Page 9 of The Farmer Has a Wife

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess,” Danni said with a smirk. She stood back, pulling the front door wide open. “Come on, then.”

“Come on?” Eleanor asked.

“I might be broke, but I’m not so broke that I can’t offer you a cup of tea.” She considered this for a second. “Well, as long as you don’t take milk.”

“Expired,” Eleanor said faintly. “I remember.”

“Get inside then,” Danni said. “We’ve things to discuss, I suppose.” Eleanor still hesitated. “I haven’t got the black plague or anything,” Danni said helpfully. “And there’s no sheep in the kitchen. Not today at least.”

And tentatively, Eleanor took her first step into the farmhouse.

Chapter Five

She’d expected ducks waddling out of the living room and the smell of manure. What she got was a quaint, cozy little house that was unexpectedly clean. Okay, so there was a faintly animal smell around, but no worse than the wet dog smell that most country homes had. Eleanor found herself looking around with something close to approval as Danni led her to the kitchen.

There she found a large, unlit fireplace, a scratched wooden table, a collapsing couch against one wall, and a smug-looking cat sitting on said table. The cat stared at her with the kind of disdain she was only used to from countesses and the like.

She straightened her blazer. “Charming.”

Danni snorted as she petted the cat. “What? Expected a barn with a sleeping bag in it, did you? Or is Cat the problem?”

“Cat?”

“Yes, the cat.”

“Your cat is called… Cat?” Eleanor clarified.

“What of it?” huffed Danni. “I’ve got too much to be doing to go around thinking of fancy names for animals. Cat does the job, it’s a very serviceable name.”

“Indeed,” Eleanor said, somewhat wrong-footed. She cleared her throat. “And you have a very nice home.” Which was overstating things slightly, but it was still basically true.

She had, if she were being honest, expected something farmore rustic. Something that reflected the mud-covered, tractor-wielding, entirely too smug woman standing in front of her. Instead, the warm, sun-filled kitchen suggested cozy late-night conversations and homemade meals, though it wasn’t the tidiest of places.

It unsettled her.

Before she could dwell too much on her unsettlement, her gaze landed on an official-looking letter on the kitchen table. A letter that looked all too familiar. Her pulse quickened.

“You’ve been getting letters from an investor?”

“Did I not just tell you that literally two minutes ago?” Danni asked, turning to a cupboard and liberating two cracked mugs. She put the mugs down and turned to swipe the letter from Eleanor’s grasp. “And what if I have?”

Eleanor frowned, trying to make sense of this. “Because I’ve been getting them too. Same letters. Same envelopes. Same mystery investor.”

Danni folded her arms and sniffed. “Congrats, I suppose. We have something in common, finally.”

“I wouldn’t celebrate just yet,” Eleanor bristled.

Before she could press the matter any further, Danni clapped her hands together. “Right. Tea. Let’s get this over with. Sit down, if you want.”

She busied herself with the kettle, clearly uninterested in discussing anything further. And Eleanor decided to let it go. It was probably none of her business. Whoever this investor was might just be trying his luck around the entire village.

Instead, she watched Danni. The economy of her movements. The way her hair curled messily but also healthily, shiny and glossy. The clearness of her skin. The boundless health of her. And she found herself growing impatient.

“Well?” she said. “Are you planning to pay for the damage to my car? Or are we just here for a kaffee-klatsch?”

“A kaffee what?” Danni asked. She shook her head as she poured water from the kettle. “Lady, I can barely afford to fix my own stuff, vehicles I need to actually run the farm, let alone yourluxury toy.”

Eleanor exhaled sharply. “Then what do you propose we do about it?”

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