Page 9 of Rough Around the Hedges

“I’d rather not start my day off so terribly,” I replied. “Please inform the duke that I’ll be at the allotment at four-thirty tomorrow, so he can come to my plot and see me then.”

“Are you trying to make my life difficult, Rose?”

“No, I’m trying to make mine easier. It’s not my fault if that happens to make yours harder.”

“That’s not very convincing.” Bruce sighed. “I’ll pass on the message.”

“Thanks, old man.” I smiled. “When are you free?”

“Rose, we’ve discussed this. You’re too young for me.”

“And our age difference is a heartbreak I shall never get over,” I quipped. “I want to talk about the calendar. Will you help me this year, too?”

He chuckled. “Of course. Are you free tomorrow evening?”

I narrowed my eyes. I knew what that meant. “I’ll come and find you at the pub and buy you a drink.” Or two.

Or three.

Probably four, knowing this bloke.

“That’s kind of you to offer,” he said as if he wasn’t expecting it.

It was fine.

There was a very high chance I would need more than one myself after meeting the new duke.

“As if you weren’t going to ask.” I glanced at the screen on my dashboard. “I’d love to talk to you for the rest of the afternoon, but Steve Hooper’s grass is calling, and I must go.”

Bruce laughed again. “I’ll pass your message on to His Grace and let you know what he says.”

That was cute.

We both knew I didn’t care.

At all.

3

ROSE

The Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma’am Man

“Look at that widdle tummy,” I cooed, scratching Hades’ tummy. “Have you been keeping those mousey mouses away? What about the ratties? You’re such a good boy!”

“Rose, you’re risking your life by touching a cat’s belly,” Susan said, leaning on our shared fence as she squinted down at the black furball writhing away on my path. “Although he does seem to be enjoying it.”

“Of course, he is.” I walked my fingers up Hades’ furry belly to scratch under his chin. “He wouldn’t let me do it if he didn’t like it.”

“Isn’t that how you got that scar on your left pointer finger?”

I glanced at my hand and the four little scars that decorated that finger. One by my knuckle, one almost identically placed on the underside of my finger, and two more on the pad.

Not to be dramatic but getting bitten by a terrified ten-month-old kitten had been one of the most painful experiences of my life.

And not even necessarily the bite itself. The resulting infection from his deceptively sharp little gnashers had really done me dirty. Between that making my finger look like aballoon sausage and the antibiotics, I’d been knocked on my arse for about four days.

“Well, that wasn’t really his fault,” I said, brushing it off as Hades got up and walked about six steps before flopping down in the sun to wash himself. “He was spooked by Heather’s puppy, and my finger just happened to be blocking his path of escape.”

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