Much Ado About You

“Why would anyone lie about that?”

Tony grimaced. “You decided to settle down awhile, that makes you a villager, and you made your choice clear.”

“My choice?”

“Milly.”

Just like that it dawned on me what Tony was getting at. “The village feud?” I huffed. “Seriously? Isn’t this all a little over-the-top, immature nonsense?”

He chuckled. “Oh, aye . . . but this is also one of the smallest villages on the Northumberland Coast. If drama can be found to spice up life, you’ll be sure people will mine that stuff for decades.”

“I came here for peace and quiet.” I threw my hands up in disbelief.

Tony grinned. “Aye, you’ll find that here too. On the beach. At sunset. When no other bugger is around.” With a nod he strode out of the store, and I was left there fuming with my hands on my hips.

Had West Elliot started a petty rumor just because I failed to frequent his premises?

Well, that was about to change! That evening, when it was busy, when I knew more locals would be in the pub, I was going to march in there and set them all straight.

* * *

• • •

Truthfully, I’d felt a lot braver this afternoon when I was planning my onslaught.

As I stepped inside, some of that bravery fled. Although not as busy as The Anchor, most tables were filled and many of the stools at the bar were occupied.

The Alnster Inn was darker, more atmospheric than The Anchor. In all honesty, its low, dark-beamed ceilings and Tudor walls were very charming. The floors were dark wood, as were the simple tables and chairs. Two large circular iron chandeliers hung from the low ceiling with at least ten candle flame bulbs on each.

The lights were cool but lethal for someone of my height. I ducked my head to avoid one as I made my way across the pub floor. I felt only a few pairs of eyes on me, some of their faces familiar enough for me to recognize them as locals.

Behind the bar was Lucas Elliot. He was pouring a pint as I approached, but his gaze was trained to me like a hawk. Drawing to a stop at the bar top, I held his open stare.

There was sharp intelligence in that mossy-green gaze.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m looking for your dad.”

Lucas shook his head. “He’s not on shift tonight.” His eyes narrowed. “What do you want with my dad?”

Two men sitting at the bar turned to look at me. With suspicion.

Ignoring them, I focused on Lucas. “I heard someone at this inn is spreading tall tales about my book prices. I’d like it to stop.”

Lucas smirked. “Why the hell would anyone here care about the price of your books?”

The men snickered.

I bristled. “Look, it was just something I heard, okay? Just because I’m friends with Milly doesn’t mean my store is open to sabotage.”

“Are all Americans this dramatic?”

I narrowed my eyes on the smart-ass. “We both know I’m not the drama queen holding on to a thirty-year-old wound.”

A muscle in Lucas’s jaw twitched. “You’ve said what you had to say. You can leave now.”

“Aye.” The older man next to me looked up from the pint he was clutching. His face was haggard with lines, and if I had to guess, I would say he was well into his eighties. “On you go. We don’t want your kind round here. A sympathizer.”

What? Really? My thoughts spilled out of my mouth because, man, the melodrama!

“Aye, really.” He ran his cloudy eyes down my body and back up again. “I’ve seen you, friendly with Viola Tait. Better watch, lass, or you’ll catch something from her kind.”

I swear I felt as if the world had fallen away from my feet.

Did he just say . . . did he just say what I think he said?

Sickening rage flooded up from the pit of my gut. “What did you say?” I asked, my voice hoarse with the strength of my reaction.

“I said—argh!” he cried out in fright as he found himself hauled up by the fist that had tightened in the fabric near the throat of his shirt.

Lucas’s face was dark with fury as he held the old man up from his stool and bent into his face to growl, “Get. The. Fuck. Out of my pub.” He shoved the old man back with such force, he stumbled off his stool, cursing so loudly, the whole place fell quiet.

He glared at Lucas. “It’s not your pub, you little shit!”

“It is while my dad isn’t here.” Lucas rounded the bar, coming out from behind it.

“Luke.” A man at the end of the bar grabbed hold of Lucas’s arm. “He’s just an ignorant old man. Leave it be.”

Lucas strained against him, his chest heaving, but he stopped moving toward the old bigot. He pointed a finger at him. “Racists aren’t welcome at The Alnster Inn. You set foot in here again, and I’ll physically throw you out, I don’t care what fucking age you are.”