A Funny Thing Happened...

by Caroline Anderson

  His mouth curved in a smile, but his eyes were still concerned. She laid a hand on his arm.

  ‘Sam, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get by. Things are always grim at the end of the winter. In the summer, when I don’t have to feed the stock, things will look up.’

  He regarded her steadily, then nodded. *OK—but if you do need anything, just to bail you out for a spell or whatever, just ask.’

  She nodded, her throat tight. ‘Thanks.’ She turned back to the path and headed on up to the top of the hill. She was on the verge of tears, and it would have been so easy to turn round and go into his arms and let him take care of all her problems for her.

  But Jemima wasn’t a quitter, so she struggled on to the top of the hill, looked out over the folded green Dorset landscape and thanked her lucky stars that, whatever else beset her, she could still appreciate the beauty of her surroundings.

  ‘Wow,’ Sam breathed, awestruck. ‘That is just spectacular.’

  ‘Lovely, isn’t it? Look, down there is your grandparents’ place, and there’s my farm—you can see the cattle.’

  He was right beside her, so close that she could smell the subtle tang of his aftershave. His hand was on her shoulder and he peered along her arm, seeing where she pointed.

  ‘Is that the village?’

  ‘Yes—you can see the pub and the church just beyond it.’

  ‘It seems familiar. Did we come up here as kids?’

  ‘Oh, always. We used to play in the woods. Uncle Tom used to get frantic because we’d all be gone for hours.’

  Sam laughed ruefully. ‘I seem to remember getting a hiding from my grandfather for being back late and landing you in trouble.’

  She chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t remember. I had so many hidings for being back late they all run into a blur—which reminds me, I have to get back to do the milking, so we ought to press on.’ She headed off down the hill, whistling up the dogs, and cut across the pasture towards Dick and Mary’s farmhouse.

  It was quicker downhill, although harder on the legs, and they arrived with just time for a quick cup of tea before she needed to head back.

  ‘Sam can run you and the dogs back in the Land Rover,’ Dick suggested. ‘That way you’ll have time for two cups.’

  So she stayed for two cups, and Sam ran her back in the battered old farm Land Rover that not even the dogs could ruin, and as they pulled into the yard he turned to her.

  ‘Are you busy tonight after you finish milking?’

  She thought of all the things she could be doing, and how much she wanted to be with Sam, and shook her head. ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Fancy dinner at the pub? Nothing flashy, just a bar snack if you don’t feel like dressing up, or we could splash out and go into Dorchester if you’d rather.’

  She thought of her wardrobe, and her hands that were not really fit to appear in public, and shook her head. ‘The pub would be lovely,’ she told him. ‘Don’t dress up; I haven’t got anything except jeans and business suits.’

  He laughed. ‘I’ll wear jeans. I’ll see you—when? Eight?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ she said, and wondered if she was being silly, allowing their relationship to develop when there was clearly no future in it. She got out of the Land Rover and he leant across, grinning.

  ‘I don’t suppose you want company while you milk?’

  ‘What, are you missing it, Sam?’ she teased, and he laughed.

  ‘Oh, yeah—and especially Daisy’s back end.’

  She gave a little spurt of laughter. ‘Poor Daisy.’

  ‘Poor nothing. Can I stay?’

  ‘Sure—if you want to. Uncle Tom’s wellies are where you left them.’

  He put them on, and the old coat he’d worn, while she poured water from the kettle into a bucket and fed the dogs. While she forked silage into the troughs and started up the milking machine, Sam prowled around, peering into the cooling tank and examining all the now functional machinery.

  ‘Is it quicker now it’s working properly?’ he asked as she linked up the first cow to the suction cups.

  ‘A bit. It still takes time—a more modern milking parlour would be far more efficient, but this does us.’ She straightened. ‘Did I ever really thank you for fixing the little Lister engine for me?’

  He moved closer, a sexy, lazy smile playing around his lips. ‘You could always thank me again,’ he murmured, and drew her into his arms.

  The first brush of his lips was like the kiss of rain in the desert, and like a desert flower she opened to his touch. He gave a low groan and deepened the kiss, his hands coming up to cup her head and steady it against the onslaught of his mouth, and her legs turned to jelly.

  He shifted, propping her against the wall, only the wall wasn’t a wall, it was Daisy, and she gave a disapproving moo and sidestepped.

  Sam staggered, hauling Jemima up against his front, and she laughed and turned her head and returned the cow’s level stare.

  ‘Daisy, you’re such a prude,’ she lectured, and Sam chuckled and let her go.

  ‘Later,’ he promised, and fire smouldered in his eyes.

  Jemima felt her heart kick against her ribs, and turned back to the cows, concentrating on her job. At least, she tried, but Sam was there, propping up the wall, watching her with those smoky, sexy eyes, and all she could think about was what would happen later.

  ‘If you’ve got nothing better to do you could always muck out,’ she advised him, straightening up from the third cow to find him still there watching her.

  ‘Muck out?’ he said in dismay, and, shutting his eyes, he let out a low, humourless laugh. ‘How did I know there’d be a catch?’

  ‘No catch. I can muck out, but I’ll be very tired later.’

  His eyes widened, and he shouldered himself away from the wall and grinned. ‘Where’s the barrow?’

  ‘On the muck heap.’

  He went, and moments later he was back again, whistling softly and forking up the soiled straw with what looked almost like enthusiasm.

  ‘Just think how fit you’ll be,’ she teased, and he gave a grunt of laughter.

  ‘Fit to drop. Just warn Daisy, if she squirts me this time she’ll be casseroled!’

  The pub was heaving. They found a space in the corner near the fire, and ordered jacket potatoes filled with tuna and mayonnaise. Jemima was starving, and she knew from past experience that the jacket potatoes were a good size.

  Which was just as well, because apart from the odd bit of toast she hadn’t eaten for two days. She really must get to the shops!

  The landlord brought their meals to them, and looked down at Jemima with a grin. ‘You’re a popular young lady this week! First Owen, now this young man. I don’t know, spoilt for choice!’

  And he smacked their plates down and vanished into the crowd.

  Sam looked at her oddly. ‘Owen?’ he said softly.

  Absurdly, she felt guilty. ‘He brought me in here on Thursday for a drink.’ She thought of telling him about Jenny, but decided not to. It seemed a bit unfair to Owen.

  Sam, however, had gone very quiet and was looking wary.

  ‘Sam? He’s a friend. It doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Doesn’t it? He was pretty keen to get rid of me.’

  She sighed and stabbed her fork into her potato, mashing it angrily. ‘Look, it was nothing. OK? Now let’s forget it.’

  Sam couldn’t forget it, though. He looked strained and unhappy all through their meal, and pushed his plate away half finished. Jemima cleaned hers up, looked at him and pointed at the plate with her fork. ‘You finished with that?’

  He slid it across the table to her and sat back, folding his arms. ‘Be my guest,’ he said drily, and watched her as she demolished the remains of his meal.

  ‘I don’t know where you put it,’ he remarked as she swallowed the last bite. She met his eyes and found them cynical and a little hurt, and she put the fork down and leant towards him.

  ‘Loo
k, Owen asked me to come with him—’

  ‘It’s none of my business why you were here with Owen; you’ve made that perfectly clear.’

  ‘—because he fancies the girl—oh, hello, Jenny.’

  ‘Getting around, aren’t you?’ the girl said, gathering up their plates. ‘Can I bring you any dessert?’

  ‘Apple pie and cream, please. Sam?’

  ‘Ditto. I’m sure you can eat mine.’

  Jenny sniffed and ran her eyes over Sam, then winked at him and went off with their plates.

  ‘She’s the girl Owen fancies. He’s been trying to screw up the courage to ask her out for a year. He wanted me to come with him to make her jealous, as everything else seems to have failed. That’s why I was here, and it’s the only reason.’

  Sam looked down at his glass and swirled the slice of lemon round in the mineral water. ‘I’m sorry. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. I’m not normally jealous, there’s just something about Owen—or maybe it’s you. You seem to bring out a possessive streak in me I didn’t know I had. I’m probably just tired.’

  She smiled. ‘That’s OK. I should have explained.’

  Jenny brought their apple pie then, and Sam attacked his like a man possessed.

  ‘I’m starving now,’ he confessed, and she realised that the thought of her with Owen had put him off his food.

  ‘What a shame,’ she teased. ‘I was looking forward to eating yours.’

  ‘Tough,’ he mumbled, and scooped up the last mouthful.

  She had hardly swallowed when he stood up and went to the bar to pay the bill, then led her out.

  ‘Where’s the fire?’ she asked, and he laughed softly under his breath.

  ‘Need you ask?’

  He helped her into the car with a natural courtesy she found rather touching, and then whisked her home along the lanes, pulling up in the yard outside her cottage in what was beginning to feel like his spot.

  Then he ushered her down the path, grumbled about the lack of outside lights and stood so close behind her that she could hardly concentrate well enough to get the key in the lock.

  The dogs greeted them with enthusiasm, mugging Sam again as if they hadn’t seen him for ages instead of two hours ago, and Jemima put them out, put the kettle on and turned to him.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’

  His eyes burned with need. ‘Neither. I just want to hold you. It feels like for ever since I held you last’

  ‘Oh, Sam...’

  She pulled the kettle off the hob and went into his arms. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she mumbled against his coat. ‘It seems crazy after just one weekend, but—I don’t know.’

  ‘I agree. I don’t know why it is either, but it is.’ He tipped her head up and stared down into her eyes, searching them. She wondered if he would see the aching vulnerability, the weakness she felt for him, the terrible need that would make her weep when he left again—

  ‘Come to bed.’

  His voice was gruff, a little scratchy, and it did away with any good intentions she might have had about slowing things down and taking their time to get to know each other.

  She just wanted him, needed him—loved him.

  She let the dogs in, gave them a biscuit and led Sam upstairs. The bedroom door had hardly clicked shut before he reached for her, desire blazing in his eyes, making his hands tremble and his breathing ragged.

  All the things, in fact, that were happening to her.

  ‘Sam—’

  ‘Jemima—’

  Their soft groans were lost in the white heat of that first kiss, their clothes thrust aside impatiently. And then the tempo slowed, as if holding was the first and most important thing on his mind, and everything else would just follow naturally.

  ‘You feel so good,’ he groaned roughly, his hands caressing her, touching her tenderly, driving her wild with need.

  She thought she’d scream when he paused for a moment to protect her, but then he was with her again, soaring on that crazy spiral that left them breathless and shaken in each other’s arms.

  ‘Sam?’ she whispered.

  ‘I know,’ he said, and he sounded choked. ‘I know, sweetheart.’

  And his arms closed around her, cradling her protectively against his pounding heart...

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘SOMETHING occurs to me.’

  Sam’s voice was a low rumble under her ear. Jemima snuggled closer, enjoying the feel of his warm, hard body against hers. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘The other night, when you fell in the river—we weren’t thinking too clearly. I don’t suppose there’s any possibility that you’re pregnant?’

  Pregnant? Good grief, she hadn’t thought at all, never mind clearly! ‘Um,’ she said slowly, trying to think. ‘I don’t know—I don’t think so. It was the last thing on my mind at the time, I must admit.’

  His arm tightened protectively. ‘Mine too—I was just too busy getting used to the idea that you were warm and still breathing to worry about anything else.’ He hesitated. ‘You’re not—um—on the pill or anything?’

  She shook her head. ‘No—there wasn’t any need.’

  ‘So, do you think there’s a chance?’ he asked softly, and if she hadn’t known better she’d have thought he sounded almost hopeful.

  He waited, hardly seeming to breathe, until she thought he must be able to feel her mind whirling. ‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. It didn’t surprise her. She was too busy to worry about nature, and with no reason to pay attention to her cycle, she had only a vague idea.

  ‘You will tell me?’

  She thought of her body cradling Sam’s child, and a dull, almost biological ache seemed to fill her. ‘I doubt if I am,’ she said, finally remembering that it had been early in her cycle. Tonight, though, was probably right on target, so it was a good job he’d thought of it, because once again her mind had been in neutral.

  He turned towards her, lying so that they were face to face, and stared into her eyes. ‘I have to go soon,’ he murmured. ‘I told my grandparents not to expect me back—I said I’d leave after we’d had dinner. I’ve got so much to do for this opening it’s just ridiculous.’

  He looked preoccupied already, and Jemima could feel him slipping away from her.

  ‘How about that coffee we were going to have before you go?’ she suggested, trying to stall the inevitable.

  ‘I’ve got a better idea.’ His lips brushed hers, warm and soft and tender, and she shut her mind to the fact that he was leaving and just enjoyed the last few moments she would have with him before he went back to his clamouring world.

  He rang her on Sunday morning, just as she finished the milking, to tell her he was back safely. He was on a mobile phone, and she could hear clanging and banging in the background.

  ‘Look, sorry, I’m going to have to go. I’m on site, and someone needs me. I’ll speak to you soon. Take care.’

  ‘And you.’ She cradled the phone, her eyes misting over. It was crazy, but she missed him.

  She watched the videos again, just to torture herself, and then took the dogs for a walk up the hill. She sat on a log, looking out over the village and the fields she loved, and missed him.

  When she came down it was time to milk again, and after she’d finished, and done the hens and checked the calves, she went inside and threw together a sandwich and ate it alone, with just the dogs for company. Then, because she hadn’t had a great deal of sleep what with one thing and another, she went to bed—and missed him.

  ‘You are going to have to get a grip,’ she told herself sternly. She rolled over, punched the pillow into shape and rested her face on it—and there was the lingering trace of his aftershave to torture her. She buried her nose in the pillow and breathed deeply, and let the memories wash over her.

  Sam might have gone back to London, but his image was still there with her, as clear as day. If she closed her eyes she could hear his laughter, the soft rumble of his voice, the ragged catch of his bre
ath when she touched him—

  She sat up and turned on the light, and reached for a book. She’d been halfway through it when Sam arrived nine days ago—heavens, was it really only nine days?—and she hadn’t had a chance to get back to it. Perhaps it would take her mind off him...

  ‘Jemima?’

  She felt a silly grin light up her face, and curled up in a chair by the phone, hugging the receiver lovingly. ‘Hi, Sam,’ she said, giddy with relief that he’d phoned at last.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’ll manage. How’s the building coming on? Are they on target?’

  He sighed shortly. ‘Oh, more or less. We’ve had the odd hiccup.’ There was a pause, then he said, ‘I miss you.’

  ‘I miss you, too. You seem a very long way away.’

  He laughed, a brittle, humourless laugh. ‘I might as well be in Siberia. Look—’ He let his breath out in a rush. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could come up for the opening, is there? It’s next week—Friday night.’

  ‘Me?’ she squeaked.

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised. Why not you? I thought you might be interested to see it, and—well, to be honest, I need a cheerleader. It’s going to be hell, and frankly I’m scared to death.’

  ‘And you want someone to comfort you?’

  He chuckled. ‘Share it with me, perhaps. Just be there for me.’

  ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘They’re coming, but it’s not the same. I want your support, but I also want to celebrate. It would just be nice to have you here.’

  She chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘Sam, I’ll have to see if Owen can do the cows. His arm’s still in plaster, and he can’t do a lot, but he might be able to manage just them if it was only a night. I suppose I could come back down on the Saturday morning—’

  ‘I’ll drive you back—I’d come down and pick you up but I’m going to be a bit on the busy side on Friday afternoon.’