On Sunday, I ate a bowl of Coco Pops for breakfast then found my jeans no longer did up. It had only been a matter of time. When Hayley headed into town an hour later, I hitched a lift and bought some workout gear. My mind might have gone soft, but I could at least stop my body from following suit by exercising and eating properly again.

Remember that old saying, Ashlyn? You are what you eat. Since I'd discovered the bakery in the village, I was in danger of turning into a donut. Sweet as they were, I didn't want to end up looking like one.

The afternoon brought a grey sky and steady drizzle. According to the weather forecast, it was there to stay, so I made myself woman up and go outside, anyway. Nearly a month had passed since I'd been to the gym, and boy did I feel it. Mucking out was no substitute for a twelve-mile run. I battled up slippery hills and along frozen tracks, returning two hours later splattered with mud and nursing a stitch. Back in my trailer, I did what I could in the way of push-ups, squats, lunges, and crunches until I collapsed on the grubby floor, unable to move.

Shit. I was a mess.

Still, the exhaustion contributed to me getting a reasonable night's sleep, so I couldn't complain. I woke up on Monday morning ready to face the week ahead, a week that passed un-memorably in a blur of nothingness, mindless days of shovelling crap and carting hay around. After work each evening, I ran a lap of the village under the glow of the street lights, followed by circuits of bodyweight exercises. My strength was slowly coming back, but did I ever ache.

The only break from my new and thrilling norm was a trip to a pub in the next village with Susie and Hayley on Thursday evening. The opportunity to avoid cooking seemed too good to pass up, although with hindsight, I should have stayed home with a packet of instant noodles.

Because I'd only eaten half my jacket potato when a man slid into the seat beside me uninvited. Two of his buddies dragged chairs up to the end of the table, and the uglier of the pair waved at the barmaid and held up three fingers.

"All right, ladies?"

The first interloper pressed his leg against mine as he twirled his Range Rover keys around his finger and gave me a leering grin. His boots had clearly never seen mud in their lives, and he was wearing a cravat. A fucking cravat. I rolled my eyes at Susie and Hayley—I just couldn't help it.

I'd only seen one person wear a cravat in real life before, a few years ago when my husband and I were invited to a charity clay pigeon shoot on Lord Something-or-other's country estate. Our esteemed host turned up full cliché, in gaiters, a cravat, and a tweed jacket with matching flat cap. He'd also brought at least two hip flasks, and I'd had to gently confiscate his gun before he did any damage. My husband had a quiet word, and the man's son hauled him into the back of a Land Rover and drove him home.

I had a feeling it wouldn't be so easy to get rid of the newcomers.

"His name's Henry Forster," Susie whispered as the sleaze next to me stared at the barmaid's tits. "His dad's a property developer. He's got stacks of money, and he shags anything that moves."

Oh, he did, did he? Well, he wouldn't be shagging me.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, ignoring Susie and Hayley as he addressed my chest.

"No."

He seemed taken aback for a second, but he didn't get the hint. "How about dinner?"

"No."

"Ah, a woman who plays hard to get. I like a challenge." He shuffled closer, and I jabbed an elbow in his side, but he only grinned. "Feisty. Why don't we skip the small talk and head back to my place? I've got a Ferrari in the garage we can take for a spin."

More like a crash, with the amount of beer he'd drunk. I could smell it on his breath as it washed over me. "No."

"Come on; it's a 360 Modena."

Oh, well in that case...

"No."

I had an Aston Martin in my garage. Big fucking deal.

Henry's fingers crept up my arm, and I resisted the urge to break them. I needed to keep a low profile, and getting arrested for assault wouldn't help matters.

"Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom." I shuffled out from the bench seat and hurried to the ladies', followed by a wobbly Hayley.

"I think Henry likes you," she said when she arrived a few seconds later.

"I got that."

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking beyond me to the window I'd just opened.

"Planning my escape."

"Out of the window?"

"Doors are so last year."

"Aw... Me and Susie are going out to a club with the other guys. Susie knows them from school. You sure you don't want to come? It'll be fun."

"I'm sure. I'd rather have an early night."

Or lie on a bed of burning coals or shave my legs with a cutlass.

"You need the number for a cab?"

"I'll walk. It's only a couple of miles, and the moon's bright tonight."

She stepped forward and gave me a hug. Weird. Few people ever hugged me, mainly because they were worried I'd shoot them.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" she said.

I forced a smile. "Yeah. Have a good time."

Tomorrow evening, I'd stay in.

Saturday came all too soon, and I was scheduled to work again despite being exhausted. I'd barely slept for three nights, and I knew I'd been sleepwalking at least once because I woke up on the bathroom floor, freezing. The lack of rest left me cranky and slow, and mucking out took twice as long as usual. I found myself hoping Portia would bring her brother along again so I could get a hand with the sweeping.

My wish came true half an hour later when his silver Porsche 911 pulled into the car park. He unfolded himself from the seat and followed Portia into the barn, head down and shoulders hunched. I checked my watch and started a countdown. Sure enough, in less than ten minutes, Susie and Hayley emerged wearing full make-up and freshly laundered jeans. I smirked and held out brooms to them as they passed.

"Might as well make yourselves useful."

Susie looked blank. "What? Oh..."

Hayley had the good grace to act sheepish as she accepted her broom. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Enjoy."

Sweeping sorted, I carried on to the feed room, pleased to avoid the bitch-fest undoubtedly taking place in the barn. I was halfway through preparing the feeds when Portia's brother slunk in.

"You don't mind if I just...?"

"Be my guest." I waved over at the bin where he'd perched last week.

"Thanks. It's worse than usual this morning. They seem to have turned up with reinforcements. One of them's actually wearing a dress, and I'm pretty sure her eyelashes aren't real." He rolled his eyes, but there was weariness in them rather than humour.

"Why do you come, then?" I asked, continuing to scoop snake oil into bowls. "Couldn't you just drop your sister off and go home?"

"I wish. I promised mother I'd spend time with her, and if you met my mother, you'd know it was easier for me to stay."

I hadn't seen my own mother since I was ten years old, so I didn't really understand the whole family obligation thing, but hey, whatever.

"Well, if you're set on staying, do you want a cup of tea or coffee? It's bloody freezing, and I was just about to make myself one."

"I'd love a coffee. Shall I come with you?"

"Your choice. I can bring it out here if you like."

I headed back to my trailer, and he followed. Thankfully, we didn't have to pass the barn on the way. I could only imagine the uproar if any of the girls saw him disappear into my tumbledown palace.

I made the coffee, managing to find two mugs that had only minor chips out of them. Portia's brother took his black like me, which was just as well seeing as I didn't have any milk. As he sipped, he looked round with obvious disdain, taking in the delights of the shabby sofa in my tiny lounge and the kitchen with its wonky table complemented by two mismatched chairs.

"You live here?" he asked.

"No, I have a mansion to go home to."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound condescending."

"Don't worry about it." My feelings about the place were the same as his. "Yes, I live here. If you want to sit down, I'd suggest the left-hand side of the sofa or the chair with the orange seat. The brown one's wobbly and the other end of the sofa has a broken spring." In fact, the only thing the sofa was good for was blocking the door so I couldn't get out and wreak havoc at night.

He lowered himself gingerly onto the unbroken end, leaving the chair for me. "You haven't been here long, have you?"

"About two weeks now. Just getting used to the joys of the British winter."

"You're not from around here, then?" His eyes widened "Wait, you're not that girl who torched her boyfriend's house, are you? No, no, you can't be. She's from America. Forget I said that."

"Gossip sure travels fast around here. Yes, I came from America, so it's probably me they're talking about, but I sure as hell didn't torch anyone's house. Did you hear that from Carol?"

"No, my mother heard the story from someone at her bridge club."

"Wonderful. You probably know a warped version of my life history, and I don't even know your name."

He stuck his hand out, a little reluctantly it seemed. "Luke Halston-Cain."

"Ashlyn Hale." I shook his hand, hoping mine wasn't too grubby. "Ash'll do, though."

"If it's any consolation, I don't think it's your entire life history. Just that you split up with your fiancé, who cheated on you with a team of high school cheerleaders plus your maid of honour the week before your wedding. You got revenge by running his car into one of the cheerleaders and driving it into a lake. Then you set fire to his house before you did a runner to England. Don't think I missed anything."

He eyed up the door, and I knew what he was thinking—can I escape from this madwoman?

"Bloody hell. Almost none of that happened, I swear. If it had, I'd be in jail, not working here, although this place probably isn't much better than a prison cell."

Certainly, most of the prisons I'd seen had fewer cockroaches.

"Too bad," Luke said, finally breaking into a grin. "I always wondered if a cheerleader would bounce."

"Half the village must think I'm a raving lunatic. No wonder the guy in the grocery store kept giving me funny looks."

"Don't worry. The gossip-mongers do this to everybody. When I split up with my last girlfriend, my mother heard at the country club that I'd dumped her by text message after finding out she was pregnant with my child. Oh, and I'd started dating a lingerie model with an eating disorder. Mother had a meltdown. I nearly lost my hearing when she yelled at me about how rude it was to communicate by text message, and it took me three days to convince her she wasn't going to be a grandmother."

"So, just to clarify, no dumping by text message?" I asked, returning his smile.

"If you must know, I got sick of being treated like a walking wallet, and I told my ex that over dinner at my house. I take it you're not a closet arsonist, then?"

"The only part that's true is that I caught my fiancé cheating and I left. I keyed his car, but that was all. He bloody deserved it."

"Sounds like a fair trade to me. Now we've established you're not a psychopath and I'm not a heartless bastard, we can have a normal conversation."

"Okay." What did he count as a normal conversation? I stuck to a safe topic. "Weather's not looking good today."

"This is England—when does it ever?" Luke leaned back on the sofa and took a sip of coffee. "So, I'm curious. If you're not on the run from the law, why did you choose to work here?"

I could hardly tell him the truth, could I? "I don't know many people in England anymore, and this job gives me somewhere to live while I work out what to do next."

"What about your parents? Couldn't you stay with them?"

"I haven't spoken to them since I emigrated. They weren't keen on Jamie, and they didn't agree with my decision to drop out of university." I shrugged. "I guess I don't want to hear 'I told you so.'"

"They might have mellowed over the years."

Maybe, if they actually existed. I didn't want to discuss my fantasy life any longer. "So, what about your family? How come you ended up human while Tia's a contender for brat of the year?"

Okay, so that was a little rude, but if he took offence, he could leave. At least then I wouldn't have to deal with more questions.

"There's not much left of my family. Just me, my mother, and Tia."

"I'm sorry." Both for his lack of family and because he was related to Tia.

"Don't be. Our dad died over a decade ago. It's common knowledge."

Even so, he didn't like talking about it. I could tell by the way his nails dug into the arm of the sofa.

"Still, that must have been hard."

He gave a hollow laugh. "I survived. Now it's Tia who's the problem. I know she's a brat, but I don't know what to do about it. I spend most of my time at work, so I only see her once or twice a week, and she's worse on every visit."

"You don't live with her, then?"

"I moved out when I hit eighteen. Tia lives with Mother on the other side of the village."

"What does your mother say about her behaviour?"

"She doesn't." He shrugged. "Like mother, like daughter."

Oh.

Luke put his cup down, and we sat in silence for a few seconds before he broke it. The silence, not the cup.

"So, what are your plans for the future? Are you going to stick around here?"

A good question, and one I wasn't about to answer. I looked at my watch instead. "Sorry, I've got work to finish. You can stay here if you like."

"Do you make a habit of letting virtual strangers hang out in your house?"

"Look around. Do you see anything worth stealing?"

My cash was hidden in a tampon box in the bathroom, and I couldn't see him poking around in there. Beyond that, I didn't care.

"I guess not. Thanks, it's more comfortable than the feed room."

But only marginally. He didn't need to put that into words—I could tell by his grimace as he went into the kitchen to dispose of our cups.

"Just try not to let anyone see you leaving, or I'll never hear the end of it," I said.

"Gotcha."

The barn had emptied out since Luke was nowhere to be seen. Jessica, Marianne, Portia, and Arabella were all riding. Portia's other two horses were standing in their stables looking bored, and the rest were in the fields. I spent a peaceful hour cleaning saddles and bridles before clattering hooves signalled the return of the horses.

The instant she saw me, Portia flung Gameela's reins in my direction. "Untack her, would you?"

I was tempted to say no, but I thought of the grief it would cause George and nodded instead.

The little witch turned to Arabella. "I'm going to jump Samara. Where the hell is Luke? He needs to carry things." She pulled out her phone, tapped at the screen, and demanded Luke report for duty immediately at the outdoor arena.

Poor guy.

I made Gameela comfortable then helped to tack up Samara. Luke slunk back into view, followed by half a dozen groupies who'd materialised out of nowhere.

As he walked past, he cut his eyes in my direction and muttered, "Give me strength."

Sorry, but I barely had enough of my own right now. I offered a half-smile instead.

A little while later, I'd finished tidying up the piles of grooming kit and tack dumped everywhere, and that meant I was done for the morning. But there was still no sign of Portia. Before going back home, curiosity made me take a detour to the arena to see how she was getting on with her show jumping. I didn't even know Samara could jump. Arab horses weren't exactly renowned for it.

Oh dear. When I rounded the corner, it soon became apparent from the mess of poles on the ground that Samara couldn't jump. Portia was sitting in the sand, crying, while Luke tried to hold onto the horse and calm his sister down at the same time. I jogged across and took Samara, leaving Luke to deal with Portia, who deserved an Oscar for her performance.

"Stupid horse," she screeched. "She tripped over; that's why I fell off. She didn't even try to jump the fence properly."

Samara fidgeted beside me, shifting her weight off her left foreleg and flicking her ears back in a sign of discomfort. I struggled to give a shit about Portia, but her horse was a different story. Fearing the worst, I trotted the mare up, and sure enough, she was lame.

Whatever happened, the poor horse had come off worse than her owner. I led Samara over to where the drama queen was being fawned over by the rest of her coven, biting my tongue so hard it hurt.

"Portia, Samara's injured."

"And? What am I supposed to do about it?"

"How about looking after her? Then calling the vet?"

"You do it. That's what you're here for. Look at me, I'm all dirty!"

That little... Some people didn't deserve to have animals. Luke, to give him credit, looked suitably horrified by the whole exchange.

"Tia, get in the car," he ordered.

"I need to get my bag. And change my boots. And I want a drink."

"Get in the fucking car."

Ooh, I liked angry Luke. About time somebody put Portia in her place, although I was surprised when she actually did as she'd been told with only one small mutter of protest.

After she'd stomped off, Luke walked over to me. "How bad is it?"

"I'm not sure. There's a bit of heat in the ligament just below the knee. I'll cold hose her leg to keep the swelling down, but she needs the vet."

Luke's sigh said it all.

"I'll call him."

Ten minutes later, the vet arrived. Pretty quick, but everything in England was so much closer together than in the States.

"Just finished up with a nasty case of colic in Upper Foxford. Good thing I was passing," he said, ambling across from his Land Rover.

A kind old chap with a soft Scottish accent, he chatted away to Samara about rugby as he examined her leg. Mindless chatter was a tactic I'd used myself with Stan. Horses may not understand your words, but they sure understood your tone and responded to it.

Portia stayed in the car while the vet worked. Luke wandered over briefly and they had words, then she sulked in the passenger seat, arms folded, while Luke paced up and down the central aisle of the barn. At least he steered clear of Samara. If he'd come near and upset her, I'd have had words with him too.

Before long, the vet rose to his feet. "Looks like the suspensory ligament, but she'll need a scan to confirm it. Can you bring her in on Monday?"

Luke stopped wearing a hole in the concrete and turned to me. "If I sort the transport, can you travel with her? Tia'll be at school, and I doubt she could handle her, anyway."

"Yeah, I'll do it. Just let me know the time."

I could get up early and work late to fit everything in. Anything to help the poor horse get her leg treated.

"How about half past eleven?" the vet suggested.

"Works for me," I said.

Luke nodded. "I'll be there."

After that depressing Saturday, I ran myself into the ground on Sunday. Quite literally—I set off early and went for a long run up in the hills. If I hadn't been so bloody miserable, I might have enjoyed it because the scenery was picture perfect. Morning mist swirled around the bare trees, and muntjac deer skipped over the path ahead of me.

I'd regained a little more of my fitness, and I jogged along for hours, covering something in the region of a marathon by sheer determination. The heavens opened in the afternoon, and I spent the remainder of the day curled up in my duvet with hot chocolate and a book I'd borrowed from George on the local area. By the time the moon rose, stiffness had set in, and all I wanted to do was sleep. What was I? A special forces operative having a...hiatus? Unwanted holiday? Breakdown? Or an old-aged pensioner? At this rate, I'd be peeing in the middle of the night and missing the morning shuffleboard tournament while I hunted for my false teeth.

I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind as I crawled into bed. Forget the shit in Virginia, Ash. Get some sleep. With a fun-filled Monday morning to look forward to, I needed the rest more than anything.