Book Title: Hiding Place
Author and Publisher: Jackie Keswick
Cover Artist: Avery Daisy Book Design
Release Date: March 31, 2023
Genre: Contemporary M/M Mystery Romance
Tropes: Opposites attract, hurt/comfort, murder mystery
Themes: grief recovery, letting go and starting over
Heat Rating: 3 flames
Length: 43 000 words
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.
Buy Links
Universal Link | Author’s Website
Amazon
Can a house with a secret bring two grieving men together?
Blurb
Can a house with a secret bring two grieving men together?
After losing his bandmates in an accident, songwriter Zach Hellig looks for a place to hide and a distraction from his grief. He finds both in a dilapidated Pele tower in a corner of Northumberland and in a sexy neighbour, whose smooth facade hides an old, painful secret that appears to be tied to Zach’s new home.
Are the rumours of an unsolved murder the reason for Robert Ludlow’s reluctance to sell Charnbarrow Pele?
Should Zach try to find answers to a thirty-seven-year-old mystery?
And having just experienced the pain of loss, should he risk his heart for a man who struggles to come to terms with his past?
A 43k m/m mystery romance, featuring a neglected old house in need of TLC, an unsolved murder, a grieving musician looking for a distraction, and his stern, intense neighbour who really should smile more.
Even this close, the tower had that faint air of desolation. Alongside it, though, I sensed a deep river of calm, like being welcomed home after long, fearful hours of being lost in the dark.
That a fortified building with its connotations of war should exude such peace surprised me, but I didn’t question it. I was too busy swallowing the lump in my throat. The twins and I had dreamed of owning a place such as this, with space to breathe, room for all of us to live, and a studio to make music. It was so unfair that they never got to see this house. That I was the one left clutching a splinter of our dream.
I pulled myself together and followed the lane through the open gate into a part cobbled and part gravelled courtyard. The house, stables, and barn made up three sides of the square, with the tower rising in one corner. The air was full of birdsong, and a saddled bay horse stood tethered to a large metal ring in the wall, contentedly plucking at the grass growing between the cobblestones. The gravel hadn’t seen a rake in years and through an archway on my left I glimpsed an overgrown wilderness dotted with bushes just beginning to green.
The whole place felt as surreal as a film set. Any moment now, a dashing d’Artagnan would dart from the walled garden to duel with the cardinal’s guards in the space between the stables and the house. I imagined the shirring of blade against blade, the grunts of exertion, the scuff of boots on cobbles, and the hot, metallic tang of blood as it splashed onto the dry ground.
Fanciful maybe, but entirely in keeping with my surroundings, and not a mental image that turned me from the house. Far from it.
I crossed the courtyard and reached for the knocker on the nail-studded door. My fingers had barely touched the tarnished metal when it swung open and I took an involuntary step backward, my fanciful ideas much less fanciful all of a sudden. More Mr. Darcy than d’Artagnan, perhaps, but still…
The man who stood in the doorway could have stepped from a book. He towered over me, just as the twins had done, but right then that thought didn’t choke me up or send me running to find a distraction.
I had a distraction right in front of me.
One with long, shapely legs wrapped in breeches and riding boots and wide shoulders draped by a soft white shirt. A sleeveless leather vest skimmed slim hips, and if he’d carried a riding crop I might have swooned on the spot.
More than a little rattled I dragged my gaze upwards and found dark blue eyes appraising me from under straight brows. And as if Fate was determined to offer me everything I liked, the man even had shoulder-length dark hair, which he wore tied at the nape of his neck.
Nothing and nobody had caught my interest in the last eight months, but this man— Guilt sliced through that thought and I closed my eyes against the sting. Had they been here, the twins would have ragged me rather than minded the flash of attraction. I knew it and yet…
“You’re here to see the house, yes?” He had a deep, smooth voice, though his tone was curt and almost dismissive.
Had he caught my interest and minded? Tough luck. My inner rebel raised its head and bared its fangs. I took a step backwards so I wouldn’t have to crane my neck, and gave him a slow, thorough once-over. From the toes of his boots to lush, pillowy lips and razor-sharp cheekbones, I didn’t miss an inch. And every single inch was stunning. Even the less than welcoming expression on his face appealed to me. As for the hint of a blush tinting his cheeks at my blatant appraisal…
“I’ve come to see the house.” My lips curved at the corners in response to the man’s straight-backed stance and narrow-eyed glare. “Mr. Ludlow?”
“I’m Robert Ludlow, yes.”
He sounded like an irritable teenager rather than the successful businessman and landowner he was reported to be. My smile grew wider. A beautiful, neglected house crying out for someone to lavish love and affection on it, and one intriguing neighbour… if I’d searched the world for a distraction from my grief, I couldn’t have found anything more perfect.
It only got better.
The front door led through a hallway into a large kitchen, where a woman waited for us. She was dressed in stylish boots—not the kind one wore on horseback—tight jeans, a brick-red jumper, and an ankle-long suede coat. Her hair was a riot of russet curls, bright against the coat’s dark olive, and her green eyes twinkled merrily. As if she hadn’t made enough of an impact, she carried a tiny monkey on one shoulder.
“My sister, Lori Ludlow,” Robert introduced before I could remark on the fact that I hadn’t seen another car in the courtyard.
I offered my hand. “Zach Hellig.”
I have a face that people remember. Not pretty. Certainly not beautiful. Just… memorable. If Halcyon had been a boy band, I’d have been the face of the group. Instead, I’d written songs and played keyboards, happy to leave the flirting with fans and cameras to Noel and Rick, who enjoyed it. Which was, of course, why I was here, and they were not.
Lori Ludlow wasn’t as inattentive as her brother. Or maybe she paid more attention to society gossip. She took one look at me, cradled the monkey in one arm, and wrapped the other one around my shoulders.
“I’m so very sorry,” she whispered into my hair. “So very sorry.”
I’d thought that, after eight months, I was finally past choking up at a kind word.
I was wrong.
Jackie Keswick was born behind the Iron Curtain with itchy feet, a bent for rocks and a recurring dream of stepping off a bus in the middle of nowhere to go home. She’s worked in a hospital and as the only girl with 52 men on an oil rig, spent a winter in Moscow and a summer in Iceland and finally settled in the country of her dreams with her dream team: a husband, a cat, a tandem, a hammer and a laptop.
Jackie loves unexpected reunions and second chances, and men who write their own rules. She blogs about English history and food, has a thing for green eyes, and is a great believer in making up soundtracks for everything, including her characters and the cat.
And she still hasn’t found the place where the bus stops.
For questions and comments, not restricted to green eyes, bus stops or recipes for traditional English food, you can find Jackie Keswick in all the usual places.
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