Page 4 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“Vicky. Thank you for your help. I hope I’m not keeping you from your work.”
“No — only from my tea.”
“Oh . . . I’m sorry . . .”
“No problem. This won’t take long.”
He turned the tractor out of the farm gate and up the lane. The ride was bumpy and she had to cling to the sides of her seat to stop herself being thrown around.
“How did you end up in the ditch?”
“I had to swerve to avoid your cows.”
“You mean you didn’t see them until the last minute?” He arched one dark eyebrow in lazy amusement. “They’re pretty big.”
“I know.” She smiled wryly. “But it was muddy and the tyres wouldn’t grip. I slid pretty much the whole way down the slope.”
“What were you doing on the lane anyway?” His arm brushed against hers as he changed gear — and yes, those muscles were as hard as they looked. “It’s just a farm track — cars hardly ever use it.”
“It leads to Bramble Cottage, doesn’t it?”
“It does. But if that’s where you’re heading why did you turn off down Haytor Avenue? You’d have been better to keep on the main road and take the next left down Church Road.”
“I was following my satnav.”
“Ah. Your satnav.” She couldn’t see it, but she suspected that he had rolled his eyes. “Anyway, why are you going to Bramble Cottage?”
“I just inherited it from my Aunt Molly.”
“Molly was your aunt?” His voice had suddenly chilled. “Funny, I didn’t know she had any family. I must have missed your visits. Regular, were they?”
“No...” She’d been feeling a bit guilty about that since she had found out about the will. She had been Molly’s only living relative — she should have at least made some kind of effort to check that she was okay.
And now her aunt had left her the cottage and all its contents, as well as the contents of her bank account. “I haven’t been down for a long time. We... more or less lost contact after my dad died.”
“Really? And yet she was here all the time. You wouldn’t have had to hire a private detective to find her.”
His sarcasm put her on the defensive. “It wasn’t my fault,” she protested awkwardly. Her conscience bit back.Yes, it was.
He returned her only a brief, withering glance.
Fortunately they had reached the car. He manoeuvred the tractor behind it, jumped down and took a rope from the back. She watched as he stooped beside the back of the car and clicked off a plastic panel from the bumper.
“Oh... I never knew what that was for.”
“Well, you know now.” Any trace of friendliness was gone. With swift efficiency he threaded the rope through the tow loop and tied it in a secure knot. “Right. Take off the handbrake and turn on the ignition.”
She did as he instructed. He climbed up into the tractor again and put it in gear. The tow rope tightened and, bit by bit, the car was dragged clear of the ditch. It bounced and jolted back onto all four wheels.
Anxiously she looked around it. The front nearside wheel didn’t look right.
“It’s out of alignment,” Tom advised grimly. “You’ll need to get it fixed before you try to drive it anywhere.”
“You said I’d have difficulty getting a garage to come out.”
“I’ll give you a number. Ring them first thing in the morning — you can probably catch them before the tourists on the moors start flapping. I’ll tow it down to Molly’s for you.”
“Oh.” She was slightly surprised at the offer, after his earlier disapproval. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
