Connor found a seat as far away as possible from the main pub, in the large garden marked into areas by hedges that formed a wonderful maze for kids to run around in. He brushed off the moss on a stone bench before sitting on his service brochure to save the seat of his suit and drank his ale.
The reception was being held at a beautiful pub in the centre of the village, The Wychwood. Hundreds of years old, it had oak beams and a bar worn with age, and over the top, a few bedrooms. With a whole line of real ales and wine clubs, it was a popular haunt for both locals and others. The Sterling-Haynes had rented the whole thing, or so Rachel told him. The pint of Cotswold Cider at his side was exactly what Connor needed.
“Vettrin’rry,” a gruff voice said to Connor’s side. The way the word was all hard and with little use of syllables and vowel sounds Connor knew exactly who had found his hiding place in the gardens of The Wychwood.
“Hey,” Connor said with genuine relief. Mick Briers was a sight for sore eyes. “You here for the reception? Or did you sneak in?”
Mick shrugged. “Got an invite.” Unlike Connor, Mick’s suit looked new and fitted him well. There the effort ended; Mick’s grizzled grey beard was as untamed as it was normally and he had mud on his shoes.
“You been up the fields?” Connor said as he nodded at the mud. Mick and Connor had met through Bessie the Border collie when Connor first moved here. They’d managed to deal with a cancer tumour to extend Bessie’s life, and they’d cemented their friendship through many a beer at The Wychwood. Mick was a good man and had worked on the Haynes Park Estate all his life. What Mick didn’t know about the estate wasn’t worth knowing.
“Jus’ walking.” Mick shifted his weight from one foot to the other and scratched at his beard.
“You missed the photos,” Connor advised. “And the church,” he added with a smirk.
“Course I did,” Mick said. “Don’t think much on hanging around the church at the moment. Why’s your face looking like a slapped arse?”
Connor ran a hand under his collar and rolled his neck. That had been a startling change in direction and he didn’t have the time to filter his reply. “Don’t want to be here,” he muttered.
“So what you doing here?”
“Lost a bet with Rachel.”
Mick nodded. “Poker?”
Connor wished it was that exciting. “Scrabble.”
Mick snorted a laugh and Rachel looked their way. “Scrabble?”
“She hid the J.”
“Was there drink involved?”
“Two bottles of wine.”
Mick narrowed his eyes. “Tricky thing she is, and just how much of that was poured for you so you wouldn’t see her hiding the tile?”
Connor thought back to the night last week. There were two bottles, one white, one red, both very nice, and two glasses. There were definitely two glasses and he could picture Rachel filling them. Well, filling his at least. And he’d had a fifty-point word if only he’d picked out the J. He would have won.
“Not a lot,” Connor admitted.
“There you go, then. You were played, suck it up, lad.” Mick sat next to Connor and adjusted his pint of cider so it rested on the seat between them. “Wanted to talk to you actually.”
“Oh no, is Bessie okay?” Bessie was an ex-working Border collie, fifteen years old and sharp as a tack mentally, but slowing down physically. Mick had been to see him a year back about her not eating and the cancer had been dealt with but she wasn’t getting any younger. Every time he met up with Mick, he expected to be having the conversation about whether she’d passed on in her sleep or, worse, that Connor had to help her pass on.
“Bessie’s fine. Not work, Vettrin’rry, it’s about the old house up near the church. I’m selling her on.”
Connor’s stomach sank. Mick was selling the place that held so many memories for Connor of many a hot summer spent in Upper Fordham as a kid.
“Oh” was all he could manage. Last time he’d walked up and around the church and houses there, he’d been sad to see the old house falling into disrepair. But the place wasn’t Mick’s first residence, just a place that he’d inherited from a cousin, or some such convoluted relative, a few years back.
“Garden’s a mess, inside’s old, but you said you like her. I’m kind of wanting to get rid and I’ll give you first refusal if you want it now. Agent said it’s worth one twenty the way it stands, or maybe a buyer’d knock it down and use the stone.”
“What? No, they can’t—”
Mick interrupted. “Forty-seven thousand and it’s yours s’long as you fix her up and live in her for at least five years. Tha’s the deal.”
Connor blinked at Mick. He hadn’t been expecting that. They’d talked at the pub about the house and the memories, and Mick had said only a few weeks back that he’d sell it to fund some vague retirement plans to sail the world. But that had been in the future. Not now.
Connor was lost for words at first. “Really?”
Mick gave one of his familiar shrugs that Connor had learned could mean anything. “I don’t want it, and the money would be good.”
“Forty-seven seems pretty specific. Surely it’s worth more?”
“Agent said so, yep, but forty-seven is what I need.”
“I’ll have to…” work out money, speak to the bank, consider whether staying around here is even what I want. But this was too much of a chance to pass up. The house might well be near derelict in places, but it was an investment, and it would be a wonderful place to live. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Connor said.
Mick didn’t call him on not having an answer straight away. “House’ll be there waiting,” he said instead. “Not for long, though, anyways, more ale.” Then he left, heading back to the pub and leaving Connor with his thoughts.
Excitement curled in the pit of Connor’s belly. The old summer vacation house had been offered to him. All he needed to do now was make a decision when he was rational and not edging towards drunk. He’d not considered now would be the time to settle down in one place.
Last he saw, Rachel was talking quietly with Landon, and he knew it was one of those receptions where people mingled. No one would miss him if he took a walk up to the house, just to remind him of what he had been offered. This village could be exactly the place he needed to be, this beautiful, steady, quiet place was exactly what he should be grabbing hold of and never letting go. Sitting here, he could see up the valley and back towards the church and past that to the hills beyond. To his right he could see the steeple of the church and just beyond that, hidden by an ancient hedgerow, was the house that Mick had spoken to him about.
He couldn’t recall the real name of the old Cotswold stone cottage dug into the side of the hill, but since forever, he had called it his house in the summer. Every year, just as the brightness and freedom of summer holidays began, he and his parents would come here and he would suddenly be free of the two up two down in London. Here he had friends, kids from the village who wanted to spend time climbing trees, running in the fields, just being wild with the excitement of it all. He’d nursed a squirrel one summer, a tiny baby that he’d researched up on and fed and released back into the wild.
Knowing what he knew now as a veterinary surgeon, he’d done it all wrong, but the instincts had been there from day one. His dog, Bob, had come with them, the black Lab growing from puppy to old dog at the same rate as Connor moved from kid to grieving teen. That last summer, he’d been sixteen and his exams were done, all he needed were results, and it was in the tangled country garden that his mum had used the C word for the first time.
Cancer.
Evie Lawson hadn’t made it to the next summer. And his dad, Mitchell, died of a broken heart. There was nothing else to explain how he’d gone so quickly after Mum, and he’d loved Connor, of course he did, but none so much as his Evie. Connor had been their late-in-life baby, and he had no siblings. All he had left was memories of a house that had meant so much to him and was connected to sunshine and happiness.
And now Connor was faced with the impossible—a chance to own the house, to place roots, to try and find those singular summer days that had meant so much, or to go back to the city.
“Connor?”
Rachel was looking for him?
“Over here.”
Rachel came around the corner of the manicured hedge and slumped dramatically next to him on the stone seat. “Bastard,” she said with force and feeling.
Connor felt immediately protective. They’d only been friends a year, but Rachel’s eyes were wet with tears, and tears always broke him in half. What had Landon done to her?
“What happened?”
“He offered me champagne, but you know how that gets me, so I said no, and before I could say I preferred vodka, he—” She stopped and inhaled deeply before letting the air out in a big noisy whoosh. “He asked me if I was pregnant and was he the father?”
Connor was on his feet immediately. “He said what?”
Rachel copied him and stopped him stalking away with a hand to his arm. “Don’t, he’s not worth it. I just want to go home.” She handed him her cell. “I can’t get a signal, can you…? I need a taxi… Will you find me one?”
Real tears collected and rolled down her face, and his protective instincts kicked in and he held her close, letting her cry quietly against his suit, the cell crushed between them.
“He’s not worth it,” Connor said.
“But at Christmas, he was so nice to me, then at the art show… He’s fake is all… It was just sex.” She hiccupped her way through the declarations.
“I know, sweetie.”
“I hate feeling like this. I don’t want to feel like this. Why can’t I just find a man like you?”
“But not gay.” Connor attempted to lighten the tone.
“All men are bastards,” she announced.
Some of her gumption slipped into that last statement, and Connor closed his eyes and rested his chin on her head. He only had to think about the ex from hell and he was happy to agree with everything Rachel said. “I know. I’m really sorry, Rach, we can go, use the path from here, we don’t even have to go back to the pub. We can call a cab out on the road.”
Rachel nodded her head against him and Connor resolved to stand here until his friend was calmer. When Rachel pulled away slightly, Connor grasped her hand and began to guide her to the back gate and the pathway exit to the other end of the village. They’d not gone more than a dozen steps when a voice called them back.
“Wait! Please don’t go,” the voice said from beside them, far too close for Connor’s liking. He hadn’t heard anyone coming up behind them. Then he looked at who it was and that protective thing he had going where Rachel was concerned kicked up a notch. It was the youngest son, Ashley or something, Ash for short, the one with the knowing smirk and the fuck-me eyes.
“Your brother is lucky I don’t go and put him down,” Connor snapped.
Ash sighed and held up his hands in surrender. “You don’t know how many times I have thought the same thing. The time I brought home my first boyfriend and Landon decided to have the condom talk with him, or the time Spot died and he accused the cat. Spot being a hamster you see, and the cat having eaten the hamster.”
Ash stopped abruptly and his weary laughing expression hardened, like he’d not meant to be happy smiley at all. Evidently he was here as the household representative, and his job was to get ahead of potential embarrassment to the all-powerful Sterling-Haynes family. Well, at much as Connor didn’t want to face off with Ash, he wouldn’t let Rachel be hurt.
“I just want to go,” Rachel said from next to him.
“Then we’re leaving,” Connor said.
Ash moved quickly, positioning himself between them and the gate. “Please just wait a minute.”
“Get out of our way,” Connor threatened. He even stepped forward, but Ash didn’t back down.
“Just one minute. I’ll say what I need to, then you can go.”
“I could go now,” Connor snapped. He took another step forward, and this time Ash did take a step back.
“Let him say what he wants to say,” Rachel said, soft and low.
“Rachel, you don’t have to do this.”
“It’s okay,” she added.
Connor stepped forward, putting himself between Rachel and Ash. “You have anything to say, you go through me.”
Ash’s eyes widened and the mask of seriousness slipped a little. Connor would have laughed at the look of surprise if this wasn’t such a knife-edge situation.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Ash said.
“If your fucking arsehole of a brother makes one move on Rachel—”
“Shit, look,” Ash interrupted. “I need to be serious for a minute. Landon is a complete idiot when it comes to this.” Ash waved a hand between Connor and himself, obviously including Rachel in this group. “He’s not so hot with the girls, and—”
Rachel gasped. “He was fine when he had my skirts around my waist.”
“Rachel!” Connor warned.
“Jesus!” Ash said at the same time. “I need to bleach my eyes.”
“Well he did,” Rachel defended. “It’s okay to fuck me in a cupboard but talking to me after is what? Unnecessary?”
“Rachel?” Ash moved sideways a little, Connor guessed so he could see Rachel. Connor didn’t move, although if Ash tried anything…
“Landon was in New York,” he stopped Rachel speaking by hurrying on, “and I know there is email and texts and—look, he just has no idea what to say, and he’s been talking about you all morning, and he got so desperate for help to sort this out that he even asked me for my advice.” Ash said that with incredulous shock. He crossed his arms over his chest, then released the hold and dug his hands in his pockets. Connor thought he looked like a big kid playing dress-up in the fancy duds. His spiky dark hair and the stubble on his face made him appear like he’d been forced to wear a suit and hadn’t really wanted to try. Good-looking yes, in that cute smirky rich-kid kind of way, but still, he was the enemy in this situation.
“She doesn’t care,” Connor said. Rachel still hadn’t come fully out from behind him, and he read that as her needing him to tell Ash to get lost.
“Landon does. He cares, I mean. Rachel, he says he fell for you at Christmas, and that he didn’t want to hurt you.” Ash frowned. “And other stuff about sex in a cupboard that a brother shouldn’t know about.”
Rachel stepped out from behind him straightening her shoulders and putting on her game face. She rummaged in her bag, pulled out a small pack of tissues and wiped her eyes, glancing down and shaking her head at the smear of black mascara on them. For someone who had been crushed against his chest crying for a few minutes, Connor thought she looked adorably cute and confused, if a little panda-eyed.
Ash took a step closer. “Landon’s devastated that he upset you. Can you maybe talk to him and see past the stupidity?”
“What does he want from Rachel?” Connor asked when Rachel didn’t answer.
“Honestly, he just wants to… talk.” Ash shrugged. “He’s pacing a few hedge lines down. Will you just talk to him?”
“So he can ask more questions about Rachel being pregnant?” Connor asked.
Ash shook his head. “Are you, Rachel? Pregnant that is? Because if you are—”
Connor walked the few steps right up into Ash’s space. “And what if she was, huh?” Ash’s eyes widened, then his lips parted on a sigh.
“I didn’t mean anything by it—”
“I’m not.” Rachel hit Connor on the arm with her purse, and his anger subsided. Rachel didn’t need him stirring this up out of all proportion. “I’ll talk to Landon. I’m okay to talk to him.”
“I’ll come with you,” Connor said.
“No, I’ll be okay.”
“What if he hurts you?”
Ash interjected, “What are you implying?”
“Just that your brother has already fucked my friend over once and if he touches her—”
“Connor, it will be okay.” Rachel hugged him briefly, then pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“It won't be, he’ll try and talk you around.”
“I’ll let him talk,” she said. “And if I don’t like what he has to say…” she shrugged.
Connor knew it wasn’t that easy. What if Landon was the type who could talk himself out of everything? “I’ll come with you.”
Rachel placed a hand to his chest. “I’ll be okay.” Then shoulders back, she walked around the hedge and disappeared.
Connor was left with Ash, and unexpectedly he didn’t know what to say. Rachel had gone, and even though he wanted to follow her, she had absolved him from being her protector, and now what he really needed was a drink. Connor didn’t know Landon; there was no reason to think he was like the manipulative bastards that Connor had met before. I need a fucking drink. He walked past Ash to head back into The Wychwood.
“I’d love it,” Ash said from behind him.
Politeness had Connor stopping to face Ash, but irritability had him losing his will to be well-mannered when he spoke. “What?” He knew he sounded uptight and probably more than a little rude. He’d never wanted to be at this damn wedding, let alone deal with idiots like the Sterling-Hayes brothers. Even the pretty gay ones.
To his credit Ash didn’t back down. He shrugged. “If Rachel was pregnant, then I’d have another niece or nephew to spoil and I’d love it. We all would.”
The words somewhat took the wind out of Connor’s sails. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. He’d been part of the world Ash lived in before and he knew how to play the game.
Icy politeness was a good place to start. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Have we met before?” Ash asked, stopping Connor from leaving. Again.
“No.”
“Oh,” Ash began, “normally people hate me after they meet me, not before.” It was Ash who left, brushing past Connor and disappearing into the darkness of The Wychwood’s old interior and leaving Connor standing like an idiot.