It had been a long time since she had driven a four-wheel-drive vehicle, but it was a skill that, once learned, was soon remembered, and by the time she had reached the village she was feeling confident enough to reverse the vehicle into a spot almost right opposite the small post office and general store.
Susan Edmonson, the postmistress, recognised her immediately, beaming a warm smile at her. Susan’s dark hair was generously flecked with grey now and she was plumper than she had been, but she still possessed the same intense curiosity about her fellow human beings that Kate had so resented as a child, but which now she found oddly warming.
After the impersonal, couldn’t-care-less attitude of the busy shops in London, it was almost pleasant to be in a place where one was known and welcomed.
‘Hear you’ve brought your daughter back with you. A right bonny girl by all accounts. And her dad…’
‘Cherry’s father isn’t and never has been a part of our lives,’ Kate told her firmly. She had never lied about the circumstances of Cherry’s birth, and she wasn’t going to start now.
She almost felt the rustle of speculation run round the small, enclosed space, but she refused to give in to the urge to turn her head and see how the other people in the queue behind her had received her information.
‘Aye, well, there’s many a woman who would like to be able to say the same thing,’ Susan Edmonson replied placidly, adding with a wryness that brought several chuckles from the other women waiting to be served, ‘And some days it’s easy to see why.’
Since her own husband was one of the most henpecked males in existence, Kate herself only just managed to stop herself from smiling.
She left the post office, head held high, feeling as though she had just emerged triumphant from an ordeal.
Times had changed, of course. Even up here there were now girls rearing their children alone, but even so, for her parents’ sake if nothing else, she wanted to re-establish herself creditably in the village.
As she turned to close the door behind her, she heard Susan Edmonson murmuring confidingly to her next customer, ‘Clever girl she was, too. A schoolteacher now. Still, these things happen. And what I always say is that it’s the innocent ones that get caught out.’
This latter comment was added in a virtuous tone that made Kate grin a little.
The sun had come out, and she had to shade her eyes from its glare as she made to cross the road and return to the Land Rover. She was thirsty; the heat of the sun was penetrating the sweatshirt she was wearing and making her wish she had put on something cooler. The pub beckoned, but she suspected that up here in the Dales it was still not totally accepted for a young woman to walk into a pub on her own, and so she contented herself by promising herself a glass of her mother’s home-made lemonade once she reached the farm. She herself had remembered the recipe and made the drink for Cherry, but somehow it never tasted quite the same.
Sighing faintly, she stepped out into the road, only to come to an abrupt halt as a Range Rover swept round the corner, surely travelling at a faster speed than was safe. She had a momentary glimpse of the driver: a hawkish male profile, set mouth that looked rather grim, thick, very dark hair, a brown forearm emerging from the stark whiteness of a short-sleeved shirt, and then the world spun dizzyingly out of focus, and she barely registered the dark blue paintwork or the initials of the government body stamped boldly on the Range Rover bodywork in white, because time had spun backwards and she was left feeling as though she had suddenly walked into the past.
That man driving the Range Rover had been so like Silas. An older Silas, of course. A harder Silas. She shivered, reproaching herself for her carelessness in stepping off the pavement and her idiocy in allowing her memories to have such a powerful effect upon her that she was actually seeing Silas in the features of a stranger.
’ARE you all right?’
The arm that went round to support her made Kate stiffen, the unfamiliar but friendly male voice in her ear making her swivel in shock.
She found herself looking into a pair of friendly blue eyes in a face that was ruggedly attractive rather than handsome.
An untidy mop of brown hair, bleached blond by the sun, added an almost boyish appeal to a man whom she suspected was somewhere around her own age.
He was wearing the Daleman’s uniform of worn tweed jacket, checked shirt, and brogues, although in his case worn jeans had replaced her father’s generation of Dalesmen’s twill trousers.
‘I promise you, I’m quite safe,’ he told her, feeling her tense withdrawal and moving his arm until he was only steadying her.
His fingers felt slightly rough where they touched her wrist. He had reached out instinctively to grab her as she had stepped off the pavement, Kate recognised, and she gave him a faint smile.
‘I don’t bite, kick or stamp!’ he added with a grin. ‘I leave that kind of thing to my patients. I’m with the local veterinary practice,’ he added when she didn’t respond to his joke. ‘Tim Stepping.’
He released her to hold out his hand and shake her own. He had a handshake that was pleasant without being aggressive, and now that her shock was fading, Kate remembered her manners and smiled warmly at him.
It was like watching the sun chase the clouds across the Dales, he thought in bemused appreciation. She was one of the most lovely women he had ever seen: as delicate and fragile-looking as an orchid with her pale skin and lovely colouring, and yet at the same time he sensed a strength about her that intrigued him.
She had the stamp of the Dales on her and yet she was different: more sophisticated, more glossy, with that immaculate haircut, and hands that felt soft and smooth. And yet, for all her sophistication, there was an air of vulnerability about her.
‘Kate Seton,’ Kate responded.
‘Seton?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Not John Seton’s daughter?’
‘The very same,’ Kate responded lightly, wondering how much gossip he had heard about her.
John Seton’s daughter… Well, that would explain both the sophistication and the vulnerability. He glanced betrayingly over his shoulder, and Kate said drily, ‘My daughter is at the farm.’
His tanned skin flushed slightly, and he apologised. ‘I’m sorry, that was crass of me.’
‘Not at all,’ Kate said brittly.
Suddenly her self-confidence had deserted her, and she knew that it was not because of this pleasant, fair-haired man who was looking at her now like one of her father’s pups when it had been smacked, but because of the dark-haired man driving the Range Rover. How idiotic could she be, reacting like this to the sight of an unknown man? Heavens, she must have seen hundreds of dark-haired men during her years in London, and yet not one of them had affected her like that.
‘I’m coming up to your father’s place later on today. He’s got a ewe he wants me to look at.’
‘My daughter will be pleased,’ Kate told him, trying to make amends. ‘It’s the
