Page 89 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“So you bought them out?”
“It was the obvious thing to do. My grandmother had left me some money, and I got a business loan. It started out just selling the excess feed from Harry’s land, but the market for organic’s increasing. A few more farms wanted to convert too, so I did deals with them to buy their produce, and it just grew from there. Organically.”
Vicky rolled her eyes at the dreadful pun. “How have you been managing to run it and the farm while your dad was away?”
“Ah, the farm always comes first. But depot’s only up the road, on that old industrial estate just past Haytor Avenue. I’ve got a good bloke in charge there for the day-to-day stuff, and I’ve always done a lot of the trading online. But with Dad back it’ll definitely be easier.”
“Have they enjoyed the trip, your mum and dad?”
“It sounds like it.” He laughed dryly. “Dad was a bit envious of Uncle Frank’s spread — it’s measured in square miles, not acres. Makes ours look like a pocket handkerchief. Mind you, then he thought about managing a herd that size and changed his mind.”
“I bet.”
He glanced down at her. “Why don’t you come over to dinner next week?”
She hesitated, startled. “Oh, I . . .”
“Dad remembers you from when you were little. He’d love to see you again. Ollie and Lisa are coming too.”
What to make of that?Come to dinner and meet my family...Wasn’t it a bit too soon? And yet... it wasn’t really like that. She had known his parents when she was a child — and besides, Lisa and Ollie would be there.
“I’d like to see them.” She struggled for a casual tone. “But your mum’ll be tired from the long journey home — she won’t want to be cooking for guests.”
He laughed. “I thought you knew my mother.”
“Well . . . um . . . if you’re sure it’ll be okay . . . I’d like to come.”
“Good.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and turned her against him, and his mouth came down to hers in a long, lingering kiss. She closed her eyes, letting time drift away like the breeze from the sea...
A larger wave skimmed up the sand, soaking their ankles, and Rufus barked in protest, running up to scrabble at Tom’s knees to suggest that it was time to go home.
He bent and tickled the little dog in his favourite spot behind his ear. “Okay, okay — we’re going.” He smiled down at Vicky, that smile that sent her pulse into instant overdrive.
“Are you going to invite me in for coffee?”
Her mouth curved in a flirtatious smile. “Oh, I think so.”
Chapter Seventeen
The farmhouse had changed little in sixteen years — homely, but spotlessly clean, with polished wooden floors and comfortably upholstered furniture. A heavy antique silver punch-bowl stood on the gleaming mahogany sideboard, and on the wall above was a fascinating display of photographs of some of the previous generations who had farmed this land, back to a solid-looking Victorian family in a proudly formal pose.
Tom’s parents had changed little too. Vicky had wondered if she would feel awkward, knowing that they knew that their son didn’t spend his nights in his own bed. But they were as warm and welcoming as they had always been.
“Ah, thank you, my dear.” Tom’s mother beamed as Vicky gave her the wine she had brought.
“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs Cullen.”
“Ah, now, call us Jack and Pam,” she insisted. “That’s what you used to call us when you were a little girl — Uncle Jack and Auntie Pam.”
“Oh, yes — I remember!”
She could feel the warmth of Tom’s hand resting lightly on the small of her back. It had been almost a week since that first night together, and she was fathoms deep in love with him — so deep it scared her.
“Why, it’s little Vicky Marston.” Jack Cullen strolled through from the kitchen. His eyes twinkled as he bent to kiss her cheek. As tall as Tom, his hair grizzled with grey, his skin weathered brown by years in the open air. “Last time I saw you, you were all skinny arms and legs like a newborn calf — and now you’ve grown into a beauty! And you’ve brought wine — that’s a good girl. I like a nice drop of wine. I brought back a few bottles with me from Oz — would you like to try one?”
She smiled warmly. “Yes, please.”
“Don’t suppose you’ll say no either, will you, Tom?” He beamed at his son. “Come on through to the dining room.”
