Page 12 of Melting His Grumpy Heart
He carried on flicking through the brochure. The isolated farmhouse on the edge of Dartmoor was the perfect location from which to run a survival skills business. The back page listed a handful of public courses and their prices. Ru whistled. Honing survival skills on the moor didn’t come cheap. A website address and contact details were listed to discuss tailored and more specialised requirements.
Ru put the brochure back in the box. On the wall there were a couple of large photos, in the same style as the ones in the bedroom. Black and white, bleak moorland against heavy skies threatening rain. In each, a small but vibrant flash of colour drew the eye. But they weren’t the only photographs on display.
A younger version of Jake, dressed in uniform, stared out at Ru. Hard looking, confidence bordering arrogance, but the crooked smile lifting his lips and the laughter in his eyes showed the man rather than the soldier. Where had that man gone? Perhaps one deployment too many had doused that light. Jake may have been in uniform, but it wasn’t an official photograph. Others on the wall were. Some of just Jake but many with his squad, face unreadable, every inch the hardbitten fighter.
There was one photo, slightly set apart from the others, that captured Ru’s attention. Jake, again in uniform, and no more than his very early twenties. His arm was slung aroundthe shoulders of another young soldier, hugging him close into his body, whose softer features contrasted with Jake’s harder edges. Jake was gazing at him, almost in wonder, the intimacy between them deep and clear, and for all to see. A tingle crept its way along Ru’s spine, the photo revealing far more than the camaraderie of brothers-in-arms.
Who and what Jake was, it was crammed into the bookcase and spread out over the wall. Or as much as Jake wanted to reveal. Jake the former elite soldier. Jake the survival business owner. Ru’s gaze flicked back to the photo of the two young soldiers. Maybe even Jake the lover. The books and the brochure showed the public face of Jake Whitby, but the photos offered a glimpse of the private man. Who and what else was he?
Ru puffed out a breath, dislodging the rogue lock of hair that fell across his eyes. He’d never know because bad as the weather was now, snow ploughs would be out soon and so would he. In just a couple or so days, his and Jake’s paths, converging briefly, would diverge as each of them headed in different directions.
CHAPTER TEN
Jake stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened. All he could hear was the storm beyond the thick stone walls of the farmhouse, but nothing else. No clanking of pots and pans, no movement in the kitchen. Of Ru, there was no sound at all. A sudden knot of apprehension tightened in his stomach. Ru couldn’t have gone out in this weather… Could he?
“Ru?” Jake called out, and waited for an answer that didn’t come, but what did was a low bark, from the living room.
Curled up on the sofa, Ru was fast asleep. Monty sat on the rug, at the foot of the sofa, looking every inch the guard dog he wasn’t.
Asleep, Ru looked at ease, the uncertainty and nervousness that had been so evident nowhere to be seen. Guilt spiked at Jake, because hadn’t it been him who’d made Ru feel awkward?
Ru shifted, and a lock of hair flopped across his face. Jake’s fingers twitched, not for the first time resisting the urge to ease it away. Pale skinned, and showing the first signs of dark scruff, Ru’s features were fine boned and fine drawn yet the firm set of his jaw suggested a steelier core lurked beneath his sunny good nature.
Ru’s eyes snapped open and met Jake’s. Jake took a step back, putting him literally on the back foot. He felt exposed, found out, as though Ru had caught him in a shameful act. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to fill the awful silence, when Ru spoke.
“Sorry,” he said, blinking as he pushed himself up to sitting. “Didn’t realise how tired I was.”
“I was going to make some tea?—”
“Ooh, yes please!”
Jake nodded and turned for the kitchen, hiding his smile. It was as though the man had been offered the sun, the moon, and stars all at once.
“Who’s a beautiful boy, eh?”
Jake paused in the doorway, a mug in each hand. Ru was down on his knees, giving Monty belly rubs. With each tickle and rub, the mutt made tiny growly noises of appreciation; Jake didn’t think a dog could look blissed out, but Monty was proving him wrong.
Ru smiled up at him as Jake put the mugs on the coffee table. Jake’s stomach clenched. The soft lighting sent shadows racing across Ru’s face at the same time the flames from the fire caused his big, bright eyes to glitter. He was, quite simply, the most beautiful man Jake had ever seen.
“Don’t let it go cold,” he said, his voice rough as he snatched up his own mug, his eyes watering as he took a sip of the boiling liquid. It was enough to set him back on track.
Ru took his tea and sat on the other sofa, the one he’d fallen asleep on, pulling his legs up beneath him. A small pang of regret twinged inside of Jake.
“This is lovely. Thank you,” he said, taking small, careful sips. “Did you get all your admin done?”
“What?” Jake’s brow scrunched. Admin? What… His cheeks tingled with unfamiliar embarrassment. The admin, the non-existent paperwork he’d rushed to do, an excuse to run away. “Yes, I did,” he said, not meeting Ru’s eye. Lying, running away, not holding another man’s gaze… When had he ever done any of that?
“I like this room,” Ru said, never knowing he was throwing Jake a lifeline. “It feels loved and lived in.”
“Thanks. Er, yes, I suppose it is.” Jake looked around the room that was so familiar to him. Ru was right. Loved and lived in, it was exactly what it was. Funny that it had taken a near-stranger to sum it up so perfectly.
He’d sanded and polished the floors, repainted the walls, and added more power sockets, but that was all, determined to keep the original character intact. It had been a labour of love.
“Did you take those? And the ones in the bedroom, too? They’re really good.” Ru nodded at the black and white landscape photographs on the wall.
An uncharacteristic shyness stole over Jake, his photography a creative outlet which had been neither much commented on nor appreciated when he’d first hung them in the farmhouse. “I did. Photography’s a useful skill in my line of work,” he said, his voice gruff.
“They’re way more thana useful skill.Don’t sell yourself short. The composition, the contrast, they’re not easy things to get right. And I love how you’ve used that single splash of colour in each one. It draws the eye, creating a strong focal point.”
