The second Picnics & Promises novella in my series of highlights is by one of my fellow Pelican Book Group authors...Clare Revell. I haven't yet read ZARA'S FOLLY, but the following excerpt has me settin' on ready. Way to go, Clare!
Picnics & Promises: Six Delicious Summer Romances
ZARA’S FOLLY by Clare Revell
British equestrian, Zara
Michaels, heads south to convince TJ Greggson to sell his property to her
developer father. Any way she can.TJ co-owns the stables, catering to disabled
children—his life’s purpose. His brother wants to sell. TJ doesn’t. Can TJ help
untangle Zara from her past follies, or will their secrets destroy them both?
Excerpt from ZARA'S FOLLY:
ZARA MICHAELS RAN DOWN THE
STAIRS to the platform, praying the train wouldn’t leave before she boarded it.
The guard was closing the doors as she reached the train. “Wait,” she called.
He turned and held the last
door open long enough for her to plunk her case inside and climb in after it.
“Have a good trip, miss.”
“Thank you.”
Somehow she stowed her case
and rucksack in the one remaining space on the luggage rack. The automatic
doors to the main carriage hissed open. Zara made her way down the already
swaying carriage in search of her seat. She’d almost missed the train, thanks
to her sister Kim’s incessant meddling, not to mention yet another lecture from
her father.
One blessing in disguise. At
least her forward facing seat was empty. These days not even a reserved sign
guaranteed that. And the way the day was going she’d expected to find someone
already sitting there.
She regarded the old lady in
the aisle seat and managed a faint smile. “Excuse me. May I get past you,
please?”
“Of course, dear.” The old
lady stood to allow Zara access to her seat.
“Thank you.” Zara suddenly
teetered into her seat as the train jolted over the junction points to the main
line. She put her handbag on her lap, squashing it between the table and her
middle. She turned to the window, pushing her glasses up her nose as the train
sped up. The houses and factories of York slid by, becoming sparser before
turning into fields and trees as the city was left behind.
Zara focused on the window,
the trees and forests, fields and streams zipping by. Faster and faster, clickety-clack, the train sped through
the English countryside—relentlessly taking her into pastures unknown, but at
the same time along a path she knew all too well.
“Tickets, please, ladies and
gents.”
Zara pulled her ticket from
her bag, along with the reservation card and held them out to the conductor. He
glanced at them and nodded as he handed them back. Zara returned them to her
purse. Her phone beeped and she sighed. The photo of Jordan was obscured by a
message that read Kim Mob.
Can’t
you leave me alone for an hour, sis? What do you want now?
The message made her heart
sink lower. Are you really going to do this? Aunt Agatha loves that place. Tell
Dad no more. So what if he disinherits you b/c you want a life of your own and
don’t want to do his dirty work anymore? Is the money really more important?
Another text quickly
followed.
Are you there? You made a commitment to Christ, Za.
You can’t go back on that and compromise your soul.
Then a third message.
Call me. Or at least promise me you know what you’re
doing. And make sure you call Jordan every night.
Zara scowled. “Course I
will,” she muttered. “I’d hardly go away and not call, now would I?” She shoved
the offensive phone to the bottom of her bag. “Now try bothering me.”
The old lady cocked her head
and stared at her. “Are you all right, dear?”
“Yeah. Tired of my phone
beeping.”
“My son is always on his
phone. He wants me to have one, but I don’t see the need. I’m too old for this
face thing or the non-stop chirping. And you miss out on so much with your head
constantly peering down at a tiny screen.”
“I know what you mean.” Zara
settled back in her seat, and crossed her ankles. “Kim, my sister, is
permanently attached to hers. I really wish I’d left mine at home. I only use
it for calls and texts, nothing else. It’s what she calls a thick phone.”
“Thick?”
The bloke opposite chuckled
over his book.
“Not smart like hers. Oh, I
can access the internet, email, take photos and so on, but I have a computer at
home for that. I don’t need it on my phone as well.”
As the old lady rattled on
about her son, grandchildren and the weather, Zara studied the man seated
opposite her while replying. He was kind of cute with short, slightly wavy dark
hair. His dark eyes flitted across the pages, his full lips pursed, his long
tanned fingers holding the book almost reverently. Oh, there was something sexy
about a man who read. Her gaze slid across his broad shoulders, and down the
tanned muscular arms his shirt sleeves didn’t hide. The tan indicated he either
lived abroad or worked outside. Going on appearance alone, he was definitely
her type.
Finally the old lady beside
her stopped chatting and fell asleep.
Zara sighed with relief. Then
whispered a prayer of apology. She should be grateful anyone took the time to
speak with her without recognizing her and asking for an autograph.
The bloke opposite stood.
“Could you watch my things for me for five minutes or so, please?”
“Sure.” Zara tried to ignore
the goose bumps the sound of his chocolaty-smooth voice raised. She watched him
stride down the swaying carriage. Once he was out of sight, she grabbed his
book. Taking care not to lose his place, she read the back cover. It sounded
interesting and she made a mental note of the title. A historical thriller set
during the last war. Exactly the sort of thing she loved to dive into and get lost inside. She laid the book back
down, making sure to place it exactly how she’d found it.
Tucking her hair behind her
ears, she wished she’d thought to have packed something to read, but she’d left
in such a rush, she was amazed she’d packed a suitcase for herself. Jordan’s
things took up so much more room than her own. All she had in her handbag was a
notebook, pen and coin purse. And the phone she hated with a passion. Her Bible
and puzzle book were in the case. No way was she unpacking that on a crowded
train. Knowing her luck, a pair of her knickers would tumble to the floor. Or
worse, that black lace bra she loved so much.
She’d left the laptop at
home, having closed all her social media accounts that morning. She needed a
complete break from everyone and everything—Jordan being the exception, but
that was different. Yes, she was still reluctantly working for her father—one
last job. She was tired of the way he ran his business and what he expected her
to do. She really was tired of helping her father get richer than he already
was by scamming their property out of the poor fools.
She’d become more and more
uncomfortable with that aspect of the job and becoming a Christian made it
impossible. She found herself having to compromise more and more, until she
reached breaking point.
The only way out was to break
free. The hold her father had over her, made that impossible. Losing her
inheritance didn’t bother her. But Jordan…
Kim called it folly. Zara
would rather call it… Honestly? She didn’t know what she called it. It wasn’t
running away. Reality check maybe? A new beginning? The Lord knew how much she
needed one. How much she longed to run away and start over. Somewhere.
Anywhere. She wanted someone to accept her, along with her past and the baggage
she came with.
She heaved a sigh. That wasn’t
going to happen any time soon. At least not one that was good enough for her
father to approve of the relationship.
No, she had to leave. If
turning her back on everything in York made her broke so be it. Once this was
over, that was it.
Done. Dusted. Finito.
Perhaps Aunt Agatha would
help—or at least have an idea of what to do.
Snoring resounded in her left
ear, and then the old lady snorted, shifted in her seat and settled down again.
The scent of coffee floated through the carriage. At that moment there was
nothing in the world Zara wanted more than an infusion of hot coffee.
Preferably a large strong one. But there was no chance of that for a while—at
least not until her seat mate woke. Did this train even have a buffet car? For
all she knew, the aroma could be coming from someone who might have thought
ahead and included a thermos flask with their packed lunch.
The cute bloke reappeared
with a cup in each hand. “I thought you might like a coffee.” A bright smile
lit his face. He plonked down the take away cups and slid one across the table.
“I could see you weren’t able to get out and it seemed mean to drink in front
of you.”
She returned his smile.
“Thank you. I’m dying of thirst.”
“Good job they have plastic
lids. I nearly came a cropper on that last set of points.”
“That could have been messy.”
“You’re telling me.” He
reached into his pockets, pulled out several sachets of sugar and creamer and a
couple of stirrers. “Almost as messy as dying in your seat from thirst.”
She tilted her head and held
out a hand. “Well, not literally dying. I’m Zara.”
“TJ.” His firm warm grip
encompassed her hand for far too short a moment as he slid back into his seat.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Call it a thank you
for diverting our sleeping friend from talking my ear off.”
Zara gently removed the lid
from her cup and inhaled deep of the enticing scent. She ripped open the sugar,
tipping one sachet after the next into the hot liquid. “Honestly, I wasn’t
really listening. Just nodded and responded in the appropriate places.” She
added creamer, stirred, and replaced the lid. She sipped, burning liquid
scalding its way down her throat.
The train began to slow as it
approached Sheffield. The old lady woke, gathered her things and headed to the
end of the carriage.
Zara glanced after her. “Bye,
then,” she said quietly.
TJ snorted. “My brother does
that. Along with shouting ‘thank you’ when motorists don’t give way at
crossings. Or ‘you’re welcome’ when he does something for someone and doesn’t
get a thank you in return. One of these days he’s gonna get thumped for doing
it.” He set his coffee on the table. “It was a good idea of yours to reserve a
seat. I thought I was going to have to stand all the way home before I found
this one.”
“It was the only train going
direct,” she explained. “Well kind of. I have to change once if my aunt can’t
collect me. Some of the trains meant changing three or four times, plus a tube
trip. I hate the underground with its closed in spaces.”
“Me too. You going far?”
“Reading, to stay with my
aunt.”
“Holiday?”
She shifted and hid behind
her paper cup for a few seconds. “Kind of. What about you?”
“Back to work. I’ve been
staying with my brother in Scotland for a few days. Trying to persuade him not
to sell his half of the business we co-own.” He swigged the coffee. “It didn’t
work.”
“Can you buy him out?”
TJ gave a short, bitter
laugh. “I wish. But there’s no way. Someone is coming to value the place on
Monday, but even without that valuation I know I can’t afford a mortgage.
Sides, we inherited the place together when Dad died.” He wrinkled his nose.
“But you don’t want to hear all that.”
Zara’s phone beeped. “Excuse
me.” She picked it up as TJ went back to his book. The screen read Aunt Agatha.
Of course I will pick you up at Reading. Saves
changing trains and getting the one to Earley. I’ll meet you on the main
concourse. They’ve done away with platform tickets. Something to do with
cracking down on people riding trains without paying. Theory being without a
ticket you can’t get on the train or platform. Stupid idea if you ask me. If
you really want to jump a train you’d find a way, platform ticket or no.
Zara grinned. Yup.
Looking forward to seeing you. Train gets in around half past four.
She tucked the phone away and glanced across at TJ. He was engrossed in his
book. Zara leaned against the back of the seat and drained her coffee. Then she
closed her eyes. Time for forty winks instead of worrying about the task ahead.
Purchase the Picnics & Promises Collection
About
Clare Revell:
Clare is a British author.
She lives in a small town just outside Reading, England with her husband, whom
she married in 1992, their three children, and unfriendly mini-panther, aka
Tilly the black cat. Clare is half English and half Welsh, which makes watching
rugby interesting at times as it doesn’t matter who wins.
Writing from an early
childhood and encouraged by her teachers, she graduated from rewriting fairy
stories through fan fiction to using her own original characters and enjoys
writing an eclectic mix of romance, crime fiction and children's stories. When
she's not writing, she can be found reading, crocheting or doing the many piles
of laundry the occupants of her house manage to make.
Her books are based in the
UK, with a couple of exceptions, thus, although the spelling may be American in
some of them, the books contain British language and terminology and the more
recent ones are written in UK English.
The first draft of every
novel is hand written.
She has been a Christian for
more than half her life. She goes to Carey Baptist where she is one of four
registrars.
She can be found at:
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