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CHAPTER 1

Hannah Keys rode sleepily on a bus headed for Wales. She was alone, thanks to her friend Cassidy who'd flaked on her at the last possible moment. Hannah and Cassie had been planning this trip to the UK for years — a month in England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland, a week for each.

Twenty-four years old, Hannah — a Canadian girl raised by her transplanted English mother — used to sit and listen for hours as her mum told stories of growing up in London, of the family she'd left behind, including Hannah's father. His death had been the catalyst that had sent her mum fleeing to different shores before Hannah was born, to get away from the memories that were far too painful. Her mum had talked of friends from school, the beautiful countryside, of haunted castles and the amazing architecture that stood the test of time.

Hannah had read everything she could get her greedy little hands on, whether it be a history book or a historical romance novel or the old books her mum had brought over. Hannah had sat for hours and looked at the old photos, including one of her dad. She'd always been enamoured with anything English — the monarchy, the castles, and the history — while Scotland and Ireland held their own share of legend and lore that lured her imagination. Her mother had made everything sound so romantic, and now that her mum was gone, Hannah wanted and needed to see where her mother had come from.

The plan had always been to see the UK with her mum, but when her mother got sick, everything had changed. But she had made Hannah promise that she would still take the trip. That was when her best friend Cassie had stepped in to take her mother's place. And it hadn't hurt that Cassie had just seen 300, starring Gerard Butler. After that, Cass was convinced that every other guy in the UK might possibly look like Gerard, and she was all in.

At least Hannah had thought she was all in. But as she'd stood in line at the airport, with images of old stone castles and moors in bloom, rowdy pubs and Stonehenge running through her overly-excited mind, waiting for her BFF to show, the last thing she'd expected was for her cell phone ring and have her FBFF — former best friend forever — abandon her. Although Cassie had attempted to apologise enthusiastically, it would be a cold day when Hannah accepted it.

"What do you mean you're not coming?" Hannah had asked through gritted teeth.

"Paul proposed last night!" she'd gushed. "Isn't that the best news ever, Hannah?"

Hannah might have been happy for her at any other time, or if she hadn't thought Paul was a complete dick and had only asked Cassie this life-altering question the night before the big trip Because he didn't want Cassie to go off without him ... even though it had been planned long before he'd even met her. But, as much as Hannah disliked Paul as a person, she secretly envied what Cassie had with him. She wanted that for herself — someone to share her life with, someone to love and who loved her in return. She hadn't allowed herself to be close to anyone since her mum had passed away. Hannah was determined never to love someone so completely again. It only led to heartache. Besides, she'd never had much luck with guys or relationships, anyway. They only wanted one thing, and it wasn't her heart.

"And you can't meet me why?" Hannah asked a little too loudly, causing other waiting passengers to look in her direction.

"Because I don't want to leave him now," she whined, as if that should explain it all.

"But you can spend the rest of your life with good old Paul after we get back. Cassie, we've planned this trip for seven freakin' years, and I'm standing in the airport all by myself waiting for —"

"Oh, I knew you'd understand, Hannah. You're the best. I'll see you when you get back and you can tell me all about the Gerards that you shagged without me. Send me a postcard from Ireland. I'll make this up to you, Hannie, I promise, 'kay? Love you. Bye-bye."

The cell went quiet and Hannah resisted the urge to spike the damn thing on the floor. She spent the next thirty minutes panicking and pacing, trying to convince herself not to go back home.

You've come this far. You're so close. Everything you've dreamt about is only a plane ticket and an ocean away.

She was insane to travel unaccompanied. Not only the danger, but what fun would it be to sightsee and bar-hop? Single White Female abroad and alone. She was just asking for trouble. Right?

Damn it, she argued, she'd scrimped and saved and budgeted for so long and she'd already spent the money. Besides, she really wanted to go, with or without Cass. This was her dream. And she'd vowed to her mother on her deathbed that she would take this trip.

Despite the last-minute problem, something inside her pulled her in that direction. It always had. Perhaps, if she was honest with herself, she should have realised that Cassie had never been as excited about this journey as she had.

So, for once, she threw caution to the wind and handed her ticket to the agent. "One for London."

Hannah held Cassidy's ticket in her hand. "Can I cash this ticket in?" she inquired, almost as an afterthought. "My friend's not going to be able to make it."

"Sure, but you'll only get about eighty per cent back."

"That's fine." Hannah handed it over to the ticket agent. "It's not my money, anyway," she said, under her breath. But she had every intention of spending it. Cassie owed her that much. Damages, Hannah reasoned, along with mental stress and suffering, not to mention abandonment.

* * *

Hannah had boarded the plane headed for Heathrow with raw excitement humming through her. But after a week of sightseeing all by herself, she was second-guessing her decision. Vacations weren't meant to be experienced alone.

She'd seen the Tower of London and Big Ben. One day, she had taken a bus tour of castles, including Windsor — on the next day, she saw cathedrals and abbeys. Another one she had spent shopping, buying touristy trinkets and a T-shirt that read Kiss Me, I'm Scottish, which she had every intention of wearing for that leg of the trip.

She had also spent a day on the Internet, trying to locate the house that her mum had grown up in. When she found it, she had called a taxi and told the driver the street address, but when he took her there, the house had been torn down. So Hannah had taken a picture of the street sign and sadly returned to her hotel room.

Another day, she had taken a double-decker bus and visited the London Eye. She had even found the courage to ask another tourist to take her picture standing near it. But she hadn't ridden the enormous wheel. Another thing she would have liked a companion for.

Hannah rested her head against the cool glass and looked out the window of the bus headed for Wales, grateful to be on the next leg of the trip. But, more and more, she was thinking of cutting her losses and just heading home. She'd imagined having such a wild time — sightseeing through the day with Cass, hitting the clubs at night, dancing, maybe even hooking up with some hot guy for just one night before moving on. It wasn't as if she were anti- social, or not good at making friends. She'd just wanted to share this with Cass.

Hannah knew that she could get all dressed up and go to the pubs — she didn't need Cass for that. She was pretty enough and garnered attention all on her own, but it just didn't feel right. When she'd tried, she'd had no fun, no dancing — no shagging, as she and Cass had joked. She'd even had a couple of men approach her as she'd sat alone, eating a meal. However, when she'd just given them a cool smile, they'd nodded and gone on their way.

Hannah closed her eyes as a wave of loneliness descended over her, making her feel empty.

Someone tapped her shoulder.

"What?" She must have dozed off, she realised. Hannah sat up groggily, looking at the young guy. She thought he'd spoken to her in Welsh, which she didn't understand. It was such a guttural-sounding language.

"Pardon, I'm sorry, can you speak English?" Hannah asked, hopeful.

He couldn't be more than eighteen, she guessed. He grinned and spoke slowly. "This is the last bus tonight. This is as far as it goes."

"Oh! Oh no! Did I miss my stop?" She had a sinking feeling.

"I don't know. Where were you headed?"

"The girl back in London said Llandeilo, but much more throaty-sounding than that. She said that I could get a ticket there and transfer to another bus to Swansea. That's where I have a room booked."

"You are in Llandeilo." He laughed indulgently at her pronunciation but went along with it.

"Yeah, see? Just like I said, just a little more throaty." Hannah laughed too.

He grinned widely. "You should be able to get a ticket inside to continue on to Swansea. Can I help you with your bags?"

"Oh, you're so sweet. Thank you."

"Are you American?"

"No, Canadian," she answered, turning the little maple leaf pin she had fastened on her windbreaker towards him. She had the same little red symbol tattooed on the inside of her left wrist and a tiny blue one on her right, in homage to her favourite hockey team — the Toronto Maple Leafs.

"Anywhere I might know?" he asked.

"Probably not."

They stepped off the bus and he set the bags at her feet.

"The station is right there." He pointed. "But you'd better hurry — they don't stay open all night. I've gotta go. You'll be all right?" He watched her with concern.

"Yes, thank you. My name's Hannah, by the way," she said, holding her hand out and smiling. "Thanks for your help."

"It's good to meet you, Hannah," he said, taking her hand. "Jakob, they call me Jake." He seemed like a really easygoing, nice kid.

"It was good to meet you, Jake."

"Have a good holiday, Hannah." He waved as he walked off.

Her smile wavered as she picked up her bags. "Yeah. Thanks." She headed into the station.

"Hi," she said, to the woman at the desk. "One for Swansea."

The ticket agent slid a ticket across the counter.

"Thank you," Hannah said, paying then turning away and glancing at the ticket. "Ten?" She checked her watch. It was just past eight p.m. Even this would be bearable if she had someone else to do it with.

She sighed. Two hours? What was she going to do for two hours?

She sat down on one of the padded benches. Her butt had barely touched the seat when the ticket agent said, "We close at eight."

Hannah watched her wide-eyed as the woman hefted one of her bags and started towards the door. She placed the bag on the sidewalk outside then turned the sign hanging on a chain from the door.

"You're closing?" Hannah asked incredulously, while she struggled with her carry-on and the other case.

"What am I going to do? Wait outside?" And, as if things couldn't be any worse, it began to piss rain.

The lady pointed to the pub down the street where some sketchy-looking men milled around out front, in the mounting fog. "Perhaps you could go enjoy a cuppa," she suggested.

"I can't ..." Hannah paused when she heard the glass door lock behind her, the lights inside darkening.

"Oh, this is a magical trip. It just keeps getting better and better," she complained to herself as the rain took on a steady beat. "I swear you are trying to teach me a lesson, Mum," she mumbled, looking up at the wet sky. "But for the life of me I can't figure out what it is. I just want to go home."

She looked down the street. Maybe she could get a cup of coffee in one of the establishments, she thought, but changed her mind when she realised the shadows down by the pub seemed to be moving in her direction.

"This is just great!" she grumbled, looking down the street in the opposite direction, wondering where she would flee to if those shadows came any closer.

Instead a more immediate problem presented itself, as a car slowed and stopped near the kerb and the window began to roll down.

"I'm not a hooker!" she yelled, a second before she realised it was Jake.

He laughed. "I know you're not. Do you need a lift?"

Now what should she do? Take her chances with the shadows closing in on her or drive off with strangers? She didn't like either of her options.

"My gran says you can't stay here," he said — noting her indecision, Hannah suspected.

"Your gran?" Hannah looked closer into the car but couldn't see through the darkness or the rain.

"Yeah, she says there are no more buses tonight."

"But they sold me a ticket." Hannah pulled it out of her inside jacket pocket. "See, it comes at ten ... a.m.," she realised belatedly. She threw her hand up in frustration, rolling her eyes.

Jake jumped out of the car. "Pop the boot, Gran," he said, evidently for Hannah's benefit since he then said something in Welsh. He tossed her luggage inside and opened the back passenger's door.

Hannah still hesitated. "Really, Jake, I can't ..."

"Sure you can. You can't stay here. We can't leave you."

She ducked into the backseat. "Thank you so much, Mrs ..." she said, to the back of the older woman's head.

"You can just call her Gran, Hannah. You'll never be able to pronounce it, anyway." Jake grinned.

Hannah nodded, uncomfortable with that, but he was probably right.

'Gran' started speaking quickly to Jake in Welsh as she pulled away from the bus station.

"Don't mind her," Jake explained, "Gran doesn't feel comfortable speaking English. She's kind of set in her ways. She wants to know the name of your hotel in Swansea. Sorry, I hope you don't mind — I kinda told Gran all about you. We'll just take you there."

"Oh, no, I couldn't ask you to do that. It's out of your way and it's such a horrible night to drive." Hannah could barely see out of the windshield through the rain and fog.

"What's the name? When Gran gets something in her head, there's no changing her mind."

"Um, Gorman's, I think."

The older woman nodded.

"Yep, we know it. That's a great place. You'll like it," Jake offered.

It seemed pitch black outside. The darkness was eerie as they drove out of town, the fog getting thicker by the second.

"I really appreciate this, Jake."

"Oh, no trouble. I've heard that Canadians are very kind. Maybe when you get back, you can let your country know that we Welsh are just as nice."

"You can bet that I will."

"Besides, Gran comes out every night to get me off the bus. She's nice enough to meet me and drive me the rest of the way home after my shift, since this is as far as the buses travel. My gran's the best." Hannah could hear the genuine affection in his voice.

"Yes, she is," Hannah agreed, smiling, beginning to feel a lot less creeped out by the whole situation. Accepting a ride in a foreign land from two strangers, when no one knew where she was, was probably not the smartest thing she'd ever done. It certainly wasn't something she would normally do, not even if Cass had been with her. But it was the kid's grandmother, for goodness sake. How much safer could it be?

"So specifically, where are you from?" Jake asked, craning in the seat to look at her. "I'm gonna look it up on Google when I get home."

"Have you heard of Toronto?" At his nod, she added, "I'm from a smaller town near there, like a suburb, called Brampton."

"Naw, never heard of it."

"But I work in Toronto."

"Oh? What do you do?"

"I'm in retail. I work at a store, too — a clothing store. Trying to work my way up. My friend Cassie and I are hoping to open our own shop someday. So I'm trying to learn the trade. From the ground up, I guess you'd say."

"Ah oh," Gran said. Hannah understood that — it was pretty universal.

Hannah looked up to see flashing lights. Gran slowed and came to a stop. An officer approached and ducked his head to the window.

Jake's gran and the officer had one of those fascinatingly guttural conversations as Jake translated.

"There's a tree down blocking the entire road. We need to turn around."

Why was this day so difficult? Could nothing go right? It was as though she wasn't supposed to reach Swansea. She should just go home. How many signs did she need to convince her that this trip had been a bad idea?

"He says it's really bad from here on out. I guess you're not reaching Swansea tonight, Hannah, sorry. He's advising all motorists to stay off the roads if it isn't an emergency."

"Well, this is just great. I'm really sorry about all this. Please tell your gran."

He did and she responded, turning the car around.

"Is there a hotel, an inn — a B&B you could drop me at?"

"We know the perfect place for you," Jake said, smiling.

"Thanks. Again." She leant back and rubbed her temples.

"Are you not feeling well?"

"It's just been a long day." And an even longer week, she thought miserably.

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Excerpted from "Lost Time"
by .
Copyright © 2013 HK Carlton.
Excerpted by permission of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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