Free The Red Book of Primrose House: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series 2) by Marty Wingate

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    “Many of them—beeches, oaks, and a few Spanish chestnuts that have survived on the far side. More trees have come up on their own.” She stood on tiptoe again, but remained safely within his arms. “And, here on the north side of the wood, there’s a big, dark green meadow of sorts. It’s difficult to see with the yew so overgrown. Well, I don’t think that it’s a meadow. I believe it’s the pond, Repton’s water feature, and somewhere along the way it was filled in. He said you should always look down on water, to get a reflection of the trees around. If the water is level with where you stand, all you see reflected is sky.”
    “Will you dig the pond out?”
    She smiled. “Yes. We’ll dig it out, and in spring, we’ll cut the yew down to a reasonable size, so that we can see the pond.”
    He was losing interest in the finer points of yew hedges as he continued to nuzzle her neck, but the fleece collar on her jacket kept getting in his way.
    “Badgers,” she said.
    He stopped. “Mmm?” His lips vibrated against her skin and tickled.
    “Badgers.” She laughed. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
    He was a countryman at heart, she knew it, and his eyes brightened at the thought of tramping through the woods and sussing out wildlife. They made their way on a trail below the walled garden. There was a thin patch of trees beyond where she made the brush pile, and a rocky rise at its edge. She’d done a bit of investigating. It looked as if a hole had been dug out of the side of the hill. A few scrubby hollies grew in front.
    They kept well away, standing near the brush pile. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised.
    He had his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “Yes, it’s quite possible that’s a sett. You haven’t seen anything?”
    “No. I’ve come out at dusk once or twice, but it was cold and I didn’t wait. You don’t think the brush pile is too close?”
    “Probably not. They aren’t too active in winter. Come spring, we’ll see what happens.” He put his mouth to her ear. “Wait, see that?”
    Her eyes followed where he’d nodded, and she saw a tiny olive-colored bird with a golden stripe on its head scurrying around the base of a beech. “What is it?” she whispered.
    “A goldcrest—you’ll want him around your garden. He eats greenfly.”
    She gave a little gasp. “Aphids—good. He can bring all his friends.”
    They returned to the cottage chilled to the bone, but that didn’t last long. Supper consisted of more treasures from Riccardo. Too bad she had such a tiny fridge, she thought; otherwise, she could stock up every time Christopher visited.
    That evening they sat with glasses of wine before the fire, Christopher with his feet stretched toward the flames, Pru with her toes tucked under his thigh. She watched him watch the fire until he smiled and looked at her.
    “When we first met,” she said, “you were a police officer.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “I’m still a police officer,” he said.
    “Yes, but not to me. At first, you were doing your job, and I kept interfering.”
    He took hold of her calf and massaged it. “I didn’t want you to be hurt. I needed to keep an eye on you.”
    “And so you protected me.”
    He lost a bit of his smile. “I don’t know how successful I was at that.”
    She reached over and traced his lips with her finger. “But now, I don’t need protecting, and so I can see you for all the other things you are.”
    “I reserve the right to protect you if the need arises,” he said as his hand moved up her thigh.
    “I might need protecting from Davina’s incessant notes. Or possibly from Liam’s arguments. Or from Robbie’s questions. Can you protect me from those?”
    Sunday afternoon, Pru and Christopher wrapped up against the cold wind and walked to the pub. The Two Bells fulfilled many needs for the locals. In addition to fine ales, the pub had music on the weekends—local DJs taking turns at their own