Read Online Randall #03 - Sherwood Ltd. by Anne R. Allen - Free Book Online Page A

doctor could prescribe. I don’t even take me tablets any more half the time. I feel like a boy again.”
    A heart attack. They did happen to youngish people, didn’t they? Like Lance. I should suspend my worries about murder until I had more facts. It would be as silly to succumb to irrational fear as to fall in love with such a charming stranger.
    Peter brushed pink petals from his hair and went on with his tale.
    “After my yacht went down, I flew home, and a sweet deal to buy Dominion Books fell into my lap. I saw their outsourced printing operations were eating their profits, so I rounded up the lads, bought some POD machines, and found the Maidenette Building here in Swynsby. They’re practically giving away real estate in this town to anybody who will bring jobs. A ladies’ underwear company abandoned the place nearly a decade ago.”
    “Ladies’ underwear? Appropriate for Dominion books.”
    Peter laughed. “Brilliant, isn’t it? I only needed something a quarter the size, but I couldn’t resist the idea of a knickers factory—and the price was too good to pass up.”
    When we turned a corner I was surprised to see we were back on Threadneedle Street. The Merry Miller was just ahead, its timbers sagging with the weight of centuries of English history. The upstairs accommodations might be charming. I should rethink.
    Peter gave my hand a squeeze.
    “You’re helping to make this all happen for us—and for Swynsby, lass. You’re the first well-known author we’ll be publishing—and you’ll look a sight better than Trask on a telly chat show.” He stopped and looked into my eyes, his mocking mood gone, “Thank you so much, Camilla. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
    “I’m the one who should be grateful.” I tried not to react to the closeness of his body. “And you’re so efficient! I used to have to wait years for a book to come out with my old publisher.”
    He gave a nervous laugh.
    “We didn’t plan to accelerate quite this fast, but everything was in place: TV and radio spots, caterer for the launch party. I was planning to officially launch Major Oak Books at the same time as Trask’s book.”
    I stepped away. Of course. This was Trask’s tour. Not about me at all. Okay, I had to ask the question rattling in my mind.
    “What happened with Gordon Trask?”
    Peter’s smile slipped for a moment, but he soon recovered his cheery tone.
    “I haven’t the foggiest. Maybe it was that awful karaoke at the Merry Miller—perhaps it scrambled his brain. That’s new, you know—the karaoke. That chappie Alan Greene brought it in only a month or so ago. Something not right about that bloke. Bloody southerner.”
    It was possible Trask had simply snapped. I remembered reading he’d had some sort of mental problems after Vietnam. Maybe he didn’t want the stress of a book tour.
    “Look!” Peter pointed toward the river, where a rainbow had appeared in the mist, with another forming above it. “A double rainbow. I think it’s a sign we’re going to have a great partnership, Camilla Randall.”
    He looked in my eyes, then leaned over and kissed me, long and hard.
     
    I could blame all those romantic Robin Hood films, or Hugh Grant, who made the self-deprecating Englishman such an irresistible sex object; or even the disorienting effects of jet travel. But the truth is the fault was entirely my own.
    But I can’t say I regret playing Lady Marian to Peter’s Robin Hood. And there was nothing “pervy” about his gentle, generous lovemaking.
    We were lying on the futon, under the duvet, beneath the painting of the Major Oak, basking in our blissfully silly, animal act, when the door burst open. It was Davey.
    “We’ve no bloody paper,” he said. “I can’t finish the Whippington run. Our Friday shipment wasn’t delivered because the last check bounced. Which my paycheck did as well, by the way… are you awake under there?”
    Davey caught sight of me and his fearsome eyebrows