Page 73 of Summer At Willow Tree Farm

t her an infuriatingly patient nod.

‘Your call.’ He lifted his hands in surrender.

‘But, Mom, I want–’

‘Why don’t you guys head into the farmhouse.’ Art interrupted Josh’s cry of protest. ‘Go wash up and we’ll be there in a bit.’

She wanted to tell the kids to stay. She did not want to be alone with Art. But she didn’t move, as they ran off together, obviously keen to have Art fight their battles for them.

She took a calming breath, trying to get her rising temper, and the rising temperature, under control. Why did he still have the ability to turn her on to the point of madness? She wasn’t a teenager any more, she ought to be able to control her ridiculous obsession with this man.

‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t butt into my relationship with my son,’ she said, trying to focus on her anger, instead of the scent of sawdust and man that invaded her personal space as Art strolled past her to unhook the toolbelt and dump it on the workbench. ‘I know you think I’m hysterical and irrational and overprotective, but I’m not comfortable with him and Toto going to Gratesbury on their own.’

He faced her. Leaning his butt against the bench, he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Then they won’t. I’ll tell Toto she can’t go either.’

‘You… Really? You’d do that?’ Surely it could not be that simple. ‘But won’t Toto be upset?’

‘She’ll probably moan a bit, but she’s thirteen, so she does what I tell her.’ Releasing his arms, he turned back to the bench, and began removing the tools from his belt and placing them in a large box.

She should leave now. He’d agreed to do what she asked. But alienating his daughter as well as her son did not seem like a good idea. What if she was being irrational? The children went to Gratesbury on their own for school, perhaps giving them this independence wasn’t a bad thing?

‘But how will you explain your change of heart?’ she asked.

He glanced over his shoulder, looking surprised she hadn’t left. ‘I’ll tell her I changed my mind.’

‘But she’ll know it came from me. I don’t want to alienate her.’

He swung around, staring at her now as if she’d just suggested he join the Women’s Institute. ‘Ellie, what the hell are you on about?’

She struggled to explain herself. ‘I like your daughter,’ she ventured, attempting to bring the conversation back where it belonged. On neutral, non-confrontational ground. ‘She’s been wonderful to my son this summer. And I want her to like me. If she figures out that you’re forbidding her to go because I’ve suggested it, she’ll hate me. I don’t want that to happen.’

‘She won’t hate you. She’ll know you’re worried about Josh, and that I worry about her.’ He sighed, the sound deep as he ducked his head. ‘That’s never a bad thing.’ The statement was so thoughtful, and so surprising, Ellie was struck dumb for a moment.

‘And, for the record,’ he added, ‘I don’t think you’re hysterical, or overprotective, or irrational. I think you’re a good mother who cares about her son.’ The compliment astonished her and humbled her at the same time. Dan had told her so often that she worried too much about Josh – his weight, his situation at school, his insecurities – that she’d allowed it to undermine her confidence. And when Art had accused her of the same thing on her first day on the farm, on some subliminal level, she’d believed him.

But, as she looked at Art, all she could see was the boy she’d once spied getting a hug from her mother, because his own mother had never bothered to give him one.

‘Thank you,’ she said, moved. ‘Although maybe I overdid the mother bear act when I came in.’

His lips quirked and the persistent hum in her abdomen reignited. ‘Overdoing it is better than under-doing it.’

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, that potent, persuasive mouth. Her pulse accelerated as he stepped away from the bench. Suddenly she could feel the heat emanating from him, and the ragged remnants of her self-control slipping through her fingers.

‘You’re knackered,’ he said. ‘We both are. It’s been an exhausting couple of months.’

The blood thundered in her ears when he stopped in front of her. His height, the breadth of his shoulders, that tempting smile as he towered over her, should have been a warning to step back and get the hell out. But she got fixated on the slow beat of his pulse against the strong column of his neck.

Droplets of sweat sat on his collarbone and dripped into his clavicle. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the salt, the desire to lick those drops off almost unbearable.

‘You should leave.’ The low murmur reverberated through every one of her pulse points. His eyes had darkened to black, the lust-blown pupils edging out the chocolate brown, the rigid line of his jaw darkened by a day’s growth of beard.

‘I can’t,’ she said.

Rough callused palms cradled her cheeks, forcing her gaze back to his face.

She sucked in a breath, but didn’t draw away, the hard possessive look like a torch paper to her libido, as his fingers threaded into her hair.

‘If you don’t leave, I’m going to kiss you.’ The gruff agony in his voice released something inside her. Something reckless and elemental.

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