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Contemporary Romance by Helena Fairfax
One rainy day in London, Wyoming man Kurt Bold walks into an antique shop off the King’s Road, looking every inch the romantic hero. The shop’s owner, Penny Rosas, takes this handsome stranger for a cowboy straight from the pages of a book…but Kurt soon brings Penny’s dreams to earth with a thump. He’s no romantic cowboy—his job is in the City, in the logical world of finance—and as far as Kurt is concerned, love and romance are just for dreamers.
Events in his childhood have scarred his heart, showing him just how destructive passionate love can be. Now he’s looking for a wife, but wants a marriage based on logic and rational decisions.
Penny is a firm believer in true love. She’s not the sensible wife Kurt’s looking for. But when he hires Penny to help refurbish his Victorian house near Richmond Park, it’s not long before he starts to realise it’s not just his home she’s breathing new life into. The logical heart he has guarded so carefully all these years is opening up to new emotions, in a most disturbing way…
The Antique Love
Helena Fairfax
MuseItUp Publishing
www.museituppublishing.com
Chapter One
The tall man stood in the doorway for a second, his keen grey eyes sweeping the interior. There was a hush in the melodious murmur of customers, and for a couple of disorientating moments, Penny’s shop appeared to go into slow-mo. Then he stepped inside, his boots sounding the wooden floor, and headed toward the display in the window. His leather satchel, slung casually from one shoulder, clinked with each footfall as he strode past Penny’s counter. A few drops of rain darkened his blonde head and faded shirt, and as he passed, a hint of fresh mountain air seemed to follow in his wake. Penny leaned forward, eyes wide, following his broad shoulders as he made his way to the antiques in the window.
She touched her assistant’s arm. “See that guy who’s just walked in?” She tilted her head in the direction of the doorway and lowered her voice. “Do you think he’s a cowboy?”
The leather boots and the hard-looking gentleman stood in the window, oblivious to the attention they were receiving. When Tehmeena failed to look up, Penny tapped her arm and raised her voice. “I said that guy’s got to be a cowboy. What do you say?”
Tehmeena finally raised her head from emptying coins into the cash till, and proceeded to roll her eyes. She and Penny had been friends for a long time, and she was used to her boss’s occasional flights of fancy.
“I’d say why don't you take a look outside?” she asked, turning back to her cash register. “See any white horses tethered up?”
Penny made a pretence of swivelling her head to scan the street outside. She’d worked this shop floor since leaving school and knew exactly what she was going to see. Sure enough, there were crowds of exhausted shoppers crammed onto the pavement, a never-ending line of stationary cars and red buses, and drizzle. Endless grey drizzle. Yep, everything just normal for a Saturday in London—plenty of traffic but a distinct lack of horses.
She turned back to Tehmeena with a sigh. “I guess not,” she conceded.
“We’re a long, long way from the Wild West, Pen.” Tehmeena emptied the last of the bags with a short rattle of coins. “And I don’t think daydreaming is going to rustle us up a hero.”
Penny let out another sigh, this time a particularly hopeless one. Tehmeena lifted her head and regarded her thoughtfully.
“Everything all right?” She glanced over to the corner, where Penny’s desk stood piled high with paperwork. “Anything I can help with?”
“No, no.” Penny raised her head. “You’ve got enough to do. I just need to get to the bottom of all this.” She waved a hand toward the mountain of paper and smiled a little wryly. “Sorry to leave you in the lurch.”
“No problem. And don’t apologise. It’s not your fault. It’s all David’s fault for walking out on us like this.”
Penny grimaced in acknowledgement before shifting herself from the counter to move to her desk. Her business partner's sudden and inexplicable storming out had certainly left them high and dry. She took her seat and picked up a pen, determined to give the accounts her utmost attention, but despite herself she found her gaze drifting back to the customer in the boots and denim shirt. The guy had to be a cowboy, whatever Tehmeena said. They might be in London, but he had the rugged outdoor looks, and he definitely had the walk. His gait was loose limbed, as though the man was more used to striding through wide open spaces than sidestepping litter on a city street. A sense of boundless vigour clung to him and permeated her cluttered antique shop. Penny let her wistful gaze linger a little longer before bringing her attention back to the files on her desk. She choked down a sigh. Tehmeena was right, no point dreaming. The dull truth was she was in rain-soaked west London, struggling with the accounts, and just about a million miles from the mountains of Virginia.
She picked up the next file, willing herself to concentrate. A collection of invoices fell out in a heap, and the sight of David’s handwritten notes amongst them only added to her depression. When the cowboy crossed her line of vision again, she lifted her head. His presence was a distraction, and it seemed it wasn’t just Penny who’d noticed him. The other shoppers were straightening up in their wet raincoats, casting him surreptitious glances as he wandered around the shop. Even Tehmeena looked up from the long queue of customers, before catching Penny’s eye with a grin. Oblivious to the attention he was attracting, the cowboy bent his rain-soaked head over a box of vintage postcards. Penny watched him pick his way through the pile and wondered what he would make of the long-forgotten greetings from English seasides and country cottages. Occasionally, she heard a quiet laugh break from him at some of the saucier jokes before he dropped the card back in its slot and picked up the next.
She opened up her accounts and forced herself to concentrate for a good half hour before allowing herself to look up from the papers. When she did, she was surprised to find the cowboy still there in her shop, now engrossed in the shelves of rare books. He was giving each one the same quiet attention he had devoted to everything else since he’d come in off the wet streets. She watched curiously as he reached to remove one of the editions from a high shelf, the damp fabric of his shirt tightening over his shoulders. Although the book’s title was hidden in his wide-knuckled hand, Penny recognised the red binding instantly. It was a copy of Wuthering Heights, one of her favourites. As the quiet cowboy turned the pages, she tried to work out what he made of the passionate encounters taking place within. His stillness gave no clue, and his expression was hidden as he concentrated on the text. The man closed the book, gave the gold lettering on the spine another close examination, and replaced it carefully where he had found it. Leaving the bookshelf behind, he moved away from Penny toward the glass cabinet containing antique china, his boots sounding the wooden floor with each step.
Penny followed his straight back before wrenching her gaze once more to her desk. The image of a starry sky and a campfire and the muted sound of guitars in the warm night flashed through her mind. She examined the next invoice. What she’d give to be away from all this paperwork and in Texas country right now. And she’d even forego the cowboy. Right now she’d settle for curling up by that campfire in solitary splendour with just a copy of Wuthering Heights for company.
She forced her tired eyes back to her paperwork.
“FAO David Williams,” said the invoice. “We refer to our letter of 6th January and would remind you that we are still awaiting payment for a pair of Edwardian fluted standard lamps…”
Penny tossed the invoice down with the others and shook her head. Another one. It didn’t make sense. Her antique business had nev
er had a cash flow problem. At this rate, she was in serious danger of upsetting some carefully built-up goodwill with her suppliers.
She put her head in her hands and massaged her brow. There was no sound of guitars, but at least the muted murmur of the shop’s customers was quite restful. When a booted step approached her desk, her eyes fluttered open behind her fingers.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
The voice was low and courteous, the accent unmistakeable. So, it wasn’t just her imagination. Definitely a cowboy. Penny kept her hands over her face, unwilling to peep out in case the pleasant apparition disappeared. Maybe she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. No one but a real and actual cowboy would say ma’am so politely in this part of London, unless they were talking to the Queen.
She removed her hands from her face to find her gaze on a level with a well-defined chest in a faded denim shirt. When she tilted her head, a pair of pleasant grey eyes gazed down into hers.
A slow, enchanted smile banished her frown lines, and for a couple of seconds they regarded each other curiously. Close to, the cowboy seemed even truer to the stereotype. The faint lines etched around his eyes suggested a man who’d spent some time in the sun’s glare, and his features had a weather-beaten ruggedness not usually found on city streets. A deep tan highlighted the lines etched on each side of a mouth which lifted slightly at the corners. She found the cowboy regarding her with the same intense scrutiny he had devoted to every other item in the shop.
Penny was suddenly conscious her face had been creased and tired when she’d looked in the mirror that morning and that her blouse had become a little tight in recent months. She felt a little as though she were being examined and almost certainly found wanting. She lifted a hand to smooth down the hair escaping from her ponytail.
If the cowboy noticed her discomfiture, he gave nothing away, merely indicating the cash desk where poor Tehmeena was still dealing with a queue.
“I’m sorry to trouble you,” he said. “The other lady seemed busy, so I wondered if you could help?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Penny pushed her chair back and stood up hurriedly. “It’s not usually like this. We’re a bit short-staffed.” She ran a hand down her skirt, everything about her feeling rumpled. “What was it in particular you were interested in?”
“I’d kinda like to look in that cabinet,” he said, indicating the antique china in the far corner. “Would that be possible?”
Penny fumbled with a slim chain around her neck to produce a key. “If you’d like to show me which piece?”
The cowboy gave a small nod and stepped aside to allow her to lead the way. As she passed him, she caught the scent of his rain-soaked skin and the overwhelming sensation of the great outdoors. There was a sense of grandeur about him, somehow, as though the confines of the shop were too narrow to contain him. And so as they approached the display and the cowboy indicated the vase that had caught his interest, Penny cast him a look of surprise. It wasn’t a piece she would have expected a man like him to wish to see, although it was certainly unique.
“It’s Victorian,” she said, raising her eyes to his curiously. “A Coalport.”
She bent to unlock the glass door and removed the vase with care, lifting it closer so that he could see. “It was used to hold potpourri. Made in Coalport in Wales around 1850.”
The cowboy took a step closer, bending his head over her outstretched hands before giving a low whistle. She held the tiny vase toward him a little nervously. She was reluctant to entrust her fragile china to such an uncompromisingly masculine figure and was relieved to feel him take it with surprising gentleness. He placed the tiny vase with great care in one large palm, using the long fingers of his other hand to turn it this way and that.
Penny could understand his close scrutiny. The vase was a striking piece. Despite its tiny size, every available inch was ornamented with dramatic flowers in startling shades of pink and cornflower blue, deep reds and cream. Two turquoise and gold handles arched up from each side of the vase toward a lid bright with gilt. On top of the lid, the crowning glory was a handle which burst into the shape of an exuberant gold dahlia. If the cowboy was looking for quiet British understatement, then this certainly wasn’t it. The vase, tiny though it was, was ablaze with ornamentation.
He ran one finger carefully over a scarlet rose. “It’s beautifully crafted,” he said in his slow way.
“Yes, it’s magnificent.” There was quiet pride in Penny’s voice. “And it’s typical of the style of the time. The Victorians were very fond of this type of ornament.”
The cowboy rotated the vase in his large hands, considering a reply. Penny waited expectantly.
“And they liked potpourri,” he offered eventually, his rugged features schooled into a mask of politeness.
His reply brought a quiet laugh. “Yes, they were fond of potpourri, too,” she agreed. “I suppose it’s a bit OTT for modern taste. Nowadays we prefer things simpler. More minimalist.”
She drew nearer the cowboy and ran her own fingers over the gold dahlia.
“But I love it,” she said. Her gaze softened as she followed the curve of the flower. “Look how every petal is detailed. It may be ornate, but there’s a magnificent beauty in it.”
Her fingertips trailed further down the swell of the vase.
“And it’s not just that,” she continued, eyes bright as she warmed to her theme. “The Victorians were great lovers of romance, from their music to their literature. Look at the colours.” She gestured to the gold and turquoise handles. “They’re bursting with passion. You can almost feel the romance of it, even after a hundred and sixty years.”
Penny’s exploring fingers brushed the cowboy’s warm ones, and she pulled her hand away swiftly. Once again she’d found herself adrift in her own imagination. What would he think of her, burbling on like that? She lifted her head to find the warmth in his gaze had shifted a little. He dropped his eyes to the vase lying in his broad palm.
“I guess a lot of customers must fall for all that romantic stuff,” he said coolly.
She stiffened. David’s last, violent outburst was still ringing round her skull. Ridiculously romantic was just one of the insults he’d tossed at her when he left. A dreamer. Now it seemed even this customer thought she lived in a fantasy world. Since David’s violent departure, Penny had been feeling low and out of sorts. Now the cowboy’s innocent comment caught her on the raw, and to her dismay, she felt the misery she’d been fighting for days rise up and form a lump in her throat. She lowered her eyelids swiftly and reached out to take the vase. Suddenly the fingers of his free hand caught hers in a gentle grip. She raised her face to his, startled.
“I don’t mean any disrespect,” he said kindly. “I like how you describe things. Give them their history. It kind of makes these old objects come alive.”
The warmth of his words was reflected in the quick pressure of his fingers, and Penny was touched by the generosity of the gesture. She freed her hand, bending her head to take the vase from where it rested on his broad palm.
As she busied herself replacing it in the cabinet, she wondered what on earth he must think of her, acting all stiff and English like that? And lecturing away on history. He must think she was some sort of bossy school ma’am in her prim skirt with her hair all tied back. So it was a surprise when Penny turned round to see the stranger stretch out a friendly hand.
“My name’s Kurt,” he said.
Kurt the cowboy. Of course it had to be. Penny slipped her hand into his and gave a delighted smile. “Penny,” she said. “Penny Rosas.”
And then he smiled back, a sudden flash of white in the rainy London afternoon.
“Penny Rosas,” he repeated. “So that’s why Penny Antiques?” He lifted his head in the direction of the window, over which the shop’s name was engraved in gold lettering. “Is this your business?”
“Yes.” With David’s harsh words about her lack of business acumen still ringing in her ears
, she raised her chin a little, trying not to sound too defensive. “I started working here when I left school. Then I took over from my granddad when he retired a couple of years ago.”
The cowboy nodded slowly. “This is a great place. Real interesting.” His eyes travelled with curiosity round the shelves of mechanical toys, the collections of fans and trinkets, and the eclectic selection of antiques, before he brought his gaze back to hers. “I was hoping you could tell me some more. Maybe the history of some of the other items.” When Penny failed to answer straightaway, he added hopefully, “That is, if you have time?”
Penny thought of the accounts that were desperate for her attention. She hesitated, torn between putting the customer first—not too hard to do with this ruggedly charming cowboy, if she were honest—and giving a polite excuse. Kurt pre-empted her, smiling again in a way that even a saint would have found hard to resist.
“I was particularly interested in the jewellery.” He indicated the collection of antique gold and silver locked in a case near the window. “I need to buy a present for someone.”
That clinched it. Although Penny was knowledgeable about antiques of all kinds, jewellery was her passion. She smiled widely.
“My assistant says when I get onto my jewellery I talk too much, so stop me when I get boring.”
Kurt showed no sign at all of boredom as she displayed the pieces. He listened intently, his eyes following Penny as she gesticulated with animation. When she held up a particularly striking pendant for his inspection, the gemstones caught the light from the window, and he lifted his dark blonde head with a slow smile, enjoying her enchantment. In the glow of enthusiasm, she forgot all about her weariness and her anxiety regarding the accounts.
It wasn’t until they reached the final item that she faltered. She reached a hand toward the last silver chain and then recollected herself, retreating swiftly to pick up one of the gold pendants they had already examined. Her movements lost their fluid grace all of a sudden and became strangely stilted.
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