ashton and grabbed her heaviest coat off the rack. “Keep him on the line. Tell him I’m on my way.”
“Maggie, you can’t go out there. You’ll not find your way back.”
He was right. Enid barely made it across a street she knew better than her own home...
An idea blossomed. A crazy idea, and there might not be enough for it to work. She ran into the back room and grabbed the coil of rope she kept for securing oversized furniture.
“Here.” She handed it to a wide-eyed Ashton, taking one end and tying it around her waist, under the coat. “This will help us get back. I need you to play it out, and keep a hold on it. When I tug once, it means I found him. If I tug twice, at any time, you pull me back. Okay?”
“Okay.” He followed her to the door. “I’ll need my coat.”
Maggie took the rope long enough for him to shrug into his coat, using the delay to pull her knit hat and gloves out of her coat pocket and put them on. He came back, wearing a heavy wool coat, leather gloves, and carrying a scarf.
“This is for you, Maggie.” He held out the long wool scarf.
She took it, nodding her thanks, and handed him the rope. Enid joined them, concern in her eyes.
“Maggie, dear. I understand why you feel you need to do this, but—”
“Can you help Ashton? One of you needs to keep Martin on the phone, as long as you can. Tell him I’m on my way.”
Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and stepped into the storm.
***
Martin lowered the mobile when the connection died. He had gotten through, long enough to let Maggie know where he was. Long enough to put her in danger.
He knew she would come after him, defying anyone to stop her. That courage was one of the many reasons he loved her.
With a groan, he pushed to his feet, and braced himself for the keening wind that already tugged at him. Even if it took the last of his strength, he would keep moving forward, heading for her.
He stumbled forward, his numb hand sliding along the brick wall. When he turned on to the street, the wind smacked him—and an obstacle in the middle of the sidewalk pitched him forward.
***
The cold shocked Maggie.
She covered her nose and mouth with the scarf, grateful that Ashton had given it to her. Taking a deep breath, she laid one hand on the building, the other hand clutching the rope around her waist, and started walking.
The wind played with her, trying to slam her against a brick wall, or a window. She could barely see beyond her nose, but she trusted that she was headed in the right direction. Martin would have headed toward the car park at the top of the street.
He obviously hadn’t made it to his car.
She shoved down the terrifying thought that she could walk right past him and not even know it, and focused on scanning every inch of the sidewalk. Every time she hit one of the narrow alleys or side streets, she moved in a few steps and shouted for Martin. By the third alley her throat was raw.
Swallowing, she ignored it, ignored the tingling in her hands, her feet, her face, and kept moving forward. The wind shifted, and she spotted what looked like a snow drift on the sidewalk. It disappeared behind a fresh burst of snow, but she had marked the spot.
Panic threatened to choke her. She fought it, and kept moving. Whatever she found, she would deal with it.
“Please, Martin,” she whispered. “Please be alive.”
Not trusting that she wouldn’t walk right past the pile, she got on her hands and knees and crawled forward, reaching her hand out and sweeping it from side to side. She almost screamed when her fingers hit up against something soft, and cold.
“Martin—” She started shoving snow off the still figure, terror giving her fresh strength. “Martin!”
“Here.” A familiar hand reached out. Above the bulk she fought to unbury. “Maggie?”
She gripped his hand. “I’ve got you.” She tugged on the rope once, surprised that it was taut behind her. An answering tug let her know that Ashton was still there, on the other end. She leaned over the bulk, and got her first clear look at Martin.
Blood streaked his face, which looked as white as the snow that clung to it.
“Body,” he shouted, his voice hoarse. She frowned, and he pointed between them. “Tripped over him.”
Maggie leaned over, and saw that Martin had cleared snow from the victim’s face. Her heart skipped when she recognized him.
It was the man who had threatened her earlier.
“He’s not going anywhere.” She smiled at the grin that flashed across Martin’s face. “Let’s get you home.”
She crawled around the body, and grabbed Martin’s arm. Using the building, she helped him stand, keeping herself between him and the slapping wind. He draped his arm over her shoulders, shivering against her. She tugged on the rope twice, and started walking.
Martin stumbled every few steps, and lost his footing as they crossed one of the side streets. Maggie yanked at the rope, trying to get Ashton to stop. They hadn’t set up a signal for him to stop pulling her. Now he was dragging her away from Martin.
She fumbled with the knot, half a dozen feet away when she finally freed herself. They were close enough to the shop to find their way. They had to be.
“Martin.” She crouched next to him.
“You—untied yourself.”
“I couldn’t leave you. Can you stand?” Shouting above the wind was ravaging her voice. Martin sounded much worse. “Stop thinking what you’re thinking. I’m not leaving without you.”
He shook his head, and pushed himself up to his knees. Maggie helped him to his feet, both of them fighting for breath by the time she got him upright. Without the rope to anchor her, she felt the rage of the wind. It threatened to shove them back the way they came, and she pushed back, hauling Martin with her.
The weather wouldn’t win. Not this time.
She was so focused on keeping Martin upright, on putting one foot in front of the other, that she almost ran into the figure that appeared in front of her.
“Maggie!” Ashton grabbed her arm, shielding her from the wind. “We thought we lost you. Come on.”
He took Martin from her, and gripped her hand, leading her the last few feet to the door of her shop. She realized that he must have been standing outside all this time, to give her more leeway with the rope.
They tumbled inside, and Enid slammed the door, locking it behind them. Maggie crawled over to Martin and cradled his cheek, scared by how cold he felt, even through her glove.
Blankets appeared before she could ask for them. Ashton helped her get Martin out of his wet clothes, Enid fetching a pair of warm pajamas and his robe from the flat upstairs. Martin didn’t even blink.
Ashton picked him up and carried him over to the fireplace, settling him on another blanket, as close to the fire as he could get without burning. Enid laid more blankets over him, and set a first aid kit on the floor as she knelt beside him.
“Ashton,” she said. “Get Maggie out of that wet coat. I left warm clothes on the front counter for her. Go and change, dear. I will look after Martin while you do.”
Maggie let Ashton lead her over to the counter, and pull off her coat, her hat, her gloves, and the scarf he’d given her. Delayed shock finally smacked her, and she shivered uncontrollably.
“Here,” Ashton said, handing her the pile of clothes. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
He headed back to Martin and Enid. Maggie stayed where she was and stripped out of her wet clothes, her hands shaking so badly she was afraid she might need help. She managed, and pulled on the heavy flannel nightgown, matching robe, and the thick wool socks Enid had chosen for her.
She made her way back to Martin, kneeling beside Enid. “How is he?” she whispered. She didn’t think she’d be able to manage more than that for at least a couple of days. Her throat felt like it had been flayed.
“He has a right nasty cut on his forehead. It looks like he ran into a building.”
“I did.” Martin’s raw whisper had her leaning over him. “You shouldn’t have come after me.”
“You’re welcome.”
He smiled, and let out a moan as Enid dabbed at the cut on his forehead. The older woman cleaned and bandaged his wound like a pro.
“That should do him.” She nodded at Maggie. “I have some of your leftover soup heating upstairs. Ashton and I will go and check on it, bring everything down here when it is ready.”
“Thank you, Enid.”
Maggie watched her all but drag Ashton across the shop. Martin’s hand closed over hers, and she took a shaky breath before she met his eyes.
“I am so sorry, Maggie, for every word I said. I was angry that—”
“I didn’t agree with you?”
“Yes.” He sighed, and ran his free hand through his still damp hair. “You believed in me, when it was foolish to do so, and I accused you of doing the same with Ashton. I understand if you can’t forgive me for—”
She cut him off by kissing him.
By the time they came up for air, she was stretched out next to him, caught in his arms.
“It looks like we just had our first real fight,” she whispered. “We’ll have to make up properly when we’re alone.”
He let out a raw laugh, and pulled her in to kiss her again. She held on to him, grateful that he was here to hold on to. That he was safe, alive...
The body.
“Maggie?”
“The man you found out there. I know who he is—who he was.”
“How?”
“I saw him arguing with the victim, the day before the festival. He warned me off earlier today, told me to keep my nose out of business that didn’t concern me.”
“If they knew each other, that means—”
“Ashton knew both of them.” And Ian had let him go, before she got back to the station. He’d had time to kill, before he caught up with her. Maggie didn’t want to believe it. But the facts were staring her in the face. “Martin, what if—”
A loud, feminine throat-clearing interrupted her. Maggie knew, before she looked up, that Aston would be standing there with Enid.
She pushed to her knees. “Ashton—”
“I will leave, Miss Mulgrew, as soon as the storm eases.”
“You will do no such thing,” Martin said. He stood, and Maggie heard the groans he managed to suppress with every move. She stood with him, her muscles complaining at the movement. “If you run, Ashton, you’ll leave no doubt in Ian’s mind. He will come at you as a suspect, instead of a person of interest. Trust me, you do not want to be in that position.”
“You think I’m guilty, and you are the most open minded people in this village!”
“Ashton.” Maggie cleared her throat, flinching when she did. “You overheard a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. I spew when I’m sorting things out, especially when I can’t write them down. I’m sorry—I wasn’t thinking. Ouch.” She rubbed her throat, her voice cracking very other word.
Martin took over for her, even though his voice wasn’t in much better shape. “Stay. Let us find the truth. If you want the truth discovered.”
“I do.”
Maggie nearly sagged against Martin. She knew the question had been a test, one that Ashton passed. For now.
There were too many coincidences, to many connections between him and the victims. It was time for some hard talking. But that could wait until morning, when they weren’t exhausted from their battle with the storm. Ashton had done so much, stepped up without being asked, and risked himself to save people he hardly knew.
Maggie pushed everything aside, and took Martin’s hand. “Let’s go upstairs and eat. Then we can figure out the sleeping arrangements.”
Enid squeezed her shoulder, then headed over to the fireplace, adding another log before she used the poker to stoke the fire. “I’ll take care of the other fire, and meet you upstairs. No sense in losing the heat down here.”
“Martin.” He glanced down at her, his grey blue eyes vulnerable without his glasses. “Can you make it up the stairs?”
“For a bowl of the soup I can smell from here, I will happily crawl up the stairs. I am fine, love. Sore, so tired I can barely see straight, but fine. Thanks to you.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over the top of her head. “Thanks to you.”
She let go of his hand and slipped her arm around his waist. “I’d do it again.”
“I hope you never have to, but I appreciate the sentiment. And your enthusiasm.”
Laughter burst out of her. The last of her fear melted away, and she led him to the staircase at the back of the shop. They had passed their first big test as a couple. She was afraid that her last words to him had been her last words, but their bond turned out to be stronger than she thought.
No matter what happened, or where they ended up, she knew they would be there together.