Lazy Days At The Farm On Muddypuddle Lane (The Farm on Muddypuddle Lane #7)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dulcie was in the dining room on a call with a customer when Carla walked into the farmhouse the following morning. As she headed towards the stairs, her friend beckoned her over, then held up an index finger to signify that she wouldn’t be long.

Carla sank into a chair while she waited, her thoughts flicking back to last night. No doubt Dulcie would give her the Spanish Inquisition treatment as soon as she got off the phone.

Dulcie’s attention was on the screen but when she’d finished speaking to the customer, she tore off her headset and swivelled around in her seat. ‘Did you spend the night together?’ she demanded, her face alight with curiosity.

‘Yes.’

‘I knew it!’ Dulcie punched the air. ‘I said as much to Otto after you messaged me to say you were staying at yours. Thanks for that, by the way – I’d have been worried.’ She fixed Carla with a piercing look. ‘Did you get much sleep?’

‘Not a lot.’

‘Ooh. He looks like he might be a considerate lover. Was he?’

Carla smiled sweetly. ‘I’ve no idea.’ Then she burst out laughing at Dulcie’s confusion. ‘We spent the night at my place,’ she confirmed, ‘but not in the same bed. Ashton slept in the spare room.’ She giggled. ‘Your face was a picture.’

‘But what about the ‘not a lot of sleep’ thing?’

‘I didn’t sleep well, but that had nothing to do with Ashton,’ she fibbed, as her restlessness having been mostly because of him. Some of it had been due to worry over the forthcoming meeting with HR, mulling over the contents of the folder (there had even been a photo of Yale and Anita kissing, which was pure gold) and a feeling of complete and utter dislocation from her life in Birmingham.

She had spent half the night wondering how much she would miss Picklewick (and Ashton, especially Ashton ) and fearing she would miss it far more than was good for her. What she couldn’t decide was whether her reluctance to go home to Birmingham was the result of the usual post-holiday dismay at returning to real life that most people experienced, or whether there was more to it.

As she had lain in bed last night, the room illuminated by streetlights and the subdued noise of the city in the small hours reminding her of the rumbling of a sleeping giant, she had been shocked to discover that she didn’t want this anymore. When she tried to imagine herself slotting back into this house, her job, and the social scene she had previously embraced with enthusiasm, she couldn’t. It felt like a well-loved dress that had been worn all the time, but had now grown shabby and no longer fitted the way it once had.

When she closed her eyes, all she could envisage was the hillside above the farm, with the wind in the grass and the cry of birds overhead. All she could feel was the weight of a camera in her hand and the peace in her soul.

Dulcie was gazing at her in concern. ‘How was your meeting? Was it useful?’

‘It certainly was.’ Carla pulled the document wallet from her bag and passed it over.

Dulcie flicked through it. ‘Bloody hell, this is dynamite!’

‘It is.’ She wrinkled her nose.

‘Don’t you think this will be enough?’ Dulcie asked.

‘It should be.’

‘What aren’t you telling me?’

‘I want to be exonerated – of course I do – but I don’t believe I can work there after this.’

Dulcie’s mouth fell open. ‘But you love your job.’ She scooted her chair closer, the wheels squeaking on the polished floorboards. ‘Don’t let this spoil things. You’ll be back at your desk in no time and in an hour it’ll be as though you’d never been away.’

‘That’s what worries me.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’m not sure I do, either.’

‘What’s going on, Carla? Has something happened?’

Carla got to her feet. ‘Ignore me, I’m being silly. I’ll feel better after I take a goat for a walk.’

‘You don’t have to. I think they’re lead-trained by now. Why don’t you have a quiet day? Read a book or something.’

Carla shook her head. ‘I’d prefer to go for a walk.’ She wanted a final look around before she left.

‘Something has happened. Tell me. Is it Ashton?’

‘Real life has happened. I had a letter from HR. The meeting is almost three weeks away. I can’t stay here until then.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I can’t.’

‘You can ,’ Dulcie insisted. ‘I love having you here.’

‘And I love being here.’

‘What will you do in Birmingham? Mope, that’s what.’

Dulcie was probably right, Carla thought. Then she brightened; at least she would have her newfound love of photography to keep her occupied.

‘Have you spoken to your mum about this?’ Dulcie demanded.

‘Not yet.’

‘Give her a call, see what she says.’

It was a good idea. Taking the folder with her, Carla went to her room. Dropping wearily onto the bed and narrowly missing Magic who was napping there, she messaged her mum. Call me? I’ve got news . It was still early in St Lucia, so hopefully she’d catch her mum before she began work.

Her phone rang a second later, and Carla felt some of the tension drain away when she heard her mother’s voice.

‘How are you, sweetheart? How was your trip to Leeds?’

Carla had been keeping her mum informed via messaging, but it wasn’t the same as speaking to her in person. She relaxed into the pillows, the cat curling into her and Carla absently stroked its silky head.

‘Interesting,’ she replied and filled her mum in on everything that had happened. Nearly everything. Although she’d told Mum about Ashton and that he’d helped her with the camera purchase, she hadn’t mentioned kissing him. Or that her feelings for him had gone beyond casual friendship. Actually, she wasn’t entirely sure what her feelings were.

‘It was weird being back home yesterday,’ she said at the end of the explanation. ‘It didn’t feel like home anymore.’

‘Good.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I said, good . It’s about time you thought about spreading your wings.’

‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’

‘Never. It will always be your home and you’ll always be welcome, but you need your own space.’

‘Hang on, Mum, I can’t think about getting a place of my own when I don’t know whether I’ll have a job at the end of the month.’

‘You will. And when all this is behind you, you can have a good think about what you want to do with your life.’ There was a pause, then her mum blurted, ‘I wish I could be there with you. I hate to think of you rattling around in that house on your own, miserable and lonely.’

She had a point. Carla would be miserable and lonely. ‘Dulcie has asked me to stay on at the farm, but I don’t want to intrude any more than I already have.’

‘If Dulcie didn’t want you, she wouldn’t have suggested it.’

‘True, but I do feel guilty. Everyone descends on her. Otto must be a bloody saint to put up with it.’

‘I’d like to meet him. I’ve never met a celebrity chef.’

Carla laughed. ‘Next time you’re home, I’ll see what I can do. But perhaps we’ll stay in one of Picklewick’s B did she mean what he thought she meant?

The short journey from the restaurant to his house seemed to take forever. The tension between them was palpable, and the atmosphere in the car was charged with promise. Ashton’s pulse throbbed, his palms were clammy on the steering wheel, and his thoughts were a confused mess. He wanted her so badly it hurt, but was what they were about to do wise?

Sod it. He was going into this with his eyes wide open. He knew what he was letting himself in for – a relationship with Carla would never be a long-term thing – and as long as he kept that in mind, he should be fine.

Carla pushed her misgivings aside as desire surged through her veins. Ashton’s smouldering look when he’d realised what she’d meant, and the way his eyes had darkened, the tension in his jaw and the hunger on his face, had melted her insides, searing its way through her body.

Dear lord, she hadn’t felt this turned on since forever. And he hadn’t even touched her yet. Not really – although the kiss they’d just shared had nearly made her burst into flames.

By the time they arrived at his house, her heart was skipping, missing beats and thudding to catch up with itself, and she was so weak with desire that she had trouble getting out of the car.

As soon as they were inside, he turned to her and she swallowed reflexively, wilting at the naked desire in his eyes.

‘Wine?’ His voice was gruff. It sent a shiver right through her.

‘No.’ Hers was barely more than a whisper.

With a low growl, he closed the distance between them, his arms snapping around her as he pulled her into his chest, a cage of bone and muscle locking her in place, pressing her to him.

She felt like a candle, consumed by the flame of his need as he kissed her, his mouth urgent and demanding, and she melted into him, wanting this as much as he.

When he broke the connection and bent to scoop her into his arms and carry her off to bed, all conscious thought fled, as Carla made love to him with her body, her heart, and her soul.