Page 6 of Falling in Love at Pennycress Inn

‘So, what?’ She frowned. What did he want her to do? Run after the sheep? It must be Claudette, the stray sheep which had been running amok in the village and causing all sorts of strife for the past few months.

‘Why are you here?’ He did little to hide his annoyance at her presence.

‘I’m looking for Farmer Williams,’ she repeated, glancing around as though she half-expected him to pop up from behind a bale of hay and save her from this hostile worker of his.

‘That’s me. What do you want?’

‘You? Umm, no. I meanFarmer Williams.’ She emphasised the name as if he’d misheard her.

‘Yes, I amFarmer Williams.’ He too emphasised the name with none of the warmth or good humour of the Farmer Williams Nicola knew.

‘No, you’re not. He’s older than you.’ She blurted out the words before she’d had a chance to think them through. But who was this man and why was he playing games with her? She didn’t have all evening to stand around being at the receiving end of some prank. She had Trixie to feed and a good book to curl up with back home. Not to mention the mac ’n’ cheese ready meal for one waiting for her in the fridge.

Shaking his head, he held up his hands, his palms forward, and began backing away. ‘Fine. If you’ve just come here to waste my time, then please leave. I’ve got enough to do without some salesperson trying to sign me up for the latest copy ofFarmer’s Weeklyor some rubbish.’

‘What? No, wait.’ Stepping forward, she stopped short as he glared at her. Maybe he was getting confused. Shehadsaid Farmer Williams and not just someone who worked for him, hadn’t she? ‘Sorry, I mean, you’re not who I’m looking for. I wanted to speak to Farmer Williams. The actual Farmer Williams. Blue flat cap, a piece of hay dangling from his mouth… The man who owns this farm.’

‘That Farmer Williams is dead. He passed away five months ago.’ A look of sadness passed across his face for a split second before his expression reverted back again.

Nicola blinked. He’d uttered the words so nonchalantly, she couldn’t be sure she’d heard them correctly. Farmer Williams had passed away? Surely she’d have heard if he had? Her mum would have mentioned it, she would have attended the funeral. ‘No, he can’t be.’

Sighing loudly, the man in front of her rolled his eyes. ‘I can assure you he is, and now I own this place, so you can either spit out the reason you’re here or get off my land and let me get on with what needs doing.’

‘I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’ And she suddenly realised why: Nathan. He’d been the reason she hadn’t known. Five months ago, she’d been in the process of chucking his stuff out on the front lawn after discovering him and his mistress sharing a romantic meal at her kitchen table. No wonder her mum hadn’t mentioned it. She wouldn’t have wanted to add to what Nicola was going through. Guilt rose from the pit of her stomach. She had fond memories of Farmer Williams and she’d have liked to have had the opportunity to pay her respects. Not that she didn’t understand why her mum hadn’t told her. She did. Looking at him, she could see a little resemblance, the way his lips curled at the edges, although with Farmer Williams – the proper Farmer Williams – his lips had always been curled up in a permanent half-smile, whereas it seemed with the man in front of her his were permanently curled downwards in some sort of half-scowl. She crossed her arms. Had Miss Cooke knowingly missed visiting Little Mead Farm? Had she known what sort of reception would be lying in wait? Quite possibly. ‘I didn’t know he had a son.’

‘He didn’t. I’m a nephew.’

‘Right.’ That made more sense. She’d struggled to understand how someone so closely related to the jolly Farmer Williams of her childhood could appear so angry towards her now.

‘Sorry to disappoint you. See yourself out.’ Turning, he began walking towards the back of the barn.

‘No! Please wait.’ Hurrying behind him, she skirted around a large stack of hay bales, her cardigan catching on the hay as she passed. She watched as he paused and turned back to her.

‘Yes?’

‘Sorry, I…’ She pulled a stalk of hay from the pale blue wool of her cardigan. ‘I’m here to ask you something. It’s the village carnival in four weeks and Farmer Williams… your uncle, he always lent us a couple of tractors and trailers to be used as a float.’

‘No.’

‘Umm…’ Nicola stumbled at his bluntness and wound the stalk of hay around her finger, giving herself a moment to think. ‘I’ve not asked you anything yet.’

‘But you’re going to. You’re going to ask me to continue his legacy and lend you the tractors and trailers again.’ He crossed his arms again. ‘And the answer remains a no.’

Was he really not going to let her speak? Let her explain? Did he not care what his uncle would have wanted? Surely the least he could do was listen to what she had to say instead of standing there and talking over her as he was? ‘But… itwashis legacy. He was involved in the carnival right from when it began. In fact, I’m pretty sure he was one of the first villagers who began the tradition. He used to say that lending tractors and trailers and helping out was his way of giving back to the community.’

‘I have no reason to give anything back. I don’t sell to the villagers; I sell the hay to the other farms and the vegetables to the grocery stores. And this isn’t my community.’ Widening his stance as though to prove he wasn’t about to back down on his decision, his tone grew deeper.

‘Of course it is!’ Why on earth wouldn’t he want to help? Why wouldn’t he want to continue the good work of his uncle? She didn’t understand. Nicola wracked her mind, trying to think of a way to convince him. She couldn’t let Jill down. They needed his tractors and trailers or they’d be two floats down – and two floats in a total of twelve was a lot. There had to be a way to persuade him. ‘Please, we just need to borrow them. The trailers for a couple of weeks…’

Lifting his eyes heavenwards, he grunted.

‘Okay, not a couple of weeks. No, one week at most. We can make everything and assemble it in a day or two even. And the tractors just for a few hours.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back. He had to have an ounce of his uncle’s compassion. He had to.

‘You’re asking me to lend you four pieces of equipment that are integral to harvest my crops, during one of the busiest times of the year for a farmer. And what? That’s it? You can drive a tractor, can you?’ Looking at her, he scoffed. ‘Or are you also asking me to lend you two farmhands to drive the things too?’

‘Well, yes, but not for long and we’ll return them just as we find them.’Please say yes.

‘My workers too?’ A quick flash of humour was soon replaced with annoyance. ‘The answer is no. Find yourself some other mug.’

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