Page 3 of Melting His Grumpy Heart
The guy eyed the gun, now pointing away from him, relief in his clear grey eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice steadier. “I saw the barn, and didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t call anybody because I couldn’t get a signal. Perhaps you could call the AA or RAC, or a local garage for me? As soon as it’s fixed I can be on my way. Please? Sorry. Or, perhaps a cab, to take me to Bobblecombe?” the guy added when Jake remained silent. A blotchy flush coloured the guy’s cheeks. “Then I could arrange for the car to be towed away,” he muttered.
A local garage? A breakdown service? A cab? The man had no idea what was outside the doors of the barn. If he thought last night was bad, he was in for a shock.
“Take a look outside.” Jake jerked his head in the direction of the barn door. The guy frowned slightly, but padded across, making a wide circle around Jake. Pulling it open a little, he peeked through the gap.
“Oh, no.” His shoulders sagged.
Jake said nothing.
“How am I going to…” The guy’s words fell away as his predicament hit home.
The problem was, it wasn’t only his predicament, it was Jake’s, too.
The weather had come down hard over night, just as forecast by the specialist weather service Jake subscribed to. This was only the start of it. And now he was stuck. With a guest he didn’t want, with a guest he couldn’t get rid of. Unless he fixed his car, which he was confident he could do. He’d use his big, heavy Land Rover to tow it into his garage, sort it out, and send the guy packing. What happened to him once he was off his land wasn’t Jake’s problem. But all the time the guy was here, he wasn’t just a problem, he was Jake’s problem.
Jake’s lips pressed tight in a grim line. He’d had enough of those over the last few years to last him a lifetime, and he wasn’t looking for more. The guy trudged over, and Jake didn’t think he’d ever seen anybody look so defeated and dejected, and a ripple of sympathy swept through him. He pressed his lips tighter. It was the guy’s fault he was in the mess he was, so he could damn well stay put in the barn whilst he fixed the car and shoved him out on his way?—
“Come up to the house.” A hard twitch pulled at Jake’s shoulders. Where the hell had that come from? The farmhouse was off limits, just as he liked it. The guy smiled, so grateful it was pathetic. Jake cleared his throat. “I’ll take a look at the car and see if I can get it going so you can get to Bobblecombe.”
Good luck with that.
The guy must have taken a wrong turn, or ten, because the tiny village was miles and miles away, on the other side of Dartmoor, via narrow lanes and tracks which would be impassable for anything other than a snow plough… A worm of disquiet wriggled in Jake’s stomach, but he stamped down onit, squashing it flat. The guy and where he was going wasn’t his concern. He’d fix the car, then Jake would make sure he left. End of.
“Thank you. I’ll just tidy up?—”
“Leave it, I’ll sort it,” Jake barked, earning himself an answering flinch. He bit down on his tongue. Whoever he was, the guy wasn’t one of the raw recruits he’d once put the fear of god into. “Look, I’ll sort you out a cup of tea then I’ll see what I can do with your car.” Tea? Christ. He’d be making him breakfast next. Since when had he decided to open a café?
“I know I’m an imposition,” the guy said, offering up an awkward smile. “And I really didn’t mean to break into your barn. Although I suppose I kind of did. Mean to, that is. But I didn’t, or not really, because the padlock wasn’t closed properly.”
Jake’s shoulders jolted. He hadn’t secured the lock? That was sloppy and a mistake he’d not repeat.
“… kind of came open in my hand. And a cup of tea would be lovely.” Gratitude shone from his eyes. “I’m Ru, by the way. Ru Parker.”
“Ru? What kind of bloody name is that?” The words burst from Jake’s lips, but Ru just grinned.
“Short for Rupert. But that’s a state secret. I think my parents must have been drunk when they thought that name was a good idea.”
“Grab your stuff and move.” Jake swung around on his heels and headed for the door. “I’ll sort your car and then you can be on your way. And it’s Jake Whitby.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jake strode into the kitchen, wiping his hands on an old rag. “It’s fucked.” No point in not saying it how it was.
The car, a dated Toyota, was marooned in the middle of the garage, held together with not much more than spit, chewing gum, and a prayer. The thing, he’d found, once he’d got his head beneath the bonnet, was a death trap. God alone knew how it’d got Ru as far as it had without exploding. The car wasn’t going anywhere other than a scrapyard, and that left Jake with an even bigger problem than he’d had just a couple of hours before, and which was staring at him through big, grey eyes, from the kitchen table.
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I knew it wasn’t in the best of shapes but I didn’t realise… I live in Zone One, you see. Nobody needs a car in Zone One.”
Zone One on the London Underground, which covered the centre of the city.
“Then why do you have it?”
“I used to use it for work. Never got around to selling it when I moved.” Ru’s brow furrowed and he looked away. He startedto nibble at the side of one of his thumbs before he looked up and met Jake’s eye, his gaze steady as though he’d reached a decision. “I’m really sorry that I’ve kind of dumped myself on you, and that you’re now saddled with my excuse of a car. Is—is there any way you could get me to Bobblecombe in that big four wheeled drive of yours? I’ll pay for the fuel and your time. Obviously. Once I’m there, I can make arrangements to have it removed when the weather clears a bit.”
