Series: Left At The Crossroads #3
Author: Lisa Worrall
Cover Artist: Meredith Russell
Length: 45,000 words
Release Date: June 29, 2015
Blurb: Little Mowbury is a sleepy English village deep in the Cotswolds. The kind of village where you’re only a local if your lineage can be traced back to the dinosaurs. Where you can find everything in the single village shop from morning newspapers to dry-cleaning, and getting your shoes mended. And, of course, where everybody knows everybody else’s business. It’s easy to find… you can’t miss it… just ask anyone and they’ll tell you… “It’s left at the crossroads.”
Oliver Bradford has had enough of the hustle and bustle of the A&E department in a big city hospital. Not to mention the tension caused by the break-up of his three year relationship with one of the hospital’s top surgeons. When his sister urges him to apply for the position of GP in the quiet village of Little Mowbury, he wonders if this might be just the fresh start he needs. Unfortunately, hitting the post-mistresses’ dog with his car isn’t the best introduction to his patients.
A solitary soul, Deano Wells grew up in Little Mowbury and has been having lunch at the Thatcher’s Arms on a Thursday for the last thirty-five years. First with his father, who brought him to the pub at the tender age of ten after a hard morning in the fields, and then by himself after his father passed on. He runs the farm with a practised hand and minds his business mostly, but that doesn’t stop Oliver from being drawn to the big, quiet man and he knows the feeling is mutual, so why does Deano keep pushing him away?
Oliver put his hand on Hugo’s soft head and leaned in closer. “How’re you doing,
mate?” He kept his voice low in the hope of distracting him while Big and Tall tried to
discern whether anything was broken. When he was rewarded with a wet lick to his nose, he
smiled gratefully. “I know it hurts, but we’re gonna fix you right up. Before you know it
you’ll be chasing sheep and frightening the crap out of drivers everywhere.” Hugo
whimpered and Oliver pressed his lips to Hugo’s fur. “It’s okay, mate, ssh, it’s okay.”
“Nothing’s broke as far as I can tell.”
Oliver looked up at Big and Tall, keeping his cheek on Hugo’s head. “Is he going to
“He needs some stitching and an x-ray or two, I dare say,” Big and Tall replied as he
wandered over the sink to wash his now bloody hands. “I’ll have to take him into Wimborne
for the vet to check him over.”
“I’ll come with—”
“Where’s my boy?” The shrill cry and the slamming open of the kitchen door
coincided, and Oliver wasn’t sure which one was the loudest. A woman, who had to be in her
mid-sixties, practically sprinted towards them. She shoved Oliver out of the way and took
Hugo’s head in her hands. His tail thumped weakly as she rained kisses on his face. “Deano?”
She looked at Big and Tall for information.
“He’s got some cuts and bruises, Doris,” Big and Tall replied. “I don’t think
anything’s broke. But we’ll take him into Wimborne to Maguire to make sure.” He patted
Doris on the shoulder.
Oliver couldn’t help but notice the size of the man’s hand on the older woman’s
smaller frame, and for the first time he took a good look at his knight in… well… mud
splattered jeans. Big and Tall, or rather, Deano, had to be at least six-five in his stocking feet.
He was broad shouldered, muscular and Oliver had trouble dragging his gaze away from
Deano’s big forearms, which were covered in dark hair. His hair was light brown, flecked
with golden highlights and a sprinkling of grey, cut short at the back and sides, left slightly
longer on the top so it swept across his forehead. His cheeks and chin were covered with light
stubble and his brown eyes were surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Oliver’s gaze dropped to
his mouth which was—
“You!” Oliver blinked as Doris turned her wrath on him. “Was it you? In your big
city car? Were you even looking where you were going? Or were you too busy doing your
hair in the rear view mirror? What kind of monster are you?” Her voice rose on each sentence
and by the time she’d finished Oliver could have sworn the glassware in the kitchen had
begun to vibrate.
“A fuckin’ twat?” Doris interjected. “I couldn’t agree more!”
“Now, now Doris,” Maggie stepped between them, which Oliver found unnerving.
Was she saving him from being beaten to death by someone only a few years younger than
his Gran? By the look on Doris’ face, he was rather glad of Maggie’s presence. “It was an
accident, that’s all.” She looked at Deano over the top of Doris’ head. “I think you should get
Hugo to Maguire’s and get the poor lamb sorted out, don’t you?” Deano took the hint.
“Yep, I reckon that’s best.” He picked Hugo up as gently as he could. “Come on,
Doris, you can ride in the back with him.”
Maggie patted Deano’s arm as he passed, Doris hot on his heels. “Let us know what
Maguire says,” she said and urged him towards the door.
Doris paused at the door and turned to glare at Oliver. She raised her hand and
pointed at him, jabbing the air for emphasis. “This isn’t over, city boy. I’ll be seeing you
I live in Southend-on-Sea, a small seaside town just outside London on the South East coast of Essex, England that boasts the longest pier in the world; where I am ordered around by two precocious children and a dog who thinks she’s the boss of me. I’ve been writing seriously for three years now and love giving voice to the characters warring to be heard in my head, and am currently petitioning for more hours in the day, because I never seem to have enough of them.
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