The Grayson Trilogy

by Georgia Rose

  Oh, get away with you, she giggles, you’ll be nothing but skin and bone if you don’t stop burning the candle at both ends. I hope she’s worth it!

  They’ll only ever be one woman for me, sweetheart, you know that, and he grins at her before continuing, but you broke my heart the day you married Forster, so what’s a guy to do. She laughs at his flattery and blushes, enjoying the game they play. He likes to get her flustered, it’s part of their banter, harmless flirting, enough to always raise a smile in them both. She’s attractive and he would totally go there, if she wasn’t already taken. An older woman. He’d like that.

  Wade scowls at him across the cab of the pickup.

  What? Will questions around the first bite of his breakfast.

  You’ve got her eating out of your hand. She didn’t bring me a bloody bacon roll, he complains.

  She appreciates a man who’s been on the job all night, Wade, that’s the difference. You just don’t behave badly enough, and as Wade curses and turns to look out the window he chuckles.

  Juggling coffee, roll, steering wheel and gear stick, he reverses and starts to pull out of the courtyard. Two thuds in the back confirm Hayes and Turner have leapt on board and they set off.

  Travelling across the parkland towards the woods, he glances at his watch and sees they’ll just about make their agreed start time. Trent had called him last night to confirm he’d contacted Grayson, the new stable manager, and told her they were coming to help. She’d been less than keen, apparently, and Trent had wanted him to know the reception may not be a warm one.

  It’s a glorious day, the windows are down, a cool breeze blowing through the cab and he hopes having to deal with an arsey horsewoman is not about to ruin it. They enter the shade of the woods, though occasional shafts of sunlight break through the thick canopy to highlight the woodland floor. Reaching the cottage, they turn into the yard and pull up to the fence that surrounds the stables. A woman, presumably Grayson, walks out of one of them and stands watching. Wade gives a low whistle, muttering, aye, aye, under his breath as he reaches for the door handle.

  Behave, Will warns and they both get out. Will walks towards her ahead of the others and smiles a smile that usually goes down well, but gets little reaction here. Her dog runs towards him, a cute little thing, and he bends to scratch it behind the ear in greeting as it sniffs round his feet then runs off to the others. Grayson isn’t smiling but he can’t help his grin as he looks her up and down. She’s wearing a set of overalls that are huge on her. Buckling them in at the waist had done little to improve the situation and he can’t help imagining what lies beneath them.

  Hi, I’m Will Carlton, he says. She shakes his hand, hers small in his, and in that moment time stops for him. Suddenly he realizes he’s been holding it for too long and lets go, immediately wanting to touch her again the instant he does so. The ice blue of her eyes meets his with such intensity he’s unsettled and, breaking the moment, he indicates towards her outfit.

  Did you buy a pair you could grow into? He chuckles and hears the others behind him join in. He’d forgotten they were there.

  No, I’ve just discovered that one size does not, in fact, fit all, she says. She’s tense, uptight about something, and with a sudden rush of clarity he realises he can see her, right into her. Something, someone, has crushed her and he can see the damage. He recognises the cloak of sorrow, of grief, she wears; he’s seen it before. He is overwhelmed with a desire to hold her tight, to break through that brittle shell she has so carefully constructed and tell her it will be alright.

  She gives a smile he suspects is forced. She’s doing it because she thinks she should but it barely reaches her eyes. She should smile a lot more, he thinks, and in one ridiculous moment he wonders if he can be the one to put it back on her lovely face. Wishing they were alone, he reluctantly indicates to the others, introducing them.

  Here we have Scott Wade, Ben Hayes and Josh Turner at your service, and as she raises her hand in greeting he feels a seismic change come over him.

  A pressure builds in his chest and he decides.

  He’ll be staying on home soil tonight.

  Here is an opening taster to my latest release, Parallel Lies

  Chapter 1

  He wants to touch me. I can feel it. It’s written in the way his body leans towards me as he talks. His arms, as though signalling his intentions, stretch across the fake wood veneer that separates us, and when he gets his chance, he takes it.

  The coach pulls into the kerb outside The Snipe and Partridge and there’s a slight bump as it comes to a halt, I hear the airbrakes hiss and get up to leave, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I step out into the aisle. He, being the gentleman he is, indicates for me to go first and as I pass there’s his hand placed gently in the small of my back, pressing the fabric of my shirt against my skin as though guiding me. It’s momentary. I don’t acknowledge it and he has to relinquish his touch as he joins me walking towards the exit in the steady stream of fellow travellers. I glance at the bored looking driver as I pass and mumble my thanks to receive only a grunt in response, then I make my way down the steps.

  It’s late afternoon, the shadows long on the ground but there’s a warmth in the air which is welcome after the overly chilled coach. On reaching the footpath I start to walk away though out of politeness I turn to face him, to say goodbye, while continuing to put distance between us with each backward step. He looks disappointed I’m going, and offers me a drink. I could certainly use one and am tempted but not wishing to prolong this exchange any longer I smile, sweetly, of course, excuse myself with the usual ‘so much to do’ and turn back towards home.

  He is Paul, he lives in the next village to mine and is a complete catch, so I’m told. He’s older, but not too old, good looking in that slightly pudgy over-indulged rich boy way because naturally in order to be a ‘complete catch’ he is, of course, rich, a successful professional at something or other and, he’s single. Everything a girl could wish for, apparently.

  Unfortunately, he is also not my type.

  Which is a shame because he’s a nice guy, a really nice guy actually, to be honest far too nice. The fact I’ve used such a lame word three times in one sentence tells you all you need to know but the point I want to make here is, that he is far too good for me.

  We’ve arrived back from an outing organised by the Women’s Institute to Danewright House which is situated about forty miles away and there’s going to be a quick turnaround before the next scintillating village event, a wine tasting evening. At twenty-four I was the youngest on the trip and as I have my own car and could easily have driven there it begs the question as to why I didn’t.

  Simple answer, I like to support village activities.

  Honest answer, I prefer the camouflage of a crowd.

  A similar question could have been levelled at Paul but his intentions were plain and simple. I’d spotted them a while back and his sudden interest in appearing wherever I happened to be made it bleedin’ obvious, as my mother would have said. I may not have left the failing city centre school I’d occasionally attended with much more than a couple of poor GCSE’s and an ingrained despondency about the future but I knew how to read a man. A gift learned at my mother’s knee.

  As I watch my fellow travellers wander off homeward bound, exhaustion pronounced in every weary step, I doubt many will make the wine tasting later. It had been a long day with plenty of walking, particularly for those who had toured the gardens.

  ‘I’ll see you at the wine tasting then,’ Paul calls to my back. Bugger, I think, amongst all his chatter he hadn’t mentioned that little nugget on the journey, but true to my character I turn mid stride, again, call back a chirpy ‘okay, see you later’ and then carry on walking away. I’m surprised he hasn’t got around to asking me out yet, he’s not been backward in signalling his interest, leaping into the spare seat opposite me on the coach like an overgrown and enthusiastic puppy, so I guess he’s plucking up the ner
ve. He seems the sort who would need to, and although I hope he never does summon the courage I am ready to parry if necessary. I’ll do it kindly though because there’s something a little geeky and adorably innocent about him, like only good things have ever happened in his life. One more reason why he doesn’t need me in it.

  I see Kourtney leaning up against the outside of the pub. She’s been working there part-time since she turned sixteen but like most of the kids around here is not averse to socialising there as well. A couple of other girls are close by, although unlike her, because she has a whole darker look going on, they’re all lip gloss and lashes, giggling over God knows what and making themselves the centre of attention for a group of boys hanging nearby. As I pass Kourtney glances at me and I’m acknowledged with the barest lift of her chin before she looks away. I’m worried about her, though I don’t fully understand why because I barely know her. But there’s something, a connection possibly, a recognition, where I see part of me, a younger me, in her and I guess that’s where my concern stems from. I suspect she’s already running with the local lads and I want to tell her so much that I know I have no right saying.

  Intrigued? I do hope so. If you would like to carry on reading Parallel Lies, you can download it from wherever you buy your books by clicking on the link here. Or, you can get it for FREE by signing up to my mailing list HERE

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Julian Westaway, General Manager of Point Two , for allowing me to reference his company’s product together with the managers at Ride-Away magazine for agreeing to me using their descriptive wording.

  I thank Kate Haigh of Kateproof who I approached far too early, in ignorance, for proofreading and who set me straight by recommending SilverWood Books to me.

  A huge thank you goes to Helen Hart and the team at SilverWood Books for their skills in assisting me with structural and copy edits, proofreading and cover designs as I worked to polish these novels and who have been unfailingly supportive and enthusiastic as this book has come together.

  It is difficult to believe that I’m finally here, at the end of this trilogy, and I have so many people to thank for helping me get this far. So, as they say, somewhere or other, in no particular order…

  A huge thank you to my Super Six beta readers – Debra Cartledge, Katherine Matthews, Claire Millington, Andrew Moore, Sarah Postins and Kathy Sapsed, many, many thanks. These poor souls have the challenging task of reading the first draft and then telling me the truth. The fact that they do so honestly, albeit at times quite brutally, whilst managing at the same time not to break me is a gift for which I am very thankful.

  There have been several of you out there who have helped with various bits on this final book as I’ve bounced ideas at you but there has been one who has gone above and beyond the call of friendship with their support and helped with taglines, worked on the blurb and provided invaluable feedback on the other voice, so to the Front of my Pantomime Horse and founding member of the Carlton Fan Club you know who you are, and I thank you, although those two little words are nowhere near enough.

  To everyone in the online booky-people community that I inhabit, your generosity of spirit in supporting other authors, writers, readers, book bloggers, editors, publishers and all involved in the writing world is astounding. There are far too many of you to name but here’s a clue – if you’re reading this I’m talking about you and thank you.

  To my younger bro, Dave, who via his company, Deeho, has helped with all my website/blog related issues, I’m sorry I never got round to fitting in the alien vampires for you…I appreciated the input – no, really, I did – maybe next time…

  To my family, friends and the wonderful community in which I live, thank you. I have barely gone anywhere this year without someone asking me when the next book would be coming out. Even though I haven’t necessarily given you the answer you’ve wanted, your interest has been incredibly encouraging.

  To Russell, my better half, for coming up with the fabulous Three Shires Publishing, and for his patience and support as I’ve wandered off into this bewildering writing world that I long to inhabit forever. Thank you, I would be lost without you.

  Contact Details

  Thank you for reading this far. I’m always interested to hear from readers with any feedback, thoughts or observations they are willing to make. If you’d like to get in touch, or you’d like to hear about what’s coming next you can do so through my website at Georgia Rose Books where you will also have the opportunity to follow my blog. Alternatively you can email me at info@georgiarosebooks.com for a chat or go on my mailing list; follow me on Twitter @GeorgiaRoseBook; find me on Facebook; ‘like’ The Grayson Trilogy; or check me out on the fabulous Bookbub! I look forward to hearing from you.

  Finally, if you have enjoyed reading this, please tell someone everyone you know about it and, whatever you think of it, if you are able to, would you please consider leaving a review? Of whatever rating! You might not think your opinion matters, but I can assure you it does. It helps the book gain visibility and it informs other readers whether or not to purchase it, so if you could take a minute or two to leave a few words on Amazon and/or Goodreads that would be hugely appreciated.

  Thank you.