She swallowed thickly. They’d talked about it before, the last time the gastro doctors had struggled to manage Dad’s Crohn’s, and while she was sure it would mean a lot less pain, it was also a big surgery and a completely different way of life afterwards. He’d have to wear a stoma bag, forever cautious of leaks or complications.
The fear must have been written all over her face, because his rough hand found hers with a squeeze. ‘This is a good thing, aye? No more running to the loo ten times a day. But we all have to come to terms with the fact that maybe having the farm just isn’t feasible anymore. I won’t be able to do much heavy lifting for at least a few months after, and then I’ll have to work myself back up slowly. I’m not as fit as I used to be.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Rae whispered.
‘Because I knew you’d look at me like you are now, and I bloody hate that look. Besides, it takes a miracle for you to answer your phone.’
She turned away, wiping her cheeks though they came away dry. She was fine. However scary this was for her, it would be ten times scarier for him. ‘You can’t let the farm go, Dad. It’s home. You and Gran worked so hard for it.’
He shrugged. ‘I agree, but my body doesn’t.’
‘I’ll stay until you’re well again. I have my savings to keep us afloat, and we can plan for autumn—’
‘No, Rae,’ he snapped. ‘You’re not doing that. You’ll go back to work at the end of summer, like you planned. I’m not going to let you stay and throw your own future away.’
‘Dad,’ she protested, but he shot her a warning glare.
‘No. We’re not arguing about this.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to compromise, because I’m not going to stay here all summer and not do anything. I can manage the fair. Even if we just get a few local businesses involved, it’s something. Let me try, please. We haven’t lost it yet.’
Dad clucked his tongue. ‘Jesus, she’s stubborn,’ he told Roderick, who had prowled in for his breakfast.
‘I wonder where I get it from.’
He rolled his eyes with a grumble, and she knew she’d won – at least for now.
She yanked back her notepad and began writing again, glad to have something that wasn’t her uncertain future to focus on. If she could fix just one thing in her life, it would be the farm. Always.
It was embarrassing how eager Struan was to head back to the farm the next day. He’d tried to busy himself with other things, like preparing routes for his summer tours and scrolling through Instagram – which definitely did not involve rereading last night’s messages from Rae, because that would be ridiculous.
Unused to having a day off, he’d gotten bored by nine thirty and given up. If he was keen to get back to Sweetbriar, it was only to check on Doug, he told himself.
Yet when his beaten, mud-splattered SUV pulled up on the gravel outside the white-stoned farmhouse, it was like the world had other plans. There Rae was, stumbling out of the shop adjacent, canvas tote bags slung on both shoulders while she battled to keep a toppling tower of punnets upright in her arms. That same glow he’d felt last night radiated in his chest again at the sight of her, chaos wrapped in a pristine disguise, with not a single hair slipping from the braid that curled over one shoulder. She no longer dressed like a farmer’s daughter, either, those old, tatty dungarees she used to wear replaced by a pretty pink skirt – which was currently riding up with every swing of her bags, revealing thighs he’d tried so hard not to enjoy yesterday.
Jesus Christ. Martha would murder him very slowly and very violently if she knew he was having those sorts of thoughts about her best friend. Probably with her pink stapler, because she was a big fan of stationery. Hopefully, this was just another of his passing fixations, like the teaching assistant who had flirted with him after his water safety presentation at the primary school the other week, or the long-haired Icelandic man he’d guided up Ben Nevis last summer. It happened sometimes, likely a symptom of his loneliness, but not usually for a person he’d known since adolescence. Certainly not for someone off-limits.
With his hands frozen on the steering wheel, it only occurred to him when the top punnet of strawberries dropped to the floor that perhaps she might need help.
‘Shite.’ Struan tore his keys from the ignition and jumped out of the car. He dashed over to help Rae, but the spilled strawberries were already a lost cause.The dogs flocked around Rae’s feet to gobble them up. As he took the top few containers from her so he could at least see her rosy face, he asked, ‘Are you taking up juggling now, too?’
‘Very funny,’ she grumbled, then chastised the waggling-tailed dogs to urge them away. ‘No, leave!’
Naturally, they ignored her, only lifting their heads when they’d licked the floor, and their lips, clean.
Struan grimaced. ‘Oh, well. Strawberries are healthy enough, no?’
‘I suppose we’ll find out.’ Rae set the tower of fruit down to readjust her bag straps, every movement bordering on aggressive. ‘If you’re here for Dad, he’s in the house. I’d join you, but I need to take these into town.’
‘Why? Is there a strawberry shortage down there?’
She gave him a flat look, those big brown eyes darkening. ‘Your jokes are only funny when I’m not dripping in sweat and about to lose an arm.’
‘Ah, so youdoadmit they’re funny otherwise?’
If he had free hands, Struan would have raised them in a plea of surrender, her glower cutting enough to ward him back. His focus dipped, then swiftly snapped back up when he found that her skirt had bunched even higher, her simple white underwear now on display. Cheeks – and other parts of him – flaming, he angled away from her. ‘You’re… erm, a wee bit exposed.’
‘Please. You haven’texposedanything,’ she retorted, stepping in front of him to continue her journey away from the shop. Of course, that meant the sidelong view of before now offered a snapshot of her gorgeously plump arse, too. Half of it, at least.Struan’s cock twitched at the sight of the dimpled flesh, much like it had when she’d hugged him last night. Never before had someone’s underwear blunder been this fucking sexy, especially when they’d clearly been designed for comfort over seduction.
