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Chapter One

Marcus

"This is a dump."

Marcus Lane gazed around the front lawn of what had been his family home with folded arms.

The path was overgrown and the flowerbeds were not so much flowerbeds, but weedbeds. The roses growing around the front door were starting to swamp the doorframe. A lot of work had to be done, but first his suitcase had to be retrieved - which was easier said than done.

Marcus turned back to his rental car, a red Audi TT. In other circumstances it would have been a nice car to drive. In this case, it had been the only option the rental company had offered when he landed at Heathrow. Travelling during peak holiday time and not booking a car ahead had been a mistake since he had arrived back to England with several possessions stuffed into multiple bags and two suitcases.

After playing a five minute tug of war with the suitcase in the back seat, and almost falling on his butt twice, Marcus retrieved everything from the car.

He trundled his suitcases down the path as he sniffed the air. Although the garden was overgrown the rest of the house seemed fine. The paint on the yellow front door was starting to flake a little, but that wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed with a paintbrush.

That's if anywhere stocks that shade of yellow.

_ _ Marcus sighed to himself. A professional should be brought in to do the house up, then he could sell it and be out of there. He could see the name Honeysuckle Lodge engraved in a stone plaque by the front door. It was a funny name, given that most of the flowers that grew by the door were roses or fuchsias.

The windows were all intact. Marcus paused to look at his reflection in one of them; even having come off a ten hour flight with a dose of emotional turmoil on top, he didn't look too bad. As an athletic, twenty eight year old orange fox with black paws, black ears, a white tipped tail and brown eyes, his fur was often luscious and rich. The flight thankfully hadn't dulled any of it. Both of his ears had a small tunnel piercings at the bottom while the top part of his right ear had three rings. It had been warm in the US, warm on the plane and it was now warm in England, so Marcus had dressed himself in some petite denim shorts and a grey polo shirt. The clothes were largely crease free. He looked, as Conor would have put it 'fabulous.'

No, don't even think of him!

_ _ However, as Marcus looked closer, he could see his eyes were red and puffy, but hopefully that was a detail only noticeable up close.

He paused as he reached the front door. Honeysuckle Lodge was a large, yellow stone cottage with a thatched roof. It set back from the road behind a gated fence with a stone path leading up to the front door. He could almost imagine the estate agent using all the juicy descriptions (has character, rustic, quaint, secluded location) to sell it to someone, most likely as a second holiday home or country retreat.

His paw reached for the front door key in his pocket

"Marcus Lane!"

Marcus almost jumped out of his fur. He turned sheepishly to see a middle aged Border Collie coming to a stop by the gate on her bicycle.

"Oh, hi Mrs Durrence?" Marcus replied cautiously.

"Yes, I'm glad you remember me. Gosh, last time I saw you were this tall," she said, gesturing with her paw to indicate a height that was certainly an exaggeration of how tall Marcus would have been when they last met. "And now you're off in America writing all these famous books!"

Yup, I must have been 17 or so when she last saw me. I wasn't the height of a cub.

_ _ "I really ought to buy a copy," Mrs Durrence continued.

If gruesome crime thrillers with a gay wolf detective are your thing, which I suspect not.

_ _ "I saw a copy in the charity shop over in Thrupston, I thought of buying it."

Charming.

"It's nice to see you again," Marcus said in a friendly but neutral tone as he turned to unlock the front door.

"I'm so sorry about your father, and your poor mother. You've come back from America then to sort the place out?"

"I have," Marcus replied, knowing that as soon as Mrs Durrence cycled away and announced his arrival to someone the whole village would know.

"I kept an eye on the place, although Mrs Hinchcliffe nipped round twice a week to make sure everything inside the house was safe and in order. I suppose you'll be letting her know you're back and taking care of the place?"

"I shall."

"Good. Well, I'd best let you get on. I imagine you must be very jet legged. Did you fly in this morning?" Mrs Durrence asked.

"I did."

"Goodness, well, I'd best be off and leave you to it. I imagine you're exhausted. Hopefully we'll see you around, it'll be nice to have some young faces around the village again," Mrs Durrence laughed. "Well not that you're young anymore."

"Um, thanks, I'll see you around," Marcus replied as he turned to let himself into the house.

The interior of the house wasn't in bad shape, clearly Mrs Hinchcliffe (the name stirred a faint memory of a badger in a knitted cardigan who used to help at the church) had been keeping things in order. Some of the windowsills were a little dusty and there were a couple of dying potted plants, but otherwise everything seemed fine. The Wi-Fi box in the hallway was still in working order with the code attached to the lead.

"Trust mum to find someone holy to look after the place," Marcus grumbled to himself. "Not a thief who would steal stuff and save me having to sort through everything."

Strange reminders of home sat everywhere; the individual tins in the kitchen windowsill marked Flour and Sugar, a Waitrose bag containing god knows what hanging from a cupboard door and a floral print calendar showing the month of May when it was now July. _ _

This was a far cry from San Francisco, a far cry indeed.

Marcus absentmindedly began cleaning stuff up around the kitchen as he thought back to his apartment by the bay, the scent of the sea as he opened the window, Conor's arms (actually, better not go there), his friends; Gabe, Aaron and Krista, going to gay clubs, the...

"Ouch, for fuck sake!"

The memories were brought to a sudden end as Marcus' head collided with an open cupboard.

He staggered about before, gripping at one of the counters.

Jet lag and a bump to the head, this is going well so far!

_ _ Marcus glanced around, trying to find something cold to put on his forehead. The fridge was empty and there were no convenient frozen pea bags or ice packs in the freezer. There was only one thing for it; Marcus stuck his head under the cold tap and let it run for a minute. Weird yes, but at least it helped ease the throbbing.

Just as the pain subsided there was a knock on the door.

Marcus turned the tap off and, aware that there was water trickling down his fur, made for the front door.

He opened it to see a female black wolf standing on the doorstep.

"Oh, Marcus!" she said with a smile. "Is now a good time?"

"I guess so," Marcus replied, rubbing his head.

"You must remember me, I'm Anne Trelawney, Francis' mum." Yes, I certainly remember Frank, and his real name was Francis, Marcus thought to himself. "I was planning to stop by at some point to see if you needed anything, any fresh eggs, bread or milk? My hens have laid quite a large batch. I bumped into Elizabeth Durrence on her bike and she said you'd arrived already."

"Did she now?" Marcus replied.

"I did bring some eggs," Anne continued, holding out a basket. "I ought to let Francis know you're back in Little Hartbrook. You two were inseparable at one point. He's still around here you know."

"That would be nice," Marcus said in a neutral tone.

"What happened to your head?" Anne asked. "You're all wet."

"I was, um, checking the plumbing out and had an accident," Marcus claimed, before wincing.

"Oh dear, well here's the eggs. I also put some bread and ham in there too, just to keep you going," Anne said, handing the basket over.

"Thank you," Marcus replied, deciding it was best not to mention the fact he had recently become a vegetarian.

He took the hamper and moved to close the door.

"I'll let Francis know you're around, I'm sure it'll be nice for the two of you to catch up. Anyway, I'll be off."

"Yes, that would be nice. See you around."

Marcus closed the door and exhaled loudly.

It was time to inspect the upstairs of the house.

_ _ He slid the entire basket onto one of the many empty shelves in the fridge before making his way upstairs.

The door to his parents' room was closed and he gingerly eased it open. Everything was as he remembered it; the double bed, the wall paper with a rose pattern, the large Victorian wardrobe and the oil painting of a windmill at sunset.

Marcus closed the door. It was all too much to take in at once. His old room was the next door along.

Do I dare look?

_ _ He could already feel his hind-paws taking him down the hallway. The door was before him and he placed a paw around the handle. Taking a deep breath, he opened it.

Everything was just as he left it; books, toys, the paintings on the walls, his old bedspread. All was intact, but Marcus abruptly closed the door again, just like he had with his parents' room. The thought of sleeping in his old bed should have been an inviting prospect, but the idea also felt strange.

That, and the thought of more nosy villagers coming to the front door made Marcus want to sleep somewhere else for the first night. Changing the bedsheets also meant looking around the house for a clean set and Marcus could feel the jet lag setting in. The idea of simply finding a readymade bed to lay down felt divine.

Perhaps the Rose & Crown would still have rooms?

"Pub it is," Marcus said out loud.

He made his way down the stairs, realising he was still dripping water on the carpet (oh well, it's probably getting stripped out anyway).

Both his suitcases were still in the kitchen, but Marcus decided he would leave one in the house. It should be safe enough, the crime rate of Little Hartbrook was practically non-existent. Marcus always thought of it as the place where a late bus or a misplaced flowerpot would make headline news.

He wheeled one of the suitcases back outside and proceeded to play a one man game of tug of war to wedge it in the back before the suitcase fell out and Marcus yelped as it nearly hit his hind-paw.

"It'd probably fit in the front seat you know!"

Marcus yelped for a second time and turned to see two Border Collies standing behind him, one of which was Mrs Durrence. Her husband was gazing at him in amusement.

"Oh, I'm sure it will," Marcus replied.

"I was telling my husband you'd come back," Mrs Durrence cooed. "Isn't it nice to have him back?"

"That's a fancy motor you have," Mr Durrence chuckled, gesturing at the Audi. "Was it a birthday gift from someone?"

"It was a gift from Hertz rental," Marcus replied.

"Are you off again?" Mrs Durrence asked.

"Only to find a bed for the night," Marcus said.

"Was there none in the house?"

"There were, but no clean sheets and I feel tired," Marcus explained, inadvertently letting out a roaring yawn as if to underline his point.

"If the washing machine isn't working you're most welcome to bring the sheets to mine" Mrs Durrence said. "Drive safely now."

The pair nodded goodbye and Marcus grumbled to himself as he fastened his suitcase into the front seat before driving off.

The sun was getting low in the sky as he drove through the centre of the village. Little Hartbrook was the sort of place that most people would describe as a chocolate box kind of village with old thatched houses, a pub, a church and a small shop and/or café that sold everything from fishing tackle to souvenir mugs. The village was nestled in a valley with a view of the sea on the horizon.

Marcus associated it as the place he had left for a new life from, a life that was now in tatters, but as he gazed over the scenery, Marcus couldn't help but grudgingly admit it was pretty.

Beep!

"What the fuck," Marcus gasped as he manoeuvred the car onto the kerb. A steady stream of trucks and motorhomes were heading straight for him. He watched as they rumbled by in what seemed like a never ending stream that kicked up dust. "You're welcome," Marcus muttered sarcastically as the last truck rumbled by.

The Rose & Crown was located in a medieval building next to the church and Marcus pulled into the small carpark at the front before hauling his case out.

He pushed his way through the front door and into the low beamed bar area.

The pub had been run by an old Pine Martin couple when Marcus was growing up, but clearly a new owner had taken over and classed the place up with new furniture and paintings on the walls. The bar was mostly empty, apart from an elderly fox drinking a pint and a young wolf couple munching on their fish and chips.

The room was filled with the faint sound of a seventies pop song and the low murmur of chatter.

"Did you see all those bloody caravans and lorries?"

"Yes, they're making a film up at the manor house, didn't you get the letter warning us about it?"

"Hey there, how are you doing?" an Australian accented kelpie behind the bar called to Marcus.

"I'm doing good," Marcus replied, wheeling his suitcase over. "I'd like a glass of Pinot Griot, and a room please, if they're still rooms here?"

"I can certainly do both of those," the kelpie grinned. Marcus watched as he reached under the bar to retrieve a bottle of wine and a glass. "What brings ya to Little Hartbrook, on holiday?"

"I actually grew up here," Marcus explained.

"Amazing," the kelpie said as he placed the glass of wine down. "I was travelling around the UK but I fell in love with this place and I've been here for five months now. Welcome home!"

The kelpie fixed Marcus a warm smile. Marcus couldn't help but soften inside a little. He had not had what felt like a real conversation with anyone in quite some time.

"I was staying at my parents' place, but it needs some work doing," Marcus said as he took a sip of the wine. It was refreshingly cool and sharp.

The kelpie nodded as he pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen from under the bar.

"Oh cool, well I hope it's not in too bad of a state. Now, for the room I just need ya to sign your name here, your address and put your car registration."

Marcus took the pen and filled the form out before sliding it back over the bar.

"Fantastic, oh Marcus Lane, like the author?"

"That's the one," Marcus said, bracing himself for the I love the Inspector Forrest series, tell me what happens in the next book right now!

Instead the kelpie gave him an appreciative smile.

"I love your work, but I'm not gonna ask you what happens in the next book," he grinned. "You must get that a lot."

"I do," Marcus said with a wry chuckle. "How did you know?"

"I'm a mind reader," the kelpie replied with a warm chuckle. "I'm Don by the way."

"Pleased to meet you Don."

"Likewise, so you're here to help your folks fix their place up?"

"Not quite, my father died recently and my mum has just come out of a medically induced coma, but she's not moving back into the house and left it to me. I've come back from the US to sort it out and sell it," Marcus explain, giving an abridged version of events.

"I'm sorry to hear all that, have the wine on the house," Don said. "We serve dinner until nine and breakfast is eight 'till ten am, but if you'd rather just stay upstairs this evening don't hesitate to give me a call before nine and I'll bring you up a plate of whatever you want. The number for downstairs is on a sheet of paper by the phone."

"Thanks."

"Hey, no problem," Don grinned as he handed Marcus a key. "You're room is just up the stairs, first door on the right. I gave you the nice and cosy room so you can sleep well. Give me a call if you need anything. Us outsiders have gotta stick together, right?" he added with a wink.

"For sure," Marcus replied, feeling a smile spread across his muzzle for the first time that day.

Don shot a smile back before he turned to remove the old fox's glass. Marcus couldn't help but gaze over the bar. Don was wearing a short sleeved Hawaiian style shirt and white shorts. Both fitted his body well. Marcus usually had a good gaydar and he wondered if there was more to Don's advice to call him than met the eye. After all that had happened, the idea of sharing dinner in a cosy pub room with a cute kelpie was a welcome idea.

As Marcus watched, a female Labrador appeared behind the bar. She and Don gazed at each other and shared a quick kiss followed by a chuckle and a certain gaze only couples fix each other.

Marcus picked up his wine and stuffed the key into his pocket.

It looked like it was to be a night alone after all.