Page 14 of Summer At Willow Tree Farm

He swore softly.

‘I can’t believe you would tell her to take me miles out of our way when you knew my son was in danger and that I would be worried about his safety,’ she said, finally finding her voice. ‘I know we’re not friends.’ She was ranting, but at least it disguised the tremor in her voice. ‘But I–’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ he interrupted her. ‘I only asked her to take her time so I could have Josh down before you got there. I underestimated Toto’s flare for the dramatic though, and I’m sorry about that.’

‘But…’ The simple apology cut her rant off at the knees.

‘If it’s any consolation, your son was never i

n danger,’ he said. ‘He’s a brave kid, who handled himself just fine.’

‘A brave fat kid you mean,’ she said, unable to let go of her resentment completely. And unsettled at the realisation that Art’s compliment meant something. Why should she care what he thought of her son?

‘I never said he was fat. I said he thinks he’s fat.’ His head dipped to one side, the patient perusal sending heat into her face. ‘There’s a difference.’

The husky tone wrong-footed her, because it made the frank assessment sound like a compliment, too. Almost.

‘No need to apologise to Toto,’ he added. ‘Your freak out might teach her to dial down on the drama.’

His gaze skimmed back over her, and her misguided belly dissolved into a warm fuzzy puddle of need. Annoyingly.

Clearly being starved of male attention – because she’d had little enough from Dan in recent years – had the potential to make her delusional.

Then her belly added insult to insanity by rumbling loudly enough to be heard in Dorset.

Art’s lips kicked up on one side. The tiny suggestion of a smile on his hard, taciturn face made her lungs seize – which only served to remind her she had several bruised ribs.

She hauled in a painful breath as he left the room and captured a lungful of his scent – soap, sweat and motor oil. The warm fuzzy delusion in the pit of her empty stomach returned.

She dragged herself out of the bed and headed to the door Art had come out of, to find a newly painted en suite bathroom, complete with light blue enamelled tiling and a pile of brand-new extra-fluffy towels.

Staring at her smudged face in the mirror above the sink, she splashed cold water on her cheeks.

Step away from the edge, Princess Drama. One almost compliment and an overdue apology does not make Art Dalton less of a dick.

Hearing the click of the bedroom door, she switched off the tap and returned to the bedroom with a towel in her hands.

‘Ellie, should you be out of bed?’ Her mother placed a dinner tray laden with food, a pitcher of lemonade and a small vase with a bunch of wild flowers on the dresser.

Ellie’s stomach growled again, the sight of the wild flowers making her want to weep.

What are you doing, Mum? We missed the chance for our big mother–daughter moment nineteen years ago?

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

Dee simply smiled. ‘OK, but you should eat.’ She took the plate of food off the tray. The delicious aroma of roasted garlic had Ellie’s stomach protesting even more. ‘And then get some rest.’

Ellie dumped the towel on the bed. ‘That looks delicious, but I need to go check on Josh first.’ And make sure Art’s daughter wasn’t busy encouraging her son into any other near-death experiences.

‘Josh is fine.’ Dee placed cutlery beside Ellie’s plate and a folded napkin. ‘He’s downstairs having supper — fielding lots of questions from Toto about his favourite TV shows. I can make sure he gets showered and into bed, if you want? I’ve done up the room next to mine for him,’ she continued, pouring a glass of the lemonade.

The tentative request made Ellie feel like a toad. ‘OK. I’m sure he’s loving all the attention.’ Even if she wasn’t.

‘That’s all settled then.’ Her mother smiled at the modest concession as if Ellie had just announced Rod Stewart was coming by to serenade her. ‘Now sit down and eat. Have a shower if you want.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ Ellie took a gulp of lemonade to ease the new blockage in her throat.

‘Josh said he’s finished school for the summer, does that mean you can stay?’

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