Second Chances at the Log Fire Cabin

by Catherine Ferguson

  Copyright

  Published by AVON

  A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

  Copyright © Catherine Ferguson 2018

  Cover design © Head Design 2018

  Cover illustration © Shutterstock

  Catherine Ferguson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Ebook Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008302481

  Version: 2018-09-19

  Dedication

  To Dave, for all your brilliant support

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  It’s the most perfect Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.

  I gaze at it from my perch on the sofa. We went a bit mad with the tinsel and it’s definitely leaning a bit towards the left – but wrapped in my happy festive glow, I swear I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

  The soft glow of the fairy lights blended with the evocative aroma of pine forest is having a thoroughly intoxicating effect on my mood. As is the warmly spiced mulled wine we drank while we decorated the tree.

  Jackson surprised me with the mulled wine. When I opened the door, he was standing there, a big smile on his handsome face, holding up one of those special gift packs that include the red wine and the cinnamon sticks and cloves.

  ‘Ooh, lovely,’ I lied.

  ‘Only the best for my best girl!’ he said, pushing the gift pack towards me. He cupped my face in his hands and gently kissed me on the tip of my nose – a tender gesture that makes my heart skip a beat every time he does it. Then he led the way into the living room. Glancing in the mirror above the fireplace, he ran a hand over his on-trend haircut with the tapered sides and volume on top, which I always think makes him look like a sexy honey-blond version of Elvis. Jackson is very proud of his hair. (Mine, by comparison, is blonde and fine, and completely resists any attempts I make to tame it.)

  Jackson sank onto the sofa, legs splayed out, and ran his eyes over me admiringly. ‘You look gorgeous tonight, Roxy Gallagher.’ There was a sexy gleam in his blue eyes. ‘Come here.’

  Heart beating fast, I walked over to him, feeling ridiculously nervous. The house was empty. My flatmate and best friend, Flo, was out with her fiancé, Fergus. I hoped Jackson didn’t think …

  But no, I’d had The Conversation with him only the week before.

  He was quite surprised when I told him I believed in taking things really slowly but it didn’t seem to put him off. If anything, he seemed tantalised by the idea of deferred gratification in the bedroom. I wondered if the novelty value had something to do with it. Because, let’s face it, there wouldn’t be many women who’d hold back for long if a tall, blond Greek-god-like man looked deep into their eyes and said, ‘Let’s go to bed. I’m going to make your wildest dreams come true.’

  Jackson says these cute, rather old-fashioned things all the time, with a perfectly serious face. If anyone else came out with them, I’d probably cackle in appreciation because I’d know they were joking. But Jackson will look at me with his mesmerising blue eyes and I’ll just melt and think: it’s the feeling behind the words.

  We’ve only been together a couple of months, but after all the trauma of the past – including having my heart well and truly stamped on by Billy, my first love – I’m finally starting to feel happy.

  I leaned down to kiss Jackson and he grabbed my waist. Then he frowned and glanced in the region of my left boob. I followed his eye and he carefully pulled away a stray thread from the top buttonhole of my silky shirt.

  ‘Better,’ he remarked, before pulling me down on top of him and proceeding to kiss me very thoroughly. When I felt his hands tugging at my shirt and creeping underneath, I broke away, smiling coyly at him.

  He sat back, folded his arms and studied me with a slightly perplexed grin.

  ‘Roxy?’ he said, and my heart lurched at the look in his eye.

  ‘Yes?’ I sounded a little breathless.

  ‘Mulled wine?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  He pointed at the presentation box that was lying on the floor.

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ Smiling, I picked it up and took it through to the kitchen, then proceeded to unpack it with a grimace. As I stirred the ingredients on the hob, I heard the TV go on, blaring with some football match.

  I’m actually not that keen on mulled wine. I remember telling Jackson this but I suppose he must have forgotten, and he looked so pleased with himself when he presented me with the package that I couldn’t bear to spoil his fun.

  In the end, I managed to throw down almost a whole glass of the revolting stuff while we decorated the tree, hiding my impulse to gag fairly well, before depositing the rest in an ornamental jug on a nearby side table.

  And now, lounging back happily on the sofa, gazing at the newly decorated tree, while Jackson makes a business call in the kitchen, I’m feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

  If I’m honest, the reason I’m feeling so blissed out and warm on this freezing late November night has less to do with the real tree (my first ever) or the effect of the mulled wine – and rather more to do with the fact that I think I might be in love.

  In fact, I’m sure I am.

  I’ve never met anyone like Jackson. He’s so gorgeous, brilliant and charming, and he could basically have any woman he wanted. But, for some weird reason, he seems to want to be with me. Plain, ordinary Roxy Gallagher.

  I said exactly this to Flo earlier, before she went out with Fergus, and she gave me a severe look and said, ‘Sto
p it, Roxy. Jackson’s the lucky one, having you in his life.’

  I laughed and said I was only joking.

  And I was. Sort of …

  We’d planned dinner out but Jackson keeps asking if I mind if we watch a bit more of the football. Until, eventually, I suggest I just make food here then he can settle down to watch the rest of the match.

  ‘You’re so good to me, Roxy.’ On my way out, he grabs my wrist and bestows on me one of his raffish, whiter-than-white smiles – the kind that makes me feel so incredibly special.

  I smile back and head for the kitchen, and he calls something after me that sounds like, ‘I really love your melting green eyes.’

  My heart cantering along happily at such a romantic comment, I pop my head back round the door, but he’s deeply engrossed in a free kick.

  Suddenly aware I’m there, he says, ‘Oh yeah, I said I really loved those melted cheese pies? The ones we had last time. Don’t suppose you could …?’

  ‘Ah.’ I nod, smiling, feeling slightly silly for having heard what I wanted to hear. ‘Yes, I think there’s some in the freezer.’

  He holds out a thumb without prising his eyes from the action on the screen.

  In the kitchen, I manage to find some more pies at the bottom of the freezer and pop them into the oven. Then I pinch a can of sweetcorn from Flo’s cupboard and make a mental note to replace it next day when I go food shopping. Jackson likes plain, unadventurous food, which I find quite surprising in a man with such sophisticated tastes in everything else. I think he would live quite happily on chicken and chips, given the chance – and he can’t stand anything spicy.

  We met two months ago, back in September. Flo had taken me to the pub one night, soon after I was made redundant from my factory job, to cheer me up. We’d already had a few cocktails by the time we walked into The Red Lion and I saw Jackson for the first time. He was standing at the bar with what looked like a group of work colleagues, all dressed in suits. Our eyes met and I smiled, emboldened by the alcohol, and he raised his glass at me.

  Flo had made me get dressed up, so I was wearing my favourite pale blue tea dress and heels, and when Jackson came over to talk to us, I was glad she’d been so bossy.

  I was a bit tongue-tied and awkward, but Jackson was charming and seemed to find me attractive anyway, which boosted my flagging confidence no end. He took me out for dinner the next night and we’ve been seeing each other a couple of times a week ever since.

  At thirty-two, Jackson Cooper is a very successful businessman, having built up a large property management company in the time since he left university. I tell myself he deserves an evening relaxing in front of the football. He works so incredibly hard.

  An evening in will probably be better for me, too, really. I’m out of work at the moment and money is really tight.

  Flo has been so good to me since I lost my job at the factory back in late September. The redundancy package was okay, mainly because I started there when I was twenty-three, which meant I had seven years of service under my belt. But the money is draining away and I’m starting to get worried, having applied for dozens of jobs, so far with no luck at all – not even an interview. Flo has insisted on halving my rent until I get back into work, but I hate being a burden like this. It’s just not fair on Flo. Worry has been affecting my sleep lately and I’m forever nodding off on the sofa in the evenings.

  We eat in front of the TV on trays, and after I’ve cleared away, I join Jackson on the sofa and snuggle into him, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift with the background noise of the football commentator. I can’t keep taking advantage of Flo’s generosity. I need to find a job. I know she doesn’t see it that way, but, the problem is, I do and I feel bad.

  I’d started my working life far later than my schoolmates.

  I was twenty-three before I found the confidence to finally push past the trauma that happened on my nineteenth birthday. But because I’d missed the chance to train for a career, I’d fallen into the first job I was offered – packing biscuits at a local factory. It wasn’t exactly challenging but it was so good to finally have a job and feel ‘normal’ for the first time in years that I stayed there and somehow the years passed by …

  Recently, though, I’d started to wonder if I was brave enough to begin something new. An opening was coming up at head office for an admin assistant and my line manager had said she would fully support me if I applied. But then I was made redundant, and after that, my dreams of striking out in a new direction were put on hold.

  There’s a loud roar from the TV. Someone must have scored. I snuggle more comfortably into Jackson’s side.

  If I don’t find work soon, I might have to move back in with Mum and Dad. As much as I love them, the idea of returning to the little backwater town on the south coast, where I grew up, and sleeping in my old single bed is not an appealing thought. I’d be miles from all my friends in Surrey.

  And miles from Jackson …

  A log shifts in the grate and makes me start. I stare into the flames, lulled by the seasonal cheer of the blaze and the thought that it will soon be Christmas. Whatever happens on the jobs front, I’ll still be spending the festive season with Jackson. It will be our very first Christmas together!

  It’s so snug in the room, I feel myself starting to drift off …

  I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m choking.

  My heart is thundering as panic flares inside me. The hands of a faceless stranger are squeezing my throat and pressing on my face, blocking my airways. Slowly suffocating me.

  I’m desperate to escape from the room but the door is locked. Pulling on the handle, I try to call out for help, but no sound emerges. Grasping to pull the obstruction away from my face, I find to my horror that there’s nothing there. The so-called hands choking me are invisible.

  I’m going to die …

  Someone is calling my name. At first it sounds far away in the distance but it’s getting closer.

  ‘Roxy? Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.’

  I open my eyes and Jackson’s face is right there, frowning. I take in a huge gulp of air and start coughing, as if the action will clear the blockage in my nose and throat. I’m still trying to shake off the last remnants of the horrifying dream.

  ‘What on earth happened?’ asks Jackson when I’ve calmed down a bit.

  I swallow and turn away from his scrutiny. ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘Christ, that must have been some nightmare.’ Jackson looks appalled. ‘Look, you’re still shaking.’ He takes hold of my hand. ‘Can I do anything? You’re not going to be sick, are you?’ He recoils slightly, in alarm.

  I shake my head, wanting to put his mind at rest. Jackson’s not great with people throwing up. Or any kind of mess, really.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine in a moment,’ I manage to croak. ‘I just need to do some deep breathing.’

  ‘Do these nightmares happen often, then?’

  I try to shrug it off. ‘I’ve had a few.’

  To be honest, I thought these terrifying dreams would start to fade over the years, but if anything, they seem to be happening with greater frequency. And they’re just as scary as they were at the beginning.

  But I don’t want Jackson to know any of this.

  ‘Roxy, you’re white as a ghost. Are you sure you don’t need to – erm – go to the bathroom?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Have you any idea what’s causing these bad dreams?’

  I stare at him. If ever there was a time to tell him everything, it’s now. But I’m not prepared to risk losing Jackson, the way I lost Billy. So, instead of telling him the truth, I take a deep breath and say the first thing that comes into my head. ‘It’s money. I’m stone broke and I’m going to have to move out of here and go back to live with my parents.’ I give a rueful smile. ‘Nightmare.’

  He blinks. ‘Oh. Right,’ he says, as if that hadn’t been what he was expecting. ‘Where do your parents live?�
�

  ‘On the south coast? Worthing?’ His question throws me for a moment. I can’t believe he’s forgotten. We’ve had a few chats about where we grew up and I can remember all the details of his childhood. I can even name the school he went to.

  He frowns. ‘That’s a long way from here.’

  I nod gloomily.

  ‘So move in with me,’ he says with a shrug.

  There’s a brief silence as I stare at him, completely befuddled. Did he just say: So move in with me?

  My heart starts to thump. I must have misheard him, surely.

  He chuckles. ‘Well? Say something, Roxy.’

  I sit up straight so I can properly read his expression and he’s smiling down at me with this cute, slightly vulnerable look on his face. He might even be blushing, although it could be the Christmas tree lights casting a rosy glow.

  Oh my God, he actually means it! He wants me to move in with him!

  My mind is racing at this quite surreal turn of events. It’s all so sudden. But I’m crazy about Jackson, no doubt about that, so …

  ‘I’d love to.’ I gulp. ‘Move in with you.’

  And in the blink of an eye, I go from the aftermath of a painful recurring nightmare to dancing a Highland fling in my head with happiness …

  Chapter 2

  ‘You do realise you’ll be on the telly, Roxy.’

  Flo grins excitedly at me in the mirror above my dressing table.

  It’s a week later – the first day of December – and I’m getting ready to go out with Jackson.

  I laugh. ‘I hardly think so, Flo. It’s not as if we’re actual contestants on the show. We’ll just be part of the audience.’

  ‘But still,’ she insists. ‘You should wear that beautiful pale green dress Jackson bought you, just in case the camera lands on you. The colour will look fab with your long blonde hair.’

  ‘It’s sleeveless, though.’ I haven’t been able to wear it since he gave it to me last month, for that very reason.

  ‘So wear it with that little cream shrug.’ She says this matter-of-factly as if it’s no big deal.

  I get back to applying mascara, which is proving a challenge because my hand is trembling so much.