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Oh boy, the tears were falling fast and hard and the tightness in her throat was making speech almost impossible. ‘Okay,’ she whispered, wiping her cheeks. ‘I guess if you put it like that.’
He stretched out his hand to squeeze hers. ‘Of course I also need to consider that if your parents are watching over us, they’d have my guts for garters if I didn’t look out for you.’
‘If they are watching, they’re already livid with me for getting into this flipping mess in the first place,’ she said with a sniff. ‘God, I seem to have this habit of blubbering all the time.’
He smiled. ‘Better to let the emotions out than keep them bottled up.’ Looking up at the clock, he shifted off the stool. ‘Right, I’ve got to make a few more calls and then I figured we could go for a walk. I know a pub that does a great lunch.’
‘Sounds good.’ She put a hand on his arm to stop him dashing away. ‘But please, Nick, if I start to get in the way . . .’
He flashed a grin at her. The one that made her knees buckle. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll let you know.’
* * *
The walk to the pub was over the hills, and Nick strode off at his usual brisk pace. It was one heck of a day for it. The sun was shining high in the sky and the spring weather warm enough to allow them the luxury of being unburdened by coats. Lambs bleated on either side as they rambled steadily through the fields. It always made him smile when he looked at them, their cheeky faces watching intently as they monitored the humans going by. Turning to ask whether she knew when a lamb became a sheep, he was surprised to find his companion — blonde hair once again covered by a dark wig, glasses shading her eyes — was several yards behind him.
‘Nick Templeton, for pity’s sake, will you slow down,’ Lizzie shouted at him, then cursed as she lost her footing down a rabbit hole.
Grinning, he waited for her to catch up, noting she finally had some colour in her cheeks. Combined with the wig and the oversized sunglasses, she looked like a glamorous film star; a present day Audrey Hepburn. She’d lost none of her unique sparkle, that was for sure. In fact it seemed she was growing even more stunning with age. What was she now? Five years less than him . . . that would make her twenty-six. Yes, she was now a truly beautiful woman. And way out of your reach.
‘If I’d realised we were going on a yomp, I’d have worn my combats,’ she complained as she drew alongside him. ‘You might have the long legs of a six foot man, but I don’t.’
‘Six foot three,’ he countered. ‘And yours look pretty long from where I’m standing. But that’s irrelevant. I do believe you’re unfit, Ms Donavue.’
‘Unfit my arse,’ she replied crossly, her breath coming out in fast pants. ‘When I was with Charles . . .’ She bit her lip and looked down at her mud-covered boots.
‘Oh yes, the personal trainer.’
‘Exactly.’ Shrugging, she lifted her eyes back up to his. ‘I should have realised then, when he was practically dragging me round the park, that he’d turn out to be a bastard. I called him one often enough, once my lungs had recovered.’
‘He can’t have been much of a personal trainer if a short walk over a few hills has you panting.’ And yes, that was meant to be a dig at Charles, not her, but her cool tone told him his aim was off.
‘I’m a bit weak from not eating over the last few days, that’s all. I could do with walking a little slower.’ Dutifully he fell in beside her. ‘Are you still as obsessed with exercise as ever?’
‘If you mean do I continue to believe in the benefits of exercise, then, yes, I guess I do,’ he clutched gratefully at the change of subject.
She smiled then, just a glimmer, but at least it had stopped her thinking about Charles. ‘And do you still take part in those ridiculous marathons?’
‘Hang on a minute, since when did it become ridiculous to challenge your body?’ She tipped up her glasses and the twinkle he saw in her eye told him she was playing with him. ‘I’ve not done as many recently,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘When you get to my advanced age, the recovery takes a lot longer.’
‘You poor old thing.’ As she used to when they were growing up, she threaded her arm through his. ‘I admire you for taking part, though. I find it hard enough dragging myself out of bed for a three mile run, never mind the thought of doing that eight times over.’
‘I haven’t got any other reason to stay in bed.’ His eyes rested on her, staying there just a little too long. With an effort he dragged them away. What the hell was he doing, drooling over her like that? She’d run a mile if she guessed how he really felt. Probably even run twenty-six of the ruddy things.
‘Not even for Sally?’
Guilt rushed through him as he realised he’d been thinking of Lizzie in his bed, and not the woman he was, albeit only loosely, sleeping with. ‘I told you, Sally and I aren’t . . . we’re not . . .’ he trailed off, annoyed with himself. His relationship with Sally wasn’t something he should be ashamed of. So what if it was just about sex and convenience? It wasn’t as if he was leading her on. Sally felt exactly the same way. ‘We’re not serious,’ he settled with. ‘And anyway, never mind my love life, what on earth were you doing dating a slimeball like Charles?’
Lizzie’s expression told him she didn’t want to discuss her love life, either. ‘He was a mistake.’
‘There seem to have been quite a few of them.’
She glanced at him sharply. ‘I’m not good at reading men.’
‘Hey, I wasn’t judging,’ he told her hastily, kicking himself for his bluntness. ‘It’s just I’ve noticed a certain, shall we say, type.’
‘You’ve been checking up on me, have you?’
Busted. He tried a casual shrug. ‘I’d prefer to call it taking an interest. Your dates seem to have become meaner and tougher looking each time.’
