Page 15 of Falling in Love at Pennycress Inn

‘I know it.’

‘You do?’ She frowned. She’d assumed he’d only recently moved into the farm and guessed he hadn’t visited much before. If at all. She certainly couldn’t remember ever meeting Farmer Williams’ nephew.

He nodded as he turned the truck into her street. ‘Which one?’

She pointed to her cottage, the splash of yellow of the marigolds her mum had given her visible in the glow of the streetlamp. She and Nathan had rented the cottage for over eight years and now she did alone, and bit by bit they’d put their stamp on it – planting up the front garden being one aspect. ‘This one. And thank you.’

‘No problem.’ Jumping out of the truck, he jogged around to the passenger side before she’d even had a chance to reach for her bag from the footwell and place her hand on the door handle.

Gripping the edge of the door, she pulled herself out, careful not to put her weight on her hurt leg. ‘Thanks.’

He closed the truck door behind her before holding the gate open.

She could feel his eyes on her as she half-walked and half-hobbled to the door, a sharp pain shooting through her leg with each step she took. After walking the short distance to her door, she felt as though she’d run a marathon. Beneath the light of the outside light, she fumbled with her keys, watching as they slipped through her fingers to the ground.

‘Let me.’ As if he’d been waiting for such a thing to happen, Charlie jumped forward and picked up the keys, handing them back to Nicola with a slight grin.

Looking at him, she frowned. ‘I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.’

‘Huh?’ Running his hand across the back of his neck, he glanced back towards the truck.

With the door now unlocked and open, Nicola stepped into the porch and turned to face him. ‘Well, er, thanks again for the lift.’

Looking down, Charlie frowned, a deep crease furrowing across his already creased forehead. ‘Is that blood?’

Glancing down at her leg, she gripped the edge of the doorframe. She wasn’t very good with blood. She’d known she’d hurt her leg. She could feel that only too sharply, but she hadn’t noticed it was bleeding. She couldn’t draw her eyes from the red blood oozing through the fabric of her jeans. She braced herself as the all too familiar speckling of her eyesight began. If she didn’t sit down soon, she’d end up fainting, just as she had when Jill had grazed her knee after falling off a swing at the park when they’d been kids; just as she had when Nathan had hammered a nail through his thumb when she’d bought him a toolbox for Christmas one year in the vague hope he’d put some shelves up in the kitchen. The shelves were still leaning against the wall in the shed. She needed to sit down.

‘Whoa. Steady.’ Stepping forward, Charlie cupped her elbows, steadying her.

As he led her through into the living room, she could smell the earthy fragrance of the farm engrained into his shirt, feel the callouses on his palms as they brushed against her skin.

Lowering her to the sofa, Charlie gently pushed her head between her knees. ‘One moment.’ Charlie – Farmer Grumpy – was the last person she’d wanted to accept help from. The last person she’d even imagined would think to offer her help.

With her head lowered, Nicola looked at the floor. Much like at Pennycress Inn, the floorboards were dark oak, covered with a huge cream rug which stretched from the sofa towards the open fireplace opposite. As her eyesight cleared, she focused on her breathing.

Leaning back against the sofa cushions, she covered her eyes with the palms of her hands. The last thing she wanted to do was to catch sight of the blood once again. Besides, this way, her scarlet cheeks were hidden, too, although there was no sign of Charlie.

What was he doing? She listened to the opening and closing of cupboards in the kitchen, to the slosh of water as the tap was turned on, to the flick of the kettle. Was he making tea? She hadn’t envisaged him as a tea-making person, much less someone who would make tea for someone else. For her.

After what felt like at least ten minutes, he returned to the living room, holding a mug in one hand and a bowl in the other.

‘It’s got three sugars. To help with the shock.’ Charlie passed her the mug before placing the bowl – which she could now see had water in it – on the coffee table and kneeling in front of her. ‘Now, let’s see about getting that cut cleaned up, shall we?’

‘No!’ Sitting upright, she winced as hot tea splashed from the mug onto her lap. ‘Please don’t.’

Looking up at her, he frowned. ‘I was only going to clean your cut. From your reaction when you caught sight of the blood before, I assumed you have a bit of a phobia? In that case, how are you going to sort it out? You can’t just leave it, it needs cleaning properly.’

‘I…’ She could feel her cheeks heating up again. Up until he’d found her huddled at the side of the road, Charlie had only shown himself to be irritable, cantankerous and downright unsociable. Why would he want to help now? She certainly didn’t want his pity or him assuming she couldn’t cope. The whole damsel in distress role was definitely not for her.

‘My mum was the same. I don’t know how she survived having me, if I’m honest. As a kid, I was always falling off my bike or running headfirst into walls. I can’t remember the number of times I ended up in A&E being stitched back together again.’

‘Right.’ She swallowed and covered her eyes with her hand again.

‘Sorry, that’s probably not the best story to tell you right at this moment, but you get the gist.’ He shifted on his knees and looked at her for permission. ‘Let me help you.’

She nodded and bit down on her bottom lip as the fierce heat of embarrassment flushed across her face. The last thing she wanted was for him to help her, but it was that or be forced to face up to her fear of blood by herself.

He began rolling up the leg of her jeans. His touch was gentle which surprised her after the way he’d spoken to her earlier.

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