Page 33 of Not Just for Christmas

Gus growled and jumped up, his front paws next to Lucy’s head.

Dylan flinched and leaned back. ‘Is he protecting you?’

‘No, my fault for saying the “C” word. Squirrel!’

Gus gave one short ‘woof’ and then bolted off in the opposite direction.

‘His other favourite animal to chase,’ she explained, curving her back up enough to loosen her coat loop. ‘He isn’t the sharpest tool in the box.’

‘But he makes a cosy bedmate.’ Dylan resumed his position beside her.

‘He slept with you?’ Lucy gasped. ‘Not fair, I’ve tried to make him do that with me and he never stays!’

She was right, thought Dylan, that dog really wasn’t very smart.

‘That’s it, you’re free.’ He pulled her out from the bars of the fence, and they both stood up.

‘Thank you.’ She puffed her cheeks out. ‘Nightmare. Not sure what I’d have done without you.’

She looked so small, especially next to the cow who was nuzzling at her pocket. And she was carrying the responsibility of this farm all by herself.

‘What can I say?’ Dylan grinned. ‘Day one on the farm and I’ve already saved your life. Fancy that coffee now?’

She groaned. ‘God, yes.’

It was a relief to be back in the warmth of the kitchen. Lucy peeled her coat and boots off and rubbed Gus’s wet paws on a towel.

‘They’re Jack’s things,’ she said, watching him hang up his coat and boots.

‘I should probably get rid of them, but I can’t bring myself to.’ She gave him a twisted smile. ‘They belong here somehow. And you might as well wear them if they fit.’

‘I feel him,’ said Dylan gruffly. ‘I can even hear his voice. I keep looking at the door, expecting him to walk in.’

‘Me too. It’s going to make it hard to leave the farm,’ she coughed suddenly. ‘I mean, if I ever wanted to, because if I do, I’ll lose the last bit of Jack I have.’

He moved towards her, wanting to take her in his arms and comfort her. ‘Jack will always be with you, wherever you are.’

‘Don’t.’ She stiffened, and sidestepped him, making her way into the kitchen. ‘I’ve had two years of platitudes. Heard all the lines from the what-to-say-to-the-bereaved handbook.’

‘Of course, sorry.’ He followed her, sipping his coffee, and leaned against the Aga, relishing the warmth spreading up his back.

Lucy swallowed a mouthful of hers, pulled a face and put the kettle back on. Not a fan of his coffee then, he mused, stroking his jaw to hide his smile. He watched her heap ground coffee into a coffee press, add boiling water and stir. The silence stretched between them; he realised that this was new to them, being here alone without Jack.

‘So why were you on your knees in the yard?’ Dylan asked.

‘One of the cows had stopped responding, I went out to see what was going on.’ She poured them both a fresh coffee. It was much better than the one he’d made.

‘Responding?’ he said, bemused. ‘To your messages?’

She snorted, her face lighting up with a smile. ‘Every cow wears a transponder on a collar; all the information is fed into the computer, which picks up any problems. One of them hadn’t been in to be milked for a while according to the data. That can be an indication that something’s wrong.’

He nodded, impressed. ‘All sounds very hi-tech.’

‘It is compared to how Jack’s dad used to milk the herd, back in the nineties. Now it’s automated. Jack put in the system not long before …’ She paused to sip her coffee. ‘Two years ago. Makes life a lot easier. Except when a collar drops off and I have to go looking for it in the dark. It doesn’t help that it’s dark brown and almost everything you don’t want to touch in a farmyard is also dark brown.’

He felt a surge of admiration for her and wondered how Amelia would have coped with getting stuck in a metal fence, wrist-deep in cowshit with animals all up in her grill. The thought made him want to laugh. She wouldn’t have lasted five minutes on the farm.

Lucy nudged him out of the way, opened the Aga door and pulled out a big glass dish. The toasty, sugary aroma made Dylan’s stomach rumble.