My Heart Stood Still by Lynn Kurland (best book club books of all time .TXT) 📕

to solve this one? He watched as another truck pulled onto the gravel road. The only light in the gloom was that this other truck was delivering a contingent of his very-well-paid workers from a neighboring village. He paused to consider. This might make a difference.

Thomas walked to one side of the hill and looked at the contingent of preservationists who stood there gloating.

The leader of his workers came to a stop at his side. "Blimey, mate," he said in awe. "Never seen such a mighty pile o' sh—"

"Me neither," Thomas interrupted. "I imagine there are a few shovels back at the inn, don't you think?"

The man looked a little sick at the idea.

"Send someone to fetch as many as possible."

"But it'll take all day to move that," the man complained.

"I'm less concerned about how much we move than to where we move it."

The man blinked at him for a moment or two in silence, then realization slowly dawned. He grinned, then began to whistle as he walked off with a bounce to his step.

Thomas returned to stand next to Iolanthe and waited. It didn't take long before men with shovels had returned and set to work.

Almost immediately came a screech from the other side of the manure mountain. That screech was followed by howls of irritation and downright outrage. Thomas walked around the manure and viewed the damage.

The three members of the National Trustees Concerned with Preserving Ruins were coated quite liberally in a substance Thomas didn't want to examine too closely—especially since he knew its origin.

"How dare you!" Constance screeched.

"Blue pee," Thomas countered. He looked at the two men standing next to her, spluttering. "Missing tools. Hassles from morning until night."

They glared at him.

"I'm not spray-painting Buckingham Palace, for heaven's sake," he said in disgust. "Can't you just cut me some slack? I promise I won't touch the outer walls."

That at least stopped some of the gearing up for battle he could see going on in their heads. Nigel very carefully dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief.

"Leave the hall alone as well," he said crisply.

"Can't," Thomas said. "Promised a ghost I'd give him somewhere dry to put his feet up."

Nigel looked skeptical.

"The MacDougal," Thomas clarified. "You'd recognize him if you saw him. You know the one carrying the six-foot broadsword?"

The three looked surprisingly pale under their newly acquired layer of muck.

"We can't give up," Constance said faintly.

"Pick on another ruin," Thomas suggested.

The three looked at each other. Gerard cleared his throat.

"The Queen is rumored to be installing a satellite dish on top of Big Ben. That could merit our attention."

"Her Majesty and MTV," Thomas said with a shudder. "Nasty thought."

Nigel shook himself off and put his shoulders back. "Our work here is done," he announced.

"But—" said Constance.

"We've done all we can."

"I agree," Gerard said, taking Constance gingerly by the arm. "We've left him something to remember us by until it decomposes. Let's be on our way."

Constance threw Thomas a look of promise. "We'll be back, young man. And if you've done anything untoward to the outside ..."

Thomas waved them away and walked back over to where Iolanthe stood with her kin.

"Once we get this cleared, we'll get the furniture moved in." He smiled at her. "Do you want to wait in the garden and have it be a surprise?"

She looked powerfully embarrassed. "There's no need—"

"Come, granddaughter," Ambrose said, taking her by the arm. "Come show me your garden whilst young Thomas is about his work."

Thomas watched her walk off, then followed along behind to make sure everything was ready for when the lads had the road cleared.

The upside of his situation was no more preservation contingent and no cluster of Highlanders standing around ready to mock him for his wooing efforts. The downside was the mountain of manure in his driveway, but that he could live with. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad once he was ensconced in the tower.

It took the entire morning to remove enough compost to be able to get the truck close to the front gate. Once that was done, Thomas supervised the unloading and the setting up of his tower.

He'd bought furniture for the bottom floor, comfortable things that had reminded him of the sitting room at the inn. Lighting had been something of a problem, but he'd decided on camping lighting. Kerosene and candles weren't exactly convenient, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

The next floor was his office. He'd ordered a laptop with a state-of-the-art solar-rechargeable battery system. Someone was coming later to install the solar panels on the roof and set him up with a little dish for a satellite Internet link.

And then came Iolanthe's room. He put a pair of chairs facing each other in front of the window. He set a desk along another wall with all kinds of obscure coffee-table books on it. He was fairly certain she couldn't read, so he'd found things he thought might interest her in pictures alone. He suspected that if she'd been as out of circulation as she'd said, even just the pictures would be mind-blowing enough.

He'd found a tapestry frame, and an armoire into which he'd put a portable stereo and a small collection of CDs. He hadn't had time to look for much else. He'd just have to convince her to go back to the city with him so she could pick out her own stuff.

He set everything up as well as he could, then paused for a moment and sat down in one of the chairs by the window. He stared out over the landscape in front of him with its rolling, sheep-dotted hills.

Could he look at this for the rest of his life?

He considered the things he might do with his nifty Internet hookup and his cell phone. He could carry on business, true. He could fly to New York every now and then just to keep things running in person. Or he could dump his company and think up something new to do.