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‘Well, good morning, Rickheads!’ He made a point of flashing his Rolex as he checked the time. ‘Oopsie, maybe that should be good afternoon. As I know a lot of you saw — thanks for the love and stars always—’ he blew a quick kiss to his fans ‘—the gorgeous Yvette — that’s hashtag VettyBaby to anyone lame enough to not be following her yet — and I were out club-hopping last night, and I might be just a little bit late getting up today.’ He laughed and flashed the Smile around. ‘Anyway, you all know about my little accident — thanks for all the love and support, BT dubs — as you can see, I’m totes back to norm, and today I’m trying something a bit new. Exciting, right? I’m going to be volunteering at an animal sanctuary and spreading some love, so you can all expect lots of content of adorbs fluffy critters. Come with me while we go check in.’

He sauntered through the little gate, up the side of the cottage and to the much heavier, larger gate at the back. ‘Oh, would you look at this? A proper, actual brass bell with a rope. Oh, we’ve got to give this a good ring.’ The clanging echoed satisfactorily, bouncing off the ancient stones. ‘Oh, that was good. Shall we do it again?’ He gave the rope another hard shake, sending the noise bouncing around. He winced inwardly, the noise making him regret the last few drinks Yvette had insisted they stay for, because apparently no one who was anyone went home before 3 a.m.

But, as much as the noise reverberated around his skull, he knew that wasn’t the reality that his Rickhead followers wanted to see. So, instead, he flicked the Smile to full beam and turned the camera back to himself. ‘A third time for luck?’

‘No, thank you. Once is quite enough.’ The prim voice was muffled by the wooden gate, the top half of which slowly creaked open to reveal a short brunette peering up at him through a mane of curls. Her frame was swamped by a rainbow tie-dye fleece (seriously, who wore tie-dye without irony nowadays?). Despite her dress sense she was surprisingly young — he’d expected some middle-aged old fuddy-duddy, but he guessed she was nearer thirty — nearer his age.

‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ she commanded. ‘Hand him over.’

‘Him who?’

‘You’re not the man who rang about a moorhen he’d wrestled away from a cat?’

‘Nope, I’m—’

‘Are you filming me?’ She spotted the camera. ‘If you’re from that flaming animal rights group, you can go find a short pier to take a long walk. I’ve told you before, the animals here are rescues. They’re either being rehabilitated, or aren’t suitable to be returned to the wild. And I won’t apologise for giving them a home. And no amount of well-meaningness will change the fact that a blind hedgehog can’t survive in the wild.’ With that she slammed the heavy gate shut, leaving him gaping in shock.

‘Well, that wasn’t the welcome I’d been expecting.’ He grinned into the camera. ‘Maybe she’s not a follower—yet. I’m sure she’ll become a loyal Rickhead in time.’ He rapped on the gate again.

‘Just pop him in the cage, I’m just getting the kit — oh, it’s you again.’ The unironic rainbow did nothing to detract from the irritation in her smoky grey eyes. ‘I don’t have time for your silliness today. Please go away and take that blasted thing with you. I’ve got a rescue coming in who’s probably going to need medical attention.’

‘Right, sorry.’ He flipped the camera back around to himself and flicked on the mega-watt smile. ‘Well, that’s us told, Rickheads. Catch ya on the flip!’ He flipped his fingers from the birdie to the peace sign in his trademark sign off, then turned his smile on the walking, scowling rainbow. ‘I’m actually here to help. I’m looking for Mrs Turner.’

* * *

Her mum? But she was staying with her sister while she recovered — everyone in the village knew that — not that the person staring at her expectantly was a local. Angela was momentarily perplexed, until understanding dawned in a moment of horror. Surely this couldn’t be him? The person who had hurt her, her family and her community so badly was this smiling, flashy, phone-waving . . . character, dressed in skinny white jeans, and what looked a lot like suede boots. She was pretty sure that his shirt cost more than her whole outfit, and he was supposed to be helping her? It was a ridiculous notion, and she already knew that he’d be far more of a hindrance than anything else. Just what she didn’t need, to be babysitting a fashionista while trying to keep her head above water — and the sanctuary running — until she was properly on her feet again.

She closed her eyes and counted quickly in her head — three things to be grateful for. One — she had a lot of good friends. Two — the weather was deliciously warm and sunny, despite it being closer to Samhain than it was midsummer. Three — she was . . .

‘Did you hear me?’ He interrupted her few moments of peace. ‘I said I’m looking for Mrs Turner. She’s the owner of this place.’

‘Actually, no she isn’t. Mrs Turner would be my mum. And she’s semi-retired.’

‘So who runs this place?’

‘That would be me.’

‘You?’

‘Yes, me.’ Angela shifted slowly, trying to ease the ache in her leg. She’d done too much already today, and still had a to-do list the length of her arm. Not to mention an injured bird on the way. She only hoped his injuries were ones she’d be able to deal with, and not require another trip to Badger’s Hospital and Jake the vet. She didn’t have the time, or the money, right now. And she could really do without any more stress. And she had the strongest feeling that the dark-eyed man standing in front of her, peering at her through his dark, floppy hair, was going to be exactly that. Trouble and stress.

‘Right, then.’ He held out his hand proudly. ‘I’m Maverick.’

‘And . . . ?’ Her leg was really starting to hurt now, and her shoulders were complaining against using the crutches to move around so much.

For a moment the smile slipped and he looked confused, but within a heartbeat or two the cockiness reappeared. ‘And this is usually the part where you introduce yourself.’

‘Angela Turner,’ she replied automatically while her brain caught up. ‘I’m sorry, are you meaning to say your name is actually Maverick?’

‘That’s right, babe.’

‘Really? That’s what your mum put on your birth certificate, was it?’

‘Nope, but that’s what you can call me, babe. Maverick by name, and maverick by nature.’

‘Riiiiight.’ She let the word drag as she tried to figure out exactly what to do with him. ‘This is not an eighties movie and you are not some hotshot pilot, so I’m not calling you that.’

‘But it’s my name, babe.’