His Cinderella Mistress. Carole Mortimer

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      Their visitor obviously hadn’t been the intense Max, but January wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this particular visitor, either.

      ‘I thought it was all just some sort of joke.’ January frowned now as she could see just how upset her eldest sister was.

      May gave a humourless laugh. ‘This lawyer didn’t seem to think so,’ she muttered. ‘In fact, he went so far as to offer an absolutely ridiculous price for the farm.’ She scowled as she quoted the price.

      January gasped, March swallowed hard; all of them knew that the farm wasn’t worth anywhere near as much as the offer being made. Which posed the question, why was this lawyer offering so much for what was, after all, only forty acres of land, a few outbuildings, and a far from modern farmhouse?

      ‘What’s the catch?’ March prompted shrewdly.

      ‘Apart from immediate vacancy, there didn’t seem to be one,’ May answered slowly.

      ‘Apart from—! But we were all born here,’ January protested incredulously.

      ‘This is our home!’ March said at the same time.

      May gave the semblance of a smile. ‘I told him that. He didn’t seem impressed.’ She shrugged.

      ‘Probably because he lives in some exclusive penthouse apartment somewhere,’ March muttered disgruntledly. ‘He wouldn’t recognize a “home” if he were invited into one. You didn’t invite him in, I hope?’ she said sharply.

      May gave a firm shake of her head. ‘I was outside loading hay onto the trailer for feeding when he arrived. Once he had introduced himself, and his reason for being here, I made sure we stayed outside in the yard. His tailor-made suit certainly wasn’t suitable for visiting a hillside farm in January, and he got his highly polished handmade shoes all muddy, too,’ she added dryly.

      January laughed at her elder sister’s look of satisfaction. ‘And you sent him away with a flea in his ear, I hope!’

      ‘Mmm.’ May nodded, that frown back between clear green eyes. ‘But I have a distinct feeling he’ll be back.’

      ‘What’s it all about, do you think?’ January frowned her own concern.

      ‘Oh, that’s easy,’ March answered dismissively. ‘The same corporation this lawyer represents bought the Hanworth estate a couple of months ago for development of some kind. And with our farm smack in the middle of the Hanworth land…’ She shrugged. ‘I expect we’re rather in the way.’

      James Hanworth, the local equivalent of ‘squire’ the last fifty-five years, had died six months ago, leaving no wife or children to inherit his vast estate, just half a dozen distant relatives who had obviously decided to sell the place and divide the profits.

      ‘Why didn’t you tell us that before?’ May turned to March impatiently. ‘No wonder they’re trying to buy us out!’ she added disgustedly.

      Yes, no wonder, January mentally agreed. But this farm had first belonged to her grandparents, and then her parents, and now the three sisters, and, although it was sometimes a struggle to financially survive, selling it wasn’t something any of them had ever considered. It was the only home they had ever known…

      She gave a glance at her wrist-watch. ‘Look, I have to get ready for work now, but we’ll talk about this further over breakfast in the morning, okay?’

      ‘Okay,’ May nodded ruefully.

      January reached out to give her sister’s arm a comforting squeeze. ‘No one can make us sell if we don’t want to.’

      ‘No,’ her eldest sister sighed. ‘But, stuck in the middle like this, they could make life very difficult for us if they choose to.’

      ‘Depends what sort of development they’re thinking of having,’ March put in thoughtfully. ‘I’ll check into that tomorrow and see what I can find out.’

      ‘Don’t get yourself into trouble over it,’ May warned in her concerned mother-hen way. As the eldest of the three sisters, having lost their mother when they were all very young, May had taken on the role of matriarch at a very early age, and after the death of their father the previous year she now took that role doubly seriously.

      ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ March grinned dismissively, always the more reckless sister of the trio.

      ‘I’ll see you both in the morning,’ January told them laughingly, well accustomed to the battle of wills that often ensued between her cautious and more impetuous sisters.

      She hurried up the stairs to get herself ready for this evening, choosing another black dress this time, knee-length, with a low neckline and long black sleeves ending in a dramatic vee at her slender wrists. Her hair she pulled back with jewelled combs, leaving wispy tendrils against her creamy cheeks.

      It was slightly strange to lead these double lives, dressing glamorously for her role as a singer compared to the usual thick baggy jumpers, old denims and wellington boots when she was on the farm. Somehow the two didn’t seem compatible…

      It was troubling about the farm, though, she considered on her drive to the hotel. As March was only too keen to point out, no one could force them to sell if they didn’t want to—which they certainly didn’t. But what May had said was also true: life could be made very difficult for them if some sort of development completely surrounded their land and the farm.

      There were such things as right of way, and water rights, for one thing; James Hanworth had never troubled about such things, had accepted that the Calendar farm was adjacent to his, and that access and water were a necessary part of its success. Somehow January doubted the new owner—a corporation, no less—would be quite as magnanimous.

      It was testament to how troubling she found the situation that she hadn’t even given the man Max a second thought until she went into the almost deserted piano-bar and found him sitting there chatting to John, the barman!

      For some reason she had assumed Max would only be staying at the hotel the previous night. Erroneously, as it turned out.

      ‘Ah, January.’ Max turned to look at her with mocking blue eyes as she went straight over to the piano to arrange her music for the evening. He strolled over to stand only feet away from her. ‘I believe there was some sort of confusion last night as to where we were to meet each other at the end of the evening?’

      He believed no such thing, knew very well that she had deliberately slipped away through another door in order to avoid meeting him.

      ‘Was there?’ January raised her head to look at him, her gaze steady—despite the fact that she felt an inner quiver of awareness at the physical impact of his attractiveness in the lounge suit and blue shirt.

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