Save The Date!. Kate Hardy
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didn’t say anything.
She leapt up. It took an effort of will not to kick the table leg. ‘Why on earth did he make it so hard?’
‘Because he doesn’t want me to find the answer.’
‘Why tell you at all then?’
‘To chase away his guilt? To feel as if he were doing the right thing and giving me some sort of chance at figuring it out?’
To chase away his guilt? In the same way he’d chased Rick away? Her stomach churned. And then she frowned. ‘Rick, it’s Saturday.’
‘Yup.’
‘You don’t have to work weekends.’
‘Why not? You do.’
She blinked.
‘I want to attach the new locks I bought for the parlour windows. I’ve been trying to work that code out all morning and now I want to hammer something.’
She blew out a breath. John’s code had evidently left him feeling as frustrated as it had her. ‘You haven’t given me the receipts for those locks yet.’
His gaze slid away. ‘I can’t find where I put them. I’ll hunt them up tonight and give them to you on Monday.’
That was what he’d said on Wednesday.
‘I might not be rolling in money, but I have enough to cover the work you quoted me.’ Besides, he couldn’t exactly be rolling in it himself. ‘Fixing up this house is exactly what I choose to do with my money.’ Well, that and eat.
‘And I had some questions about the library,’ he added as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘If you have the time...’
Something shifted in the darkness of his eyes, but she couldn’t tell what, only that it made her pulse quicken. She scowled. ‘Are they questions I’ll be able to answer?’
He grinned. It was swift and sudden and slayed her where she stood. ‘Colour schemes and stuff.’
She stuck her nose in the air. ‘That I can do. I’ve been trained by the best. Piece of cake.’
‘Speaking of cake...’ His gaze searched the table.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, yes, there’re cupcakes in the cake tin. Help yourself.’ It suddenly occurred to her... ‘I didn’t make you any sandwiches. Would you like me—?’
‘Nope, not necessary. Sandwiches Monday to Friday was the deal.’
‘Was it?’ When he grinned at her like that she forgot her very name and which way was up. She had no hope of recalling anything more complicated. She swung away. ‘Nell,’ she murmured under her breath. She pointed to the ceiling. ‘Up.’
‘Talking to yourself, Princess.’
The warm laughter in his voice wrapped around the base of her spine, making her shiver. ‘Library,’ she muttered instead, pointing and then leading the way through the house.
‘It’s a nice room,’ Rick said from the doorway.
She tried to stop her gaze from gobbling him up where he stood. ‘I used to spend a lot of time in here as a child. It was my favourite room.’ She hadn’t disturbed anyone in here.
‘You were a bookworm?’
The look he sent her had her rolling her shoulders. ‘Uh-huh.’
He moved into the room. ‘Do you mean to keep all of these books in here when you open for business?’
She hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘All of the leather-bound collections will probably remain in here—the room wouldn’t earn the term library if there were no books.’ She trailed her fingers along one wall of glass-enclosed bookcases. ‘But I’ll take my old worn favourites upstairs. They’re a bit tatty now. I suppose I could put some pretty ornaments on the shelves here and there for interest and—’
She stopped dead and just stared.
‘What?’ Rick spoke sharply and she suspected the blood had all but drained from her face.
‘POAL,’ she managed faintly.
‘POAL 163,’ he corrected.
She opened one of the bookcase doors and dropped to her knees in front of it. She ran a finger along the spines. ‘I’d have never got it. Not in a million years.’
‘What are you talking about?’ He strode across to her, his voice rough and dark. ‘Don’t play games with me, Nell.’
She grabbed his arm and dragged him down to the floor beside her. ‘Look.’ She pointed to a book spine.
‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover,’ he growled. ‘So what?’
‘LCL.’ She pointed to the next spine along. ‘Portrait of a Lady—POAL. The Sound and the Fury, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, A Room with a View, The Mill on the Floss. These are my first-year literature texts from university. She pulled out Lady Chatterley’s Lover and handed it to him. ‘Open it at page two hundred and seventeen.’
She had no idea if she were right or not, but...
He turned the pages over with strong, sure hands. They both caught their breath when the page revealed a single sheet of folded paper.
He handed her back the book and she could have sworn his hand trembled. ‘It could just be some note or other you made.’
Her heart burned as the conflicting emotions of hope and pessimism warred in his dark eyes. ‘It could be,’ she agreed, though she didn’t think it was. There’d only be one way to find out—if he unfolded it—but she didn’t try to hurry him. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to suddenly discover you had a sibling you’d never heard about before.
He leapt to his feet and strode away. She swallowed back the ball of hurt that lodged in her throat. He wasn’t obliged to share the contents of John’s message with her. She stared instead at the book and waited for him to say something, her heart thumping and her temples pounding.
‘A T.’
She turned to find him holding up the sheet of paper bearing the single letter. His lips twisted. ‘He did say he wasn’t going to make it easy, didn’t he?’
She gathered up the other five books. ‘Obviously it’s going to spell something out. Maybe a name.’ This room was devoid of any furniture so she took the books back through to the kitchen and set them on the table before walking away.
‘Where are you going?’
He spoke sharply and she spun around. ‘I thought you might like some privacy.’
He cocked an eyebrow, all tough-guy badness in a blink of his eye. ‘Aren’t you curious?’
She wished she could say no. ‘Of course I am. I’m burning up with it.’
‘Then stay. We’d have never got this far if it weren’t for you.’
She didn’t need any further encouragement. She moved back to the table and watched silently as he laid the six letters out. When he was done they both stood back and stared at it.
T H E S U N
A growl left her throat. ‘What the bloody hell is that supposed to be and what’s all this nonsense of X, C and M on the last card?’
‘Roman numerals,’ Rick said, leaning over to look at them more closely. ‘I think it’s a date.’
He straightened. Nell stiffened. ‘The Sun,’ they said at the same time, referring to a Sydney newspaper.
‘I’m not good with Roman numerals.’ Nell moved back around to her computer. ‘But there’s bound to be a site on the web that can tell us what that date might