Saving Mr Scrooge (Moorland Heroes Book 2)

by Sharon Booth

  Saving Mr Scrooge

  Sharon Booth

  Fabrian Books

  Published in Great Britain in 2017 by:

  FABRIAN BOOKS

  Kent, England

  www.fabrianbooks.com

  Copyright © 2017 Sharon Booth.

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Berni Stevens.

  www.bernistevensdesign.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

  About the Author

  Sharon started writing as a child, when her Tammy comic proved far too short a read, and she decided to continue the stories herself, rather than wait a whole week to find out what happened next. This resulted in a hundred-page novel, complete with illustrations, about a boarding school for girls who wanted to be ballerinas. As she had never been to boarding school and didn't know the first thing about ballet, it's fortunate that no copies of this masterpiece exist.

  She now writes contemporary romance with plenty of humour—much to her mother's dismay, as she was convinced Sharon was destined to be the next Catherine Cookson.

  Sharon lives in East Yorkshire with her husband and German Shepherd dog, and fits writing in around her job with the NHS, five grown-up children and hordes of grandchildren. She is a member of the Romantic Novelists' Association, one tenth of The Write Romantics, and is shamefully prone to all-consuming crushes on fictional heroes.

  Find out more about Sharon on her website:

  www.sharonboothwriter.com

  Also available by Sharon Booth

  Kearton Bay Series

  There Must Be an Angel

  A Kiss from a Rose

  Once Upon a Long Ago

  Skimmerdale Series

  This Other Eden

  Moorland Heroes Series

  Resisting Mr Rochester

  Fabrian Books' Feel-Good Novels

  Baxter's Christmas Wish

  New Doctor at Chestnut House ~ Bramblewick 1

  Christmas at the Country Practice ~ Bramblewick 2

  For my grandad, George Booth,

  who was the first person to make me really believe.

  And for DM, who was the second.

  Chapter One

  Marley was dead, to begin with. Well, she wasn't breathing, and that was pretty dead, in Kit's opinion.

  His father used to joke about stuff like that all the time. Whenever a death was mentioned, someone was bound to say, "What did he die of?" and his dad would always reply, "Shortage of breath," before cackling away to himself.

  Kit's mother always said he was heartless, which was a bit rich, come to think of it.

  Anyway, ironically, his father had died of a heart attack, so there must have been a heart in there somewhere. Kit wasn't with him when it’d happened. He was abroad—just about as far away from his parents as it was possible to get, without launching himself into outer space—so he hadn't seen him actually die. He'd never seen anyone die, and he wasn't about to start that night.

  Looking at Marley, lying so still on the floor of The Blue Lamp public house, he knew he had to do something fast, or she would stay dead. She'd never forgive him for that. Knowing Marley, the shame of dying on the floor of a pub would kill her—so to speak.

  Christ, all this on his first night back in Yorkshire, and only his second back in England. A dead body to deal with, and Marley’s, of all people!

  "Do something. Please."

  Hazel eyes—quite like Marley's own, Kit realised with a shock—stared at him, wide with fear. The young woman beside him was pleading with him to act, as if he was the only one who could do so.

  Would it sound pathetic to shout for help?

  He supposed if there was a doctor in the place, they'd already have stepped forward.

  He tried to fight the growing panic. That wouldn't help anyone, least of all Marley. He'd already slapped her on the back several times, and then he'd tried abdominal thrusts, but whatever she was choking on had refused to budge. She'd slumped in his arms, and, full of desperation, he'd laid her on the floor and tried again.

  Part of him thought it was hopeless, but he wasn't about to give up on her. Not this time.

  "Come on, Marley," he muttered. "Don't do this to me. Breathe!"

  Something whizzed by his ear, followed by a faint ping of an object hitting someone's glass.

  Marley made a weird sort of noise, and it was Kit's turn to slump—with sheer relief. He felt drained.

  She opened her eyes and stared up at him.

  His heart thumped. God, those eyes! Without even thinking about it, he brushed back a strand of her hair and smiled down at her. "It's okay. You'll be fine now."

  "Jesus?"

  It was barely a whisper, but Kit's heart fluttered in response. Then he realised what she'd said. She thought he was Jesus? Well, that's what you got for not having a haircut in months, and he still had his beard, too. He knew he should have shaved it off that morning, but he'd got used to it. Getting rid of it would’ve been like accepting that he was back. That life was about to change—and not for the better.

  Anyway, he'd rather she thought he was Jesus, to be honest. If she recognised him, things could get very awkward.

  "Marley! Oh, thank God you're all right." The girl with eyes like Marley's crouched beside Kit, placing her hand on his shoulder.

  Then another young woman threw herself to her knees and grabbed Marley's hand. "You scared me to death! Trust you to take all the attention."

  Her enormous breasts were threatening to suffocate Marley. How, Kit wondered, could anyone take the attention from that cleavage? She certainly had it on display for everyone to admire.

  Hastily, he stood up. As more people crowded around Marley, he bent down and whispered to the first woman, "I'd get her checked over at the hospital, just to be sure."

  "Yes, yes, I will. Thank you so much." She nodded, and Kit had an awful feeling she was about to ask who he was.

  More women looked away from Marley and towards him, a question in their eyes.

  Time to go.

  He pushed his way out of the pub, gladly swapping the heat that’d grown unbearable, the garish Christmas lights, and the annoying festive songs, for the welcoming, cool, quiet darkness of the village street.

  Well, that had been a baptism of fire. He'd only nipped into the pub to have a quiet meal before heading back to Farthingdale. Trust him to pick The Blue Lamp, where a raucous hen party had arrived just after his steak and chips had been placed on the table. He'd intended to eat quickly and leave immediately, but events had scuppered those plans. Marley had scuppered those plans. Marley, of all people!

  The memory of the last time he'd seen her made him shiver. But she could have died! He'd almost lost her. Again. Not that she was his to lose—not anymore. Even so, seeing her like that, so lifeless ...

  Kit's stomach turned over, and he fought back the nausea. It was just the shock, he thought. It had been traumatic, seeing someone—anyone—almost lose their life like that. It didn't mean anything.

  Over the years, he'd comforted himself with the thought that, just maybe, she'd grown matronly and plain. No such luck. Even lying on the floor, a
fter nearly choking to death, there'd been something about her. And when she'd opened those hazel eyes, he'd felt something stir within him that had lain dormant for years. How could she still have that effect on him? They'd been little more than kids, really. It was crazy.

  Still, he'd known he was going to see her again, and at least this way, the shock was over and done with. And, of course, he had the advantage. She had no idea that he was going to be back in her life.

  Yes, Marley would be one very unhappy lady, come Monday morning. Let her have the weekend to recover from the trauma of the evening. She was going to need it.

  Chapter Two

  Olivia made the whole thing sound exciting, as she recounted the story to our mother.

  I, on the other hand, was fuming. It hadn't been exciting for me. I'd been scared witless, and had really thought my number was up, so I was quite offended by the way Mum just sat there, listening to every word, eyes wide, mouth open, as if she hadn't just almost lost her precious eldest daughter.

  Olivia paused for dramatic effect, then added, "And she wouldn't be sitting here now, if it wasn't for that mysterious stranger and his firm, manly grasp."

  Mum shook her head. "Fancy that," she said. "I wonder who he was?"

  "Dunno," Olivia mused. She tilted her head to one side. "I know everyone around here. He doesn't live in the village, that's for sure. Mind you, he looked as if he'd just wandered in from the nearest cave. Like he's been living in the wilderness for months. He needed a shave and a haircut, I'll tell you that much."

  Mum pulled a face. "Did he smell? He had his hands all over our Marley."

  Olivia laughed. "No, he didn't smell. He was clean, and very smart, apart from all that hair. You know," she added thoughtfully, "there was something about him. I'm sure I've seen him before somewhere."

  "Maybe he's off the telly?" Mum suggested.

  "A telly star in Moreton Cross?" Olivia laughed. "Not likely, is it?"

  "What a mystery." Mum shook her head. "And such a shame you never got the chance to ask his name."

  I'd had just about enough of their conversation. Talk about missing the point! "Excuse me, what does it matter?" I demanded. "Didn't you hear what she just said? I died! Dead! Brown bread! Your eldest daughter departed from this world. Does that mean nothing to you?"

  "Don't be so dramatic, Marley. You came back quick enough," Mum said, with astonishing heartlessness. "And aren't you curious? Surely, you want to know who saved your life?"

  Olivia nodded in agreement. "He was a real hero. Proper hunky, too, underneath all that hair."

  "You're a married woman," Mum reminded her. "Pity Marley didn't think to ask, though."

  "No, well, I was a bit busy at the time," I said pointedly. "You know, what with dying and everything."

  "How embarrassing." Mum shook her head. "Thank God you survived. What would I have told the neighbours? Of all the ways to peg it, that would have been the very worst."

  "Choking on a peppermint penis!" Olivia giggled. "Trust you, Marley. You were supposed to suck it, not take a bloody big bite out of it."

  "Pity any bloke you end up with." Mum shuddered. "No wonder you're single. Still."

  I could hardly believe it. Not only was my demise being talked about in a breathtakingly cavalier fashion, but I was being blamed for the cause of my death! "You do realise what just happened to me? I died, people! Died!"

  Olivia leaned forward, her eyes wide. "What did you see?"

  "See?" I shrugged, bemused. "Stars, mostly. I think that was just before I passed out."

  "But didn't you see anything else? I mean, come on. You'd actually stopped breathing. You were dead. So, did you see—you know—heaven?"

  "Or the other place," Mum added, folding her arms. "Did you see any flames? Hear any screams? Meet a bloke dressed in red, carrying a pitchfork?"

  "Oh, well, thanks very much! Is that what you think of your eldest daughter?"

  "Well," she said, sounding thoughtful, "you can be a bit selfish, after all."

  "Pardon?"

  "And self-centred," added Olivia. "Think the whole world revolves around you."

  "And materialistic," Mum continued. "You do seem obsessed with possessions. You know, buying things. How many pairs of shoes do you need?"

  "That's charming."

  "And two-faced."

  "Two faced?" I spluttered. "How can you say that?"

  "Easily. Think of Great Uncle Charles."

  "He hasn't got anyone else." I felt a bit uncomfortable. "I know he's mean and grumpy, and tight as a gnat's bum, but he's lonely and sad, and we should make the effort to see him. It's hardly my fault he's also loaded, and we're his only relatives."

  "There you go," Mum said, triumphantly. "Two faced and materialistic. Don't tell me you'd still visit him if he was skint, because we both know you wouldn't go anywhere near him."

  I bit down a response. It was all very unfair.

  "You're quite vain, too." Olivia settled back in her chair again. "You can't pass a mirror without checking your reflection."

  "And snobbish," Mum said, obviously getting into her stride.

  "I am not snobbish!"

  "I beg to differ," Mum said firmly. "You look down on other people. You're quite superior."

  "I am not!"

  "Yes, you are," said Olivia. "You look down on me for working in the factory, for a start."

  "Well, come on," I said, "I mean, the production line in a factory! You passed exams. You had a good job. Until you had children, I mean. Now working in a sweet factory seems to be enough for you. Why?"

  "You work in that factory, too," she reminded me.

  "In the office. That's quite different. I'm a PA, remember! You wouldn't catch me in one of those daft hats, standing on the factory floor all day. I can't understand how you could settle for that."

  "Maybe because, unlike you, a career isn't the most important thing to me."

  "It's only important to her because she can't find a man," Mum said.

  Had I travelled back to nineteen-fifty? "I've had boyfriends!" I glared at them. "Just because I don't mention them—"

  "You have not! I can't remember a single boyfriend. No man would be good enough for you, let's face it," Olivia said. "And that's your problem in a nutshell, Marley. Nothing is ever good enough for you. This house, this village, your job, men, your family. You always want more."

  I opened my mouth to protest, but somehow the words died in my throat before I could get them out. Was that what they thought of me? I wanted to defend myself, but I knew the conversation could take me to places I had no wish to revisit. "There's nothing wrong with a woman wanting a career more than she wants a man," I managed eventually. "Just because I want to better myself, it's hardly a crime."

  "No. It's not a crime." Mum's tone plainly showed that it was hardly something to be proud of, either—at least, in her book.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to point out that marriage was hardly something that had worked out for her, and that she, of all people, should be encouraging her daughters to build a life independent of any man, but I didn't. I could never hurt her like that, even if she was pushing me to the limits of my patience.

  The fact was, they didn't understand, and how could I make them understand, without stirring up painful memories and leading us down a path we'd avoided for a long time? I couldn't, and I wouldn't, anyway. They weren't the only ones who would be hurt, and I'd had a rough enough twenty-four hours, thank you very much.

  "I reckon if you found the right bloke, you'd think differently," Olivia said. "What a shame you didn't get the opportunity to find out who your guardian angel was."

  "Well, yes, but only because I would have liked to thank him." He'd practically broken my ribs, according to Sadie, giving me repeated abdominal thrusts, until the offending piece of penis had finally dislodged from my throat.

  "Thank him! I'd have liked to snog him," Olivia said, her eyes twinkling. "If he'd had a shave first, that is. Can't
be doing with beards. Even so, his eyes were absolutely delish. Mind you, he looked pretty horrified at what was going on in the pub before you croaked it. I saw him sitting at a table nearby, and the expression on his face! What?" she demanded, as Mum raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't eyeing him up. Just people-watching, that's all."

  I wasn't surprised my rescuer had looked horrified. Sadie—another factory worker—had gone all-out to have a hen night to remember, insisting we all wore matching T-shirts bearing her name and a rather lewd photograph, while she donned a bridal veil and tiara, and hung an L plate over her ample chest. I couldn't imagine who she thought she was fooling. Sadie Black needed no L plate when it came to her nuptials, that was certain.

  I hadn't even wanted to attend the stupid hen night. Getting plastered with a bunch of raucous girls in the tackiest pub in the village was hardly my idea of fun. The peppermint penises—or was it penii?—had been the final straw. I'd refused one at first, as, frankly, I thought them quite disgusting, but then a couple of the girls began to chant suck it at me, and the mob mentality took over, with the others joining in, their voices increasing in volume, until I was so desperate to shut them up that I'd pulled the wrapper off and shoved the offending item in my mouth. The bite had been a reflex action, and I still wasn't sure how I'd managed to choke on the chunk I'd bitten off. It was all a horrible blur of panic and noise, which was probably a good thing, and then blackness had descended.

  The next thing I remembered was opening my own eyes to gaze into the dark ones of my saviour. I remembered him reaching out and pushing a strand of my hair away from my forehead, and I remembered hearing him say, "It's okay. You'll be fine now," or words to that effect. Most of all, though, I remembered the feeling he'd invoked in me. All my panic had vanished for that moment. I'd felt … safe. Why, I couldn't say.