Page 10 of A Fresh Start on Crumcarey
With a whimper, Maggie turned in the dark and crawled in the direction of the sofa. As soon as her forehead bumped against its squashy edge, she climbed up and pulled an ancient throw blanket from the back, yanking it right up to her chin.
She stared around at the pitch darkness with wide eyes.
There had been plenty of times she’d been more than happy to be on her own in this cottage – and proud of it, in fact. Right now, though, she’d give anything for a bit of company… or a hug.
Covering her ears with her hands, Maggie screwed her eyes closed and - just for a moment - wished she was on that beach with the palm trees. In the background, there was a posh hotel waiting for her… a soft towelling robe… room service… Russell…
‘No. Not that,’ she said, her eyes flying open again.
She was happy here without him. He’d more than proven that he was the wrong person for her. She was just feeling sorry for herself because she was over-tired, hungry and a little bit scared.
Plus, the memory of Luke’s lovely eyes and grubby hands – and how good he’d looked in a pair of overalls – had done something strange to her brain… but she wasn’t going to think about that right now.
‘This too shall pass!’ she said out loud, addressing the roof. It didn’t sound particularly zen-like. Her voice was a bit too shrill for that, but it did make her bravery return a tiny bit.
She’d just stay put here on the sofa. The storm would ease, everything would calm down… and then she’d be able to do something about food… and light… and warmth… and…
CRASH!
The weight of the wind seemed to shake the entire cottage… but the resulting grinding, ripping and thudding wasn’t the wind. It was somethingfarmore solid.
Maggie’s hands automatically flew to her face with the shock, only for her to realise that there were tears on her cheeks.
Seriously? It had come to this?!
The backs of her hands were wet too.
Wait… what?!
‘Uh oh!’ she said, jumping out of the sofa and staring up at the roof… or… in this case, the clouds. The patch of slates directly above her head had disappeared, along with the tarpaulin that had been roped to them. Rain was falling thick and fast onto her face and the sofa.
‘Not good! Not good!’ she chanted, feeling her way to the end of the sofa and doing her best to shove it out from beneath the gaping hole. It was far too heavy, and she promptly gave up.
‘Now what?’ she muttered, doing her best to swallow the sob that was trying to choke her as she stared around.
Rain was falling inside her cottage – and not just where she was standing. That last gust had clearly removed most of her makeshift covers – and possibly a good chunk of the remaining slates too. There was no way it’d be safe for her to go outside and try to wrangle the tarpaulins back into place… not that she’d be able to find them, anyway… they’d probably be halfway to Denmark by now.
Maggie tried to take a deep breath, cowering as the storm raged overhead. She couldn’t stay here. Not without power. Not without a roof!
The farm. It was her only option. She’d hop in the car and drive over to Mr Harris’s to ask for help!
CHAPTER 6
LUKE
Luke loved the sound of the swirling wind and the rain clattering against the windowpanes. Nowhere else did storms quite like Crumcarey, and the wild weather running rampant outside while he was warm and cosy in his little barn made him feel decidedly at home.
Considering the place had been nothing more than a slightly scruffy blank canvas when he’d arrived, Luke was quite chuffed with the way it had turned out. It was amazing what a bit of a clear-out followed by a lick of paint could achieve. The empty space had transformed with the few bits of furniture he’d borrowed from his uncle’s farmhouse. Of course, power and running water had definitely added to his creature comforts – which was exactly why they’d been at the top of his list of priorities.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite managed to finish the bathroom yet. Everything was in place – other than a bath. He had his eye on a gorgeous old roll-top affair, but right now, it was sitting in one of his uncle’s fields, acting as the cows’ water trough. Still... a bit of a scrub to get the green slime off and it would be as good as new!
For now, though, he had to resort to a strip wash… which was why he was currently stripped to the waist at the kitchen sink. It was warm out here with the wood burner blazing – so he didn’t see the point in heading through to the bathroom!
Luke dipped his flannel into the bowl of scalding water and scrubbed at the sticky ooze that had somehow managed to coat his forearms. The real mystery was how it had made it onto the skin of his chest too. Considering he’d been wearing his overalls while he’d been helping Conner with a few bits on the ferry, he had no idea how it had got there. Perhaps he’d somehow managed to smear it across himself when he’d pulled his tee shirt over his head? Either way, it was proving an absolute nightmare to remove.
Yet again, the thick, oily substance threatened to glue the flannel to him rather than washing off. Luke sighed and grabbed the soap… and the scrubbing brush he kept on the windowsill. Desperate times called for desperate measures. If he could just scrub the worst of the stuff off without removing a layer of skin with it…
It didn’t take long for his entire torso to get covered with frothy, sightly grimy suds.
