he repeated. “Half the gut must have already been dead when you euthanized her. Poor little beggar.”
A shadow fell across them, and Cass glanced up to see Jake. His face was expressionless.
“Good job Cass acted quickly, as far as I can see,” Donald said. “I’ll tidy up here while you go and put the kettle on.”
“I’ll finish for you if you like,” Cass offered.
“Is that it then?” Jake said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, turning away abruptly.
“Thanks, Cass,” Donald cut in before she could respond, obviously trying to lighten the mood. He stood up, smiling. “I think I’ll take you on all my jobs.” When they both ignored him, he walked off toward the house. “I guess I’ll go put the kettle on myself, then,” he called.
Jake began to follow him, but stopped to look back at Cass, holding her defiant gaze.
“I really am sorry about Rosie,” she said quietly, her expression softening. “It must be tough for you.”
“What, no ‘I told you so?’” he retorted.
She just shook her head, turning her attention back to the job at hand, and he glared at her for another moment before striding off after Donald.
“No change there, then,” she murmured.Cass finished up and put Donald’s bag back in the Land Rover before following the two men across the yard toward the square, stone cottage. It should have been a pretty building, she thought, but the roses that had once grown around the front door looked half-dead, and the whole place needed fresh paint and some TLC. She found herself wondering what it had been like when Jake’s mother was alive.
A man’s deep voice interrupted her daydream.
“They’ll be round the back in the kitchen.”
Looking up with a start, she saw Bill Munro standing in the shadow of an oak tree at the side of the yard, one hand stroking his bearded chin.
She smiled impulsively, pleased to see the old man. He fell into step beside her.
“You were right, then?” he asked.
“You knew I was.”
He nodded slowly.
“Yes, I knew, but there’s no telling Jake. He had to see for himself.”
“I don’t suppose I’ll get an apology.”
Bill’s bright blue eyes sparkled. “You’ve already sussed him out, I see.”
Cass wanted to tell Bill how sorry she was to hear about his wife and granddaughter, but it wasn’t her business, and she didn’t want him to think she’d been prying.
Bill walked with her toward the kitchen door. “Staying around here long?” he asked.
Cass shrugged, smiling. “I hope to. I like the beautiful wild countryside and the tranquility.”
“You’re staying at the B and B, I believe?”
She glanced at him in amusement.
“Does everyone know everything around here? It’s temporary, while I look for somewhere to rent.”
“What, you mean a cottage or something?”
“Something,” she responded. “I’m not really sure, to be honest. I could do with a place for six months or so. I’m only on a six-month contract at the moment—a kind of trial period, I suppose you’d call it.”
She placed her hand on the dull brass handle in front of her, pressing it down with a sense of foreboding. The door was scratched and dirty, and desperate for a coat of paint. She looked over at Bill.
“Are you coming in?”
He turned away, shaking his head.
“Better things to do. I’ll no doubt see you soon.”
“No doubt,” she agreed.
As Cass pushed open the door, a heavy sadness weighed her down. There was an emptiness to this place, a total lack—or loss—of love. She had a definite feeling that Jake and his dad spent most of their time avoiding each other and found herself wondering what Sky View had been like when Jake’s mother and daughter were around.
Entering the kitchen, Cass saw the two men at once. They were deep in conversation, their heads lowered as they studied something on the table. She stepped inside, taking in her surroundings. The room was large and bright with sunshine, a lovely, homey place despite the clutter that crowded every available surface.
“Hi,” she called awkwardly.
Donald glanced up, smiling. “We’re just looking at stud books. There’s coffee in the pot. Help yourself.”
Cass poured a mug and added milk, sipping it slowly without looking at Jake. “So...” she said. “I guess you’re a breeder.”
Jake ignored her, but Donald filled the gap. “Only a couple of foals a year at the moment, but he buys and sells a lot of young stock. Don’t you, Jake?”
Forced to join in the conversation, Jake met her gaze. His eyes were like his dad’s, but without the sparkle. “Just trying to make a living,” he said.
The sound of Donald’s chair scraping across the floor as he stood up broke the ensuing silence. He reached for his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. “Come on then, Cass,” he told her. “I don’t mean to make you rush your drink, but I’m supposed to be in Doncaster by early afternoon. I’ll see you soon, Jake, hopefully in better circumstances.”
“Is he always so antisocial?” Cass asked as she and Donald clambered into his four-by-four.
Donald concentrated on the narrow lane ahead of them, slowing down and pressing on his horn to chase away a small, black-headed rough fell sheep. It stood in the road and stared at the vehicle with yellow-ringed eyes.
“You’d think they owned the road,” he declared as it sauntered off.
“I guess they do around here,” Cass remarked thoughtfully. “Was it long ago, the accident that killed Jake Munro’s family?”
“About twelve months, almost to the day. Lucy was a lovely little girl, only five years old. Her gran, Gwen, was one of those salt-of-the-earth people who would do anything to help anyone. Such a tragedy. He has a son, too—Lucy’s twin, Robbie. He went to live with his mother after the funeral. The whole business totally destroyed Jake. He gave up competing altogether, but he’s still a top-class trainer, specializing in problem horses.” A wry grin flashed across his face. “I think it’s the horses that keep him going, but as you already know, he doesn’t have much time for people.”
“You can say that again. He doesn’t even seem to have time for his dad.”
Donald frowned. “I don’t think either of them has half begun to get over their loss. He’s a great guy, Bill.
