Breaking Through (ebook)

Argumento de Breaking Through (ebook)

Fleeing a broken relationship and her ex-fiancé?s wedding to someone else, Freya Storm has convinced herself that she is absolutely fine holed up on an isolated country estate, working hard to produce a historical guide. Things seem to be going well, until a tall and handsome jogger appears one day while she is taking photographs and mistakes Freya for a tabloid journalist, causing her to smash her camera and putting the completion of her guide on time into jeopardy. Realising his mistake, the stranger offers to help in any way he can, and Freya quickly finds that things are suddenly going very well indeed.

There was a local story of a running ghost. A fifteenth-century farm worker who had taken an injured deer from the Chase for his starving children. He had been hunted through the Chase for three hours, pursued by dogs and huntsmen until he ran into a swamp and died. The lord said it was the best day of hunting he?d had all season.

Freya listened to the noise now and felt just a touch of fear.

A man appeared on the other side of the fallen tree, dressed in dark running vest and shorts, a small rucksack strapped high on his back. He was tall, muscular, gleaming with sweat, and panting heavily. ?Damn,? he grunted, pushing off extra hard with his next step in order to vault the tree.

Freya straightened up in relief. It was just a lone jogger. ?Good morning,? she said. She hadn?t even realised that the camera was still in her hands, poised as if to shoot.

?No, you don?t,? he snarled, lunging towards her.

Involuntarily, Freya took a step backwards. She tripped and the camera flew from her hands, smashing against the cottage wall. ?My camera!?

The man swerved back to the path again. He wasn?t even going to stop! ?Hey!? she yelled. ?You just broke my camera.?

?No, you broke your camera,? he called back. ?You were careless and you dropped it.?

A surge of anger pulsed through Freya. ?I needed that photograph,? she shouted, charging after him. ?My deadline is tomorrow.?

She was level with him now, close enough to see the bleakness in his eyes. ?I have no time for reporters. Get away from me and keep out of these woods.?

?I?m a historian, you stupid man! I write countryside guides. I wanted an early-morning picture of the ruined cottage for my latest one due in tomorrow.?

He slowed. ?You?re not a reporter? Not working for one of the evil red-tops??

?No. Why are you so angry? You don?t own the Chase.?

A pause. Then, ?I?m sorry. I overreacted.?

Freya was bewildered. Just like that, he?d become a different person. The anger in his voice had been replaced by defeat. No one should look like that. ?We all make mistakes,? she said gruffly, slowing to a walk. And he was right, she should have had the wrist strap on.

?Don?t we just,? he muttered. ?What sort of countryside guides??

Was he being conciliatory or did he really want to know? ?Short pamphlets ? all the fascinating little bits that I find out when I?m researching for my proper books, but which aren?t suitable for the finished volume. Or sometimes I make condensed tasters to persuade people to buy the big version. I take photographs, draw maps, have the guides printed, and then they go into local shops. I also sell them at talks ? history groups, Women?s Institute, and so on.?

?What kind of titles?? He was sounding genuinely interested.

?Anything and everything. My last was a history of Skirlethby Church. Before that it was children?s games in the Eden valley.?

?And you make a living out of them??

She didn?t blame him for sounding sceptical. ?You?d be surprised. It all adds up, especially in a tourist district. I need it, to be honest. The commissions on the big books aren?t what you might call generous.?

?I might be able to help you with the photo. I need to check first. What?s your phone number??

She handed him one of her cards.

?You live in the gate lodge??

?I?m renting it. The owners of Lord?s Chase have commissioned me to write a history of the estate, but the cottage photo was for an ongoing Secret Places booklet.?

?Sounds interesting. I?ll be in touch ?? he checked her card ?? Freya.? As he reached to put it in his rucksack, a long white scar on his upper arm and shoulder was briefly visible where his vest gaped. His muscles bunched, ready to resume his run.

?Wait ? what?s your name??

?Matt Temple,? he said as he accelerated away.

Freya made her way out of the forest, her mind full of the encounter. Why had he got so angry so quickly? He?d been quite normal later. She frowned. And why had he been running so hard? He was lean and fit, no need to push himself. And yet there had been a look of focused determination on his face when he?d first come into view.

A stream ran beside the path ? probably the reason the old cottages had been built here. She stooped, cupped her hands, and drank. Fast-flowing water was usually safe ? and this water tasted wonderful. Matt should have had some, he?d looked hot enough to need it. It occurred to Freya that it had been a long while since she?d thought so much about a living, breathing man rather than a historical figure. Not since Patrick had ? her mind shied away. Not since then.0