Before You Go: A Summer in Leaf, #1

By Stacie Hanson

Abigail Merchant has returned home after a severe career misfire in Toronto. A shy and nervous young woman, all she dreams about is escaping the small town of Leaf and travelling the world. Even if the townspeople are bent on getting her matched with an eligible bachelor, she's determined to follow her dreams. She just needs the cash to do it.

 

There's only one man in Leaf who might hire a woman with Abby's particular skill set. A man who owes her brother a favour.

 

Fergus McDougall is an ex-rugby player who came to Leaf to start his pub business. Retired by a devastating injury, he hides his crushed dreams behind a devil-may-care attitude. Tall and a little rough around the edges, he's consumed with making his pub a raging success. He has no time for romance.

 

He never planned for a rainstorm to bring in the woman of his dreams.

 

A sexy contemporary romance set in a sleepy coastal town, Before You Go is the ideal summer read for fans who want their romance a little sexy and a little sweet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacie Hanson
• Release date: May 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9780994927828

Stacie Hanson

There's little doubt in anyone's mind (anyone who knows her that is) that Stacie was to become a writer. A perpetual daydreamer who takes more pleasure in crafting worlds and characters than dreaming up bank reports, she spends her time writing fantasy and drinking tea. An avid equestrian, she also divides her time between moseying down the trail and finding places for inspiration for her books. She lives with her three cats and a dog, and her trusty laptop that lets her write as much as she can. She can be reached at her website www.stacieiscreative.com

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

He was smitten.  Absolutely as smitten as a man could possibly get while maintaining a sense of dignity. And with what? With a soaked, raggedy creature who looked like she had slunk in from the summer storm the way a stray cat might.

Oh sure, he didn’t want to be drawn but he knew he was. Sunk right down in the depths of pure infatuation and she’d only just walked in.

This was not going to end well.

Fergus sighed and grabbed his cloth to resume polishing a few pint glasses. It was best to seem busy even though this time of the day was slow at the McDougall Pub. The locals would talk if he was caught gaping at some wreck of a woman like he knew he was. Still, he couldn’t help but keep an eye on her. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the tall brunette wring her thick mess of hair out and struggle to braid it back. Her clothes clung to every curvaceous inch of her, dowdy clothes that shouldn’t have been sexual but soaking wet they did her modesty no favours. Denim skirt to the ankle, drenched blouse buttoned just below her collar. She couldn’t have been more chaste seeming if she’d been in a nun’s habit.

But, he had to admit, there was something to be said for chastity. Buttoned up as she was, he was wondering what it might be like to unbutton just a few.

Just a couple of inches of skin maybe. How scandalous would that be, really, in this day and age?

Grinning to himself at the thought, Fergus lowered his head when the nearby waitress slammed her tray on the mahogany bar. Tracey was a willowy blonde with the most winning smile he’d ever seen on a woman. A smile that likely earned her a lot of tips and even more than a few loving glances.

Though whenever it was directed at him, it was strictly professional. Thankfully.

What on earth are you smirking at? she asked. She showed him the order for the table in the back.

He shrugged and cleaned off the tray for her, his massive build looking perfectly at home behind the old fashioned bar. He caught a glimpse of himself in the wall to wall mirror behind it and quickly ran a hand through his russet coloured hair to muss it up just a little. He didn’t want to seem too put together. Though with his perpetually scruffy jaw, he knew he looked a little worse for wear after last night’s grand opening.

His eyes darted up to the left and he spotted the brunette fighting to drag in a wrinkled leather suitcase that was as high as her shapely thigh. Behind him, Tracey looked over and she gave a concerned though exaggerated sigh.

What is she doing here? On karaoke night? I mean, it isn’t her sort of thing

He tried his best to seem casual when he turned and set down a few bottles of Blue on the table. Know her do you, lass? he asked.

Why are you asking? Tracey asked, her tone just suspicious enough to let him know he might have been staring longer and more openly than he thought he had been.

Never seen her before.

Leaf is a small town, I’m surprised, she grumbled as she gestured at the shot glasses. Party of four is celebrating a catch. Give me some of that Screech.

Oy. He grasped the bottle and cuddled it close. This is my best bottle.

And you charge for it. Give it over.

He had to smile at her obstinate little pout and he let the bottle slide over to her. As he watched her pour, he decided to try just a little bit of charm. Leaning over, he tilted his head and stared intently into her eyes. Her hand faltered a little and she blinked, unused to that sort of attention from him. They’d been fast friends since he’d come here from Glasgow and they liked it that way. But Fergus wasn’t above using his gift to charm ladies and gentlemen to get what he wanted.

Don’t look at me like that, she muttered as she handed the Screech back over.

Come on, lass. He deepened his brogue a little, not something he often did unless he wanted something. Just a wee bit o’ teaser, you know. Who is she?

That’s Mag Merchant’s sister.

Maggie’s sister?

Shh! She smacked his shoulder. God, if he hears you call him Maggie he’ll knock you down.

I top him by four inches, not much of a threat.

Yeah yeah, you were some hot shot big guy, I get it. You’re a tough guy. She sighed and leaned on the bar to whisper to him. She’s one of those artists. You know, goes to the big city, ends up back home because she couldn’t handle the pressure of a firm. She’s been taking care of her grandmother the past few months, it is probably why you missed her. The pub’s opening kept you busy.

Fergus thought it over. Oh.

Then he grinned.

Tracy knew exactly where his mind was going.

Oh no. No no no no no, she rambled. You are not about to try it on Mag’s sister!

Try what? he asked, blinking his piercing eyes as innocently as possible. He had no doubt it didn’t work because she scowled.

Listen to me, you big bear, she’s not like your sort. She’s...well... quiet. She lives quietly and she’s a bit cold. She’s just getting over her grandmother’s death. So leave it.

She rapped his knuckles for good measure and he frowned.

What exactly did you think I had in mind? he asked.

Knowing you, five seconds in a backseat of that rust bucket of a truck.

First off, Cherie is a classic Ford and she doesn’t have a backseat. Second off, I wasn’t planning anything sordid. He looked to the right and the brunette looked up at the same moment. He was startled by how large her green eyes were in that oval face. She wouldn’t have been very pretty without them, he was sure. Maybe...God what was wrong with him?

His stomach went right to his knees and back up again by the time she looked back down to finish dragging in her suitcase. She tumbled to her knees, righted herself, and went right on dragging her case to the tiny booth set by the window.

What exactly were you planning? Tracey asked as she picked up her tray.

Fergus reluctantly looked away.

Aye me, Trace... I think I want to marry her.

ABIGAIL Merchant heard the clatter of a tray being dropped and the loud whooping laughter of the pub patrons as the waitress at the bar dropped a load of beer and shots. She didn’t smile, only shook her head in sympathy for poor Tracey, and resumed wringing out her hair.

It was a tangled mess and there was no real point to it but she tried to finger comb it into some order. She had to at least look a little presentable, it was important to at least try. But there was no saving her soaked clothing and she was sure that her blouse was see-through now.

Flushing bright red when she realized just what she wore underneath, she crossed her arms over her chest and made a point not to look at the big man behind the bar. He’d been staring at her on and off and she was sure it was because she looked like some sort of sea hag. She should have known better than to walk from her brother’s dockside apartment to the pub, especially with storm clouds overhead.

But she needed to get away from her grandmother’s nephew and his snobbish wife and even brattier children. They had been down for the funeral and were leaving soon, so that might her headache might go with them.

Plus, now was the perfect time to put her plan in action.

Biting into her lip, she looked at the massive windows that faced the street. Perfect. She could already see them painted up and displaying signage.

In the corner of the room, two tourists wailed out a pretty raunchy rendition of a Journey song. Watching the way the crowd was behaving, Abby thought she might have bitten off more than she could chew. Mag had told her that the pub owner, an old rugby player, had opened the pub on a whim and wanted to keep it as fresh as possible. He wanted it to be a fun place. It could be a steady commission if she convinced him to let her paint the display windows every week. Money she desperately needed if she was going to make a living doing what she loved, if she was finally going to get to travel.

Sucking up her nerve had taken all day until a screaming teenager who called herself a cousin had only made her mind up for her to get up and out, away from her grief and loneliness. She had brought her paints with her, determined to show this old man what she could do, even if it meant a free window done.

She’d done this in the city before, for scraps, and she was prepared to do that here. She hoped that small towns might be even easier to design something simple and elegant enough to be on a new pub window. Something elegant or something fun...

Abby?

She looked up from the window to see Tracey bearing down on her, a glass of water in her hand.

Hey.

What are you doing here? You don’t drink much. Tracey frowned. Unless you kind of hit the tortured artist thing in Toronto.

Me? Yeah right, you need talent for that to be charming, she said with a wry smile she didn’t feel.

Tracey gave her a kind look. I was sorry to hear about your Gran.

She said it was time. She lived ten years like that, going that slow slide. She was happy to have me home though.

Tracey clucked her tongue. You look, well, tired.

Been a long six months. Abby sniffed and tried to forget it and knew she failed when the sniffle caught in her throat. She had to cough to cover the urge to start crying. Guess I’m just stressed. My cousin is down for the funeral and he...he’s difficult.

Well, have something hot to eat and stay as long as you like. The boss won’t mind. Tracey squinted at the chalkboard outside. It was streaky and a mess to look at but she managed to read it all the same. Special is chowder and grilled cheese.

Actually, Tracey, I came here hoping for work.

Tracey nearly dropped her empty tray again. You would be a terrible waitress. You barely spoke in school to friends, let alone strangers.

No, I mean. She sighed and grabbed her suitcase. With a heavy thunk, she set it on the table and clicked it open. Her fingers caressed the leather lovingly. Pots of paint and groups of brushes crowded the pads of paper and pencils. I was hoping to do the pub windows. For a small cost.

Oh...oh! Tracey looked ready to burst into laughter. Sorry but for a second there all I could think about was you trying to wait tables and going beet red.

Very funny. Is the owner here?

Oh he’s around. Just, I mean, have you tried Grady’s place? Or Gaston’s French restaurant? They might be more open minded.

I tried. Both said no because I guess Mag beat them both at poker and they are out a lot of money.

That brother of yours, Tracey said with a grin. It’s no wonder why you ended up so quiet. He makes up for both of you. Makes perfect sense.

As she walked off, Abby gave the table a look. Yeah, makes sense.

CHAPTER TWO

The owner made her wait over an hour and Abby had to force herself not to fidget or just bolt out the door when her nerve started to fail her. Maybe her brother was right, she was aiming too high.

But if she didn’t do something soon, she might never try again.

Steeling herself against the rudeness of being kept waiting, she picked out a pencil and pad of paper and began to sketch a window design. Grabbing her cats-eye glasses and perching them on the end of her nose, she carved out tiny details within the font she was developing. It was a comfort to feel the flow of type and lines beneath her pencil and she bowed her head low to keep her attention solely on the paper.

Definitely not on the big redheaded man at the bar who kept glancing at her. She knew she wasn’t much better. She kept struggling not to look at him. His face tickled her memory but she figured it was because of her brother’s love of rugby. This man seemed like a rugby player, from his broad shoulders to his quick way of moving.

A way of moving she was absolutely sure she didn’t care a lick about.

Adjusting her glasses on her nose, she stuck her tongue to the corner of her mouth and began to try to get the arch just right to go about the bottom frame of her sketch. When she was drawing it was easy to get lost in what she was doing and she didn’t care how absurd she looked as she did something she loved.

Are you plannin’ on ordering anythin’, or are you just going to keep drippin’ over my floor? a Scotsman asked and she looked up sharply. She had to push her glasses back up but forgot to remove her tongue from the corner of her mouth as she gaped at the bartender. He had raised both his brows at her as he waited for an answer and there was something so intense about his searching eyes that she had to look away.

He had one hand on the chair opposite her and she noticed the bluntness of his fingers and the way two seemed a little gnarled. When he cleared his throat, she jumped and leaned back, focussing back on his face.

I’m waiting for the owner.

For what? Have a complaint? He seemed to consider that. Being that we just opened last night, you’d have to get creative.

Not a complaint. I want a job.

Have enough waitresses already.

She huffed. I’d really rather talk to the owner.

Well, lass, you’re a lucky one. He yanked the chair out and dropped into it. She noticed he winced when he did that, and he even propped his leg up on the bench beside her. She shifted uncomfortably to get away from the offending foot.

The bartender spread his arms out to either side. Here I am.

You’re... you’re Fergus McDougall?

Those red brows formed a furrow. Last time I checked my license.

Sorry, it’s just my brother said he was an old rugby player. I thought when he said old it meant, you know, old. She looked him over closely.  I’m Abigail Merchant.

Her perusal didn’t seem to sway him. He grinned, displaying alarmingly white teeth. Only thirty-five. Have all my teeth, hair and some other attributes, that some day I may tell you about.

She felt her face flush. I bet.

So, you don’t want to wait tables. Can you cook?

No?

"Host?

Oh please no.

Clean?

Only my apartment.

He sighed. Then I’m sorry, lass, but I’ve nothing for you.

She was starting to doubt that. Abby grew incredibly aware that the entire time they’d been speaking, he’d been staring at her as if he’d seen a Christmas present and was dying to open it. That was ridiculous, she knew, but she wished he would look away from her just once.

I can paint.

Walls are just done.

Abby started to think he was on autopilot when it came to answering her. I mean the windows.

He gave her a puzzled look and she flipped her sketchbook over to him. Like this.

Fergus took a moment to look at her drawing before he whistled in appreciation and squinted. Very nice. But not interested. I’ve seen better. Might even hire a student.

He stood up abruptly and headed back to the bar.

Her mouth hanging open, Abby watched him take his place there and her fingers clenched into fists. She gathered her book and stormed over to him, slamming it down hard enough that it rattled the glasses. Fergus’s face pulled into a scowl and he glared at her, a look like she had just spit on his bar crossing his face.

Christ, woman, she said you were shy.

I’m good at what I do and I want a chance!

You’re that desperate for work you want to paint my windows? I’ve got a chalkboard for that. He gestured outdoors.

She couldn’t help but feel triumphant. Yeah and look how that is working for you.

When they both leaned over and looked, the chalkboard had run and was blank thanks to the rainstorm. She looked to her right and caught him mere inches from her face. He stared back, his eyes narrowed as if he were thinking it over, and she became a little too aware of how close he was. Then he glanced down and she followed his sudden eyebrow quirk to see that her blouse had gaped open to reveal her red bra beneath the shirt’s sedate cream colour.

Well, Miss. Merchant, you are full o’ surprises, he said with a throaty brogue that sent her stomach tossing around. Then she realized what she’d been doing and how it looked. He looked down her top with clear appreciation.

Gasping, she clenched her shirt closed and pulled back, frustration and embarrassment flushing her skin bright red. Look, all I want is to do your windows for a week. If you hate it, keep it up or wipe it off and I’ll never bother you again. Or we can work together and I can help your business. All I want is a chance.

She quickly scribbled out her number on a napkin and slid it over.

Fergus chewed on his lower lip and he stared at her with that look that made her so nervous.

Just a chance, eh? He picked up a glass from beneath the barter and considered it. Just one window? How much?

When she named her fee, he made a face.

I don’t know, lass. He began to polish the glass. What if this is just some sort of hobby? How do I know you’re serious about it?

This is my job, of course I’m serious about it. I’m serious about everything, she said. At his look she tried not to blush again. Well, I am.

Hopefully not everything, he muttered but before she could ask what he meant he nodded his head to the tiny stage in the corner. Show me that you want it. I just bought a karaoke machine for Friday nights. Stupid me, it will never really get used much but I think it might be good for the occasion.

How?

I’ll tell you what, lass, Fergus said as he continued to polish the pint glass. He jerked his head towards the stage. If you get up there and give me an absolutely stunning rendition of ‘How Soon is Now?’ I’ll consider it.

She blinked a few times. She hadn’t heard him right, had she?

The Smiths? Come on, lass, you have to know it, he probed and she scowled.

Of course I do, she snapped. But why?

I love The Smiths, he deadpanned though his eyes twinkled. At the same moment, the fisherman on stage singing Garth Brooks began to wail about missing a dance, and he winced, rubbing at his ear. Be better than this.

Why? she insisted.

Thought you’d do anything to get the job.

I am not going to sing.

Oh, that’s a shame that is. Shaking his head, he held the napkin with her number over an abandoned but still half-full pint glass. He even began to lower it into the thick amber beer. Abby’s eyes widened. Because I just might lose your number and have to hire some art student who will do it for chips.

She ground her teeth so hard that she was sure he heard the squeal of it. That’s not fair.

He grinned and it gave a wolfish look to him that made her stomach clench into knots. No, it isn’t.

She sucked in her breath and looked around the bar. There weren’t that many people here. Reaching up, she gathered her mess of hair and tied a pony tail. One song?

He grinned. Just one. Then I’ll take you seriously.

Suspicious as she was, Abby desperately needed that job.

Fine.

The grin made her wonder what kind of deal she had just made. I can’t wait.

WHEN Mag Merchant walked into the McDougall pub, he thought he heard something suspiciously familiar. A woman trying vainly to sing on key and with some enthusiasm was fighting her way along to an 80’s track that sounded vaguely familiar. It came from somewhere in the back corner where the small stage was set up. Not bothering to look, he winced and headed to the bar, sliding into a seat and tapping the bar.

Fergus ignored him from where he was propped up staring into the back of his pub. His large shoulder was jutted up into the wall and he was staring so intently that Mag rapped his knuckles on the dark wood harder.

Ahem! he called out.

Oh I know you’re there, lad, but I’ve mind to watch somethin’ else, Fergus answered, his tone all laziness.

Annoyed, Mag went to lean over the bar to pour himself a pint. His hand was just on the glass when a calloused palm caught his and held him off.

Do it and you are out on your arse. Fast as anythin’, the Scot warned. Just wait five minutes.

For what? he asked.

For the song to be over, was the patient explanation.

I...what? Mag looked over just as Tracey came around the corner, flipping a tray in her hands.

Don’t look, Mag, you’ll just get pissed.

What? he repeated

A very familiar voice warbled on undeterred. The tiny crowd was cheering her on but all Mag wanted to do was run forward and protect his sister the second he realized that she was busy humiliating herself on stage.

What the hell? She never sings in public, he said.

I told her if she’d like some work, then I’d need to see her sing, Fergus explained. He leaned on the bar, one hand propping up his jaw and his eyes half-closed as he watched the woman try and fail to get energy into the song.

Why? Mag demanded.

Seemed like the thing to do.

Mag had the urge to pop the man one if only he wasn’t so incredibly out-weighed. Naturally slim, Mag knew how to fight but he also knew that he’d be lucky to make a dent in Fergus’ unflappable nature, let alone his jaw.

She’s almost done. The redhead stared at Abby with a look of concentration, as if she absorbed his focus completely and needed more of it all the same.

Fergus, that’s not fair.

I already told him that, Tracey informed Mag. But you know him. Has to push others.

She said she’d do anything to get work. Fergus looked over at Mag. I could have thought of a few other things we could have done.

Oh, you son of a–

Tracey hurriedly put a pint before Mag. Here you go, on the house.

Still grumbling, Mag subsided and Fergus grinned cheekily. Come on, Mag, it’s only another minute or so.

Sure enough, the song tapered out and Abby nearly dropped the mic in her relief. She beat a hasty trail to the bar, and pushed sweaty hair out of her eyes. If she noticed her lanky brother perched next to Tracey, she didn’t show a sign. Instead, she shoved her sketchbook at Fergus.

Well?

He had half a grin on his face. Well, I said I’d consider it.

Mag thought his sister couldn’t turn a brighter shade of red. You said...

Oh, well, you twisted my arm, Fergus said, sighing as if he had been the wounded party. I suppose I could use the help for advertising. I need to focus on getting the patio built anyway for the tourists.

Incredibly, his offer was clearly not appreciated by the way Abby jerked her book back from his hands.

If you’re giving me work out of pity, she started to warn and he put his hands in the air.

Wouldn’t dream of it. You’ve got talent, lass. Didn’t expect that coming from Mag’s sister.

Hey!

You won’t regret this, Abby exclaimed and her eyes were bright with something like hope.

Fergus grinned at her and Mag saw something in his expression that didn’t quite match how wide that grin was. It was as if he was struggling to hide something.

When he said Sure I won’t, Mag was certain something was wrong.

But all he decided to grumble was I’ve never seen her act that way.

CHAPTER THREE

It had been a good day, Abby decided, despite everything. Despite that embarrassing display at the