pruning shears and a ball of string, but she had the feeling that taming this front garden would be like maintaining the Forth Bridge.
Lucy forced her gaze beyond the garden, to the cottage that lay in its midst. From a distance it had looked picture perfect, but now they were closer she could see that the paint was flaking from the window frames and the thatch was looking rather old-man thin in places. It still looked incredibly sweet though, despite the fact that she was sure there would be draughts from the single glazed window and no doubt inside it would be a higgledy-piggledy mess that was nothing like the tidy order she loved. She could imagine the flowery and cracked mismatched pottery, and the worn chairs that no doubt showed traces of cat hair. But a change was always as good as a rest, and looking on the bright side it really could be quite an idyllic spot if the sun shone.
‘Think it will suit then?’
‘It’s lovely, Jim.’
He grinned, showing off the chipped crooked tooth.
‘Shall we go in and…?’ She reached for the gate latch and had only opened it a fraction when an enormous white bird came hurtling round the corner of the house. ‘Bloody hell.’ Slamming it shut she jumped back, nearly colliding with Jim.
‘That’ll be Gertie.’ He nodded.
The bird flapped its wings indignantly sending flower petals in all directions and stuck a bright orange, sharply pointed beak in their direction.
‘Gertie?’ She was pretty sure she’d gone nearly as pale as the bird which had fixed her with a very black, beady glare.
‘Aye. Gertie the goose.’ Jim had barely flinched. He tapped his watch pointedly. ‘I’d show you round, but I’ve got business to attend to.’
Hmm she bet he had.
‘All you need to do is wear our Annie’s boots for a few days and little Gertie will be putty in your hands. Imprinted on those she is.’
Little? In what world could you describe this goose as little? ‘Imprinted?’
‘Aye, imprinted.’ He looked at her as though she was an underachieving student. ‘First thing it saw when it hatched was those bloody bright pink wellingtons that our Annie likes to parade about in, poor bugger thinks they’re its mother.’ He guffawed and Lucy felt herself drawn to this big, friendly man, who the moment he’d left the school had dropped his governor’s hat (and voice) and become Annie’s brother with a slight country burr. ‘Well now, you can meet the rest of the menagerie when you move in if that’s okay with you? Annie will leave full instructions and I’m always on hand if you need me. Well, I’ll love you and leave you if that’s alright?’
‘Of course, yes, I’m sure you have things to do. It’s very kind of you to show me round, and I’ll see you when I move in then?’
‘My pleasure, Lucy. Oh, and you’ve got the vets practically next door,’ he pointed over her shoulder. ‘Old Eric had himself a bit of a run in with some cows and he’s laid up for a while, but our Charlie seems to be shaping up well enough, chip off the old block. His dad was a good man, popular. The lad’s a bit of a dark horse these days mind, keeps himself to himself,’ Lucy thought that could be a problem for anybody here, ‘but I’m sure you’ll soon win him over,’ he winked, it was the second wink of the day which was a bit worrying, ‘you’ll be getting plenty of opportunity.’
‘I will?’
‘Oh aye, our Annie is always in and out, I reckon she keeps that practice going. Although since our Charlie came back I’ve heard from Sal that bookings have soared.’
‘Really?’ She didn’t know what to say to that.
‘Just like his dad, he is. You’ll see.’ He tapped the side of his nose and chuckled in a most un-Jim like way, reminding her of Annie. ‘So any problems he’s on the doorstep, though I’m sure you’ll cope. Now would you credit it,’ he paused, and it seemed he’d completely forgotten that he was in a hurry, ‘there’s the man himself. No time like the present, let’s introduce you to Charlie and you can ask him to do that school visit.’
Before Lucy had a chance to object, Jim had her elbow and was guiding her down the lane and across the small car park that fronted the veterinary surgery.
Protruding from the boot of a hatchback car was a very long pair of legs encased in brown trousers, and what she had to admit was quite a trim rear. Not that she was looking.
Jim coughed loudly, and Charlie straightened abruptly, banging his head with a clunk on the tailgate, which trembled, rose up then bounced back down giving him another wallop for good measure. Lucy flinched. He swore. Not in the loud, clutching-her-head way she would have done, but in a much more teeth-clenched, restrained manner.
He backed out slowly, then he straightened up and she knew before he’d even turned round. How could she not recognise that arse?
It was him.
A pair of brown, familiar eyes stared straight into hers. Definitely him.
His hand instinctively went up to the side of his head, just as she wrapped her own hand round the wrist she’d used to whack him. Well not used to whack him. That suggested intent, and she’d never intended anything. It hadn’t even been self-defence, her brain had barely registered she was under attack until she’d been in his arms. She gulped. Clutched against his firm body.
‘You!’
He didn’t sound pleased. Not that she could blame him, knock ’em dead wasn’t supposed to mean literally, and so far it was looking like she’d been aiming to give him concussion. And she hadn’t been trying to knock-him dead in any sense actually.
Not that he wasn’t attractive. Very. To the point that she’d nearly snogged him. Oh God. The heat rushed to her face. She had to say something. Stop gawping.
‘You’re not, you can’t be…’ This could not be Charlie Davenport, the vet. The man she was going to be seeing a lot of. The man she’d gyrated against in full view of the rest of the village (well anybody who might have strayed onto the green, or been peeping round net curtains) before they’d even been introduced. The man Jim wanted her to use her feminine wiles against. Wiles she was pretty sure she didn’t possess. Not that she’d ever use them in that way.
This was bad. This was embarrassing. This explained a lot.
He was the village heart-throb. If he made a habit of rugby-tackling every woman he came across it was no bloody wonder. No, that wasn’t fair. He’d been saving her.
‘Charlie,’ Jim butted into her thoughts, probably a good thing, ‘let me introduce our new teacher, Lucy. Lucy Jacobs. And Lucy this is Charlie Davenport.’ He frowned, looking from one to the other of them, obviously realising at last that she hadn’t been struck dumb by his awesomeness, there was more to it than that. ‘Have you already met then? I thought you said…’
‘Not really, well yes, well we’ve not been introduced.’ This wasn’t going well. ‘I didn’t know this was Charlie, he er, rescued me earlier today.’
Jim chuckled and she stared at the ground, hoping a handy chasm would open up and she’d fall in. It didn’t so she risked glancing back up. ‘Told you he was popular, rescued you my foot.’ He obviously thought this
