Chapter One
Laurel
Laurel Fletcher’s life was not supposed to be like this.
She was supposed to be traveling the globe, making archaeological finds that would shock the world and challenge history. There was supposed to be academic renown, TV appearances, specialist books and grand exotic romances, before falling desperately in love with a sizzlingly hot French archaeologist who would look at her with the shining eyes of devotion.
Instead, she was shoulder-deep in a cow’s arse.
‘Robin! Robin, don’t you dare hide from me,’ Laurel called across the cowshed at her younger brother, who was trying to condense his six-foot frame to scoot behind the cattle without her seeing him.
‘Robin!’
‘Oh, hey Laurel, you okay?’ Robin stood up from behind a cow and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
‘Do I look okay? Do I?’ she said, bracing her free hand on the rump of the cow and pulling her arm out with a wet squelch. ‘Why is it thatIam checking the cows to see if they’re pregnant? Why is it that they’re late to milking? And, for the love of god, why is there cow shit all over the yard?’
The farmhand who was holding a bucket and towel for her backed away slowly.
‘Look, Laurel, I overslept. Jack’s being the golden child and is out lambing. Dad’s at old man Hibbert’s.’ Robin shuffled over. ‘Nice shoes.’
He raised an eyebrow at her wellies and gave her the smile that had made a thousand hearts forgive him.
Well, not hers, and not today.
‘I am not getting my shoes covered in cow shit, which I almost did because the yard is full of it.’ She peeled off the arm length plastic glove and chucked it in the farmhand’s bucket, along with her plastic apron.
Laurel knew that even if her clothes managed to escape whatever was coming out of the cow’s behind, no matter how clean she got, she would still stink. All day. She would have to dry-clean her clothes and essentially decontaminate herself. Which is why Laurel did not do farm work anymore.
‘Why is Dad at old man Hibbert’s?’
Robin’s face turned from contrite to accusatory, his Fletcher-grey eyes flashing with ire. Not for the first time, Laurel wondered how it was that her brothers had become typical Fletchers, and she was more like her mother.
‘George Hibbert has been harassing the sheep up on the common with his quad bike again because he’s pissed off that you’re trying to buy those fifteen acres of land off his dad.’
Laurel rolled her eyes and pursed her lips because surely George Hibbert wasn’t that petty?
‘Can’t you just fuck him and get it out the way? He’s like a kid pulling your hair because he fancies you,’ Robin grumbled.
‘Fucked him two years ago,’ she replied airily, ‘and he was shit.’ Laurel had been avoiding George Hibbert ever since, because he was ridiculously attached to what was the worst of one-night stands.
Robin grunted in distaste. Laurel had been enduring Robin’s attention-seeking routine since he was old enough to speak and had been around this particular mulberry bush way too many times to be shocked. At least, not by Robin.
It was shit, and it had been a mistake. A couple of drinks too many down the pub, and then an extremely quick and unsatisfactory fuck back at hers. But apparently, George didn’t get the message that it was a one-night thing because he was still there when she woke up in the morning. He also thought that there was something nefarious keeping them from having this brilliant, sparkling, Grand Passion. That they were two halves of a whole, destined for each other. It was, however, the fact that he was as mature as a twenty-year-old which kept them apart. It’s fine to act that way when you’re actually twenty, but not when you’re thirty-two.
‘Can’t you just leave it alone? Can’t you just let them keep the fields?’ Robin asked as he grabbed a rake leaning against the timber frame of the cowshed, purely to make it look like he was preparing to do some work. The farmhand disappeared quietly.
‘I will tell you one last time, Robin.’ She put her hands out and spoke slowly, as if placating a child. ‘If we don’t buy that land, it will be bought by developers, and there’ll be five McMansions on there before you can blink.’
‘And you’re not going to develop it?’ He scoffed, making a show of attempting to sweep the debris on the floor. She was, but not right now. Maybe in a few years with some tasteful, affordable, sustainable housing that employed local tradesmen.
Laurel glared at her brother.
‘Fuck off, Robin,’ she said under her breath as she left the cowshed.
‘Love you too, sis,’ he called after her. She flicked her middle finger up at him over her shoulder.
‘Get someone to clear the yard, Robin, before we open,’ Laurel yelled, because nothing said ‘welcome’ like a yard full of cow shit. The yard really had to scream ‘welcome’ at the top of its lungs, not just say it, because the cafe and farm shop were the only things that actually made a half-decent profit. They brought the customers in.
