Chapter One

Abby Deane nudged the yoke, banking her plane to the left. Looking out the side window, she spotted her new home, a sprawling ancient mansion dating back to the Tudor period, added to over the ages.

Her new home. Away from the pointless distractions of men, men who were so commitment phobic, wanting only a quick shag. Thank heavens for modern invention. She owned a potpourri of devices designed to please her. Who needed a man in the twenty-first century?

Ever since she’d given up on the heartbreakers, her life seemed less off-kilter. She hoped this new job would rebalance her life. The toys’d definitely help.

With a grin, she checked her instruments and glanced ahead, squinting in the sunlight even though she wore dark sunglasses. Puffy cumulonimbus blocked her vision of the private airstrip ahead.

Circling, she slowed the Beech Bonanza into its gliding speed. She guided the plane into its descent, checking the altimeter until she broke clear of the cloud cover.

She blinked. The airstrip had vanished. She glanced to the left and the right. Had she flown over the strip? Nope, nothing.

Just below the cloud cover, she circled, searching.

What the—A runway didn’t just disappear.

This one had. All she saw were mown hayfields and green fields of grazing sheep.

The engine cut out, sputtering. She checked the fuel gauges. Not even close to empty. She throttled back on the engine and gave it power again, to no avail.

Her forehead tightened. She took a deep breath. No need to panic. She knew how to make an emergency landing. She’d practiced it before.

She leveled the wings, aiming for a mown hayfield. She lowered the landing gear. At least she wasn’t far from the hotel. If she managed to land in one piece, she’d walk over. If not, someone from the hotel would see her go down and come to her aid.

Checking her seat belts, Abby glided in. The plane touched down, not skewing, but bouncing over the dirt ridges and truncated hay stalks.

The plane rolled to a stop. Abby sagged in her seat. Her seat belts relaxed their grip. A bone-deep ache radiated through her, a counterpoint to her thundering heart. Without further thought, she evacuated the plane. She stood at a safe distance, but the plane rested, still and silent.

She returned to the plane, reaching for her toolbox. She touched the right-hand engine and snatched her fingers back. Cold. That wasn’t right.

Abby sighed. Both engines felt like they hadn’t run at all. Weird. She’d never experienced anything like this before. She’d have to contact a mechanic to repair her plane.

She unloaded her luggage, hoisting the wheeled bags over the rich black dirt to the field’s edge. Through a small gap in the tall hedge surrounding the field (presumably hiding the spoils of hay from the adjacent grazing animals) Abby spotted a dirt track.

That should take me to the main road, she thought.

Two bags, one laptop, a large purse, and a long tube holding her copies of the hotel plans. She sat on the biggest bag to wait for assistance to arrive.

And waited.

Half an hour later, Abby came into sight of the hotel, her future home. Her future home with useless staff to fire. It didn’t matter that her boss had agreed to keep the original household staff. Someone must have seen her plane in distress. Why hadn’t anyone come to her aid?

And this drive . . . Gravel made a nice crunch under a car’s tires, but dragging heavy wheeled bags over it for a quarter mile was not so much fun. The other quarter mile had been nothing but dirt.

That had to be fixed. Hotel guests may not be inclined to travel to a boutique hotel all on dirt road. She thought of flying stones scratching a BMW’s paint job and shuddered.

No, that had to be rectified at once. Well, once she’d hired new staff.

She noted the shuttered windows on the house and at once forgave the staff. Keeping the windows closed preserved the restoration’s freshness. That’s why they didn’t see her go down, and her landing had been practically silent.

Speaking of silence...a breeze brought the sound of baaing sheep, the rustle of leaves from the giant trees lining the drive. No sound of civilization reached her ears. Not the dull roar of the M3 highway, which was only a couple of miles off.

Abby shrugged, shifting the tube strap on her shoulder. Maybe the house blocked the sound.

She reached the grand front entrance. Two giant oaken doors, formidable and highly polished. Abby nodded in approval. The staff were doing superb work. Such attention to detail.

Leaving her luggage at the foot of the broad stone steps, she slung her purse over her shoulder. She ascended and rang the bell, an old-fashioned pulley. Another nice touch. With the hotel’s official opening, those doors would stay wide open and welcoming.

She leaned backward, surveying the facade, approving of the sparkling windows and pollutant-free bricks.

A creak warned of the opening door. They polished the doors but didn’t oil the hinges? Abby repressed a sigh of irritation. So much to be done.

The door opened a crack.

Some welcome. Abby huffed. “Are you going to let me in?”

A deep baritone voice answered: “Who are you?”

“Your former boss if you don’t let me in,” Abby snapped.

The pause from his end only maddened her further. “A woman?”

She hauled the door open, ready to give him a piece of her mind, and stopped dead. Her jaw sank and she closed her mouth with a snap.