Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Only the April before, my rapeseed crops were destroyed by the flea beetle. They destroyed the lot of it. Thousands and thousands of pounds’ worth of loss.
Enzo had been my shepherd, and as much as Georgie and I tried, we couldn’t look after the fields, the cattle, and the sheep. So I’d sold my flock. But the problem with that was, not only did we lose money in lambing season, we lost money on our crops. The Department for Environment, Food & Rural Affairs gave me money to not grow crops. I had wildflower meadows that made money by simply existing, but I had to mow those fields—and my flock of sheep had done that for me.
Everything was connected on the farm. Start to break it apart and failure seemed inevitable.
The thought of failing my grandfather, for being the one responsible for the end of the McCulloch Farm, was a knife in my gut.
“The rapeseed is looking good this year.” Georgie clapped me on the shoulder, giving me a reassuring smile.
I relaxed marginally and blew out a breath. “Good.”
My friend sighed.
Oh fuck. “What happened?”
“I had to get Ennis out.”
Ennis was the local farm and equine vet. “Why?”
“One of the cows had a sore on her leg. Ennis looked at her and says she’s just injured herself, nothing to worry about. But …” He shrugged apologetically.
“More money.” Ennis wasn’t cheap. “It’s fine. You did the right thing.” I felt a familiar tightness in my chest and suddenly I desperately needed to be alone. “Head home. I’ll finish up.”
“Everything’s done that can be done today.” Georgie frowned. “Go get some sleep.”
It was like he knew I hadn’t been sleeping. It had felt like weeks of tossing and turning, worrying about the farm. How to fix it. How to make it work before it was too late.
A few minutes later, I was alone in the house I’d lived in for the past nine years. I’d visited my grandparents’ home before then, during summers as a kid. But it had truly been my home from the moment my grandfather took in a scared-shitless twenty-one-year old. He’d taught me to farm, and it had become a way of life for me. When he passed away almost six years ago, there was no question in my mind that I would take over the family business.
My cousin Sarah had lived with our grandparents since she was a young teen. She’d gone on to become a best-selling crime writer, to marry the man who turned her book series into a globally successful television show, and they spent half their year in London and the other half here. Sarah had already gifted the farm a new tractor and a few other bits and pieces. If she knew the farm was in trouble, she’d offer to help in a heartbeat.
But that would make me feel like an even bigger failure.
Granddad wouldn’t want me to take money from Sarah to turn the farm around. He’d want me to find the solution myself.
I was trying. Fuck, I was trying. For him. For me. That tightness compressed my chest and I squeezed my eyes closed against the panic.
What a day. What a fucking day.
First Sorcha dragged me away from the farm (though it wasn’t like she knew it was in trouble), and then giving Allegra Howard, of all people, a lift home.
Her perfect features flashed in my mind and I groaned, scrubbing a hand down my face.
Allegra was one of those women a man couldn’t believe was real. The first time I saw her, I thought I might be hallucinating. Ardnoch, because of the club, had seen its fair share of beautiful people, but Allegra … She was the kind of beautiful that stopped traffic. The kind of beautiful that surely was only meant for the television screen or a perfume ad.
Yet she wasn’t an actor or a model. She was an artist.
But she was also the daughter of Hollywood director Wesley Howard, and you didn’t have to be into movies to know who the hell he was. Her mum was Chiara Howard. I’d known guys who kept posters of her in nothing but her underwear in their mechanics garage back in Glasgow.
Aye, Allegra was from another world. Not for me. She’d been too young when we met, which made it easier to avoid temptation. But she was twenty-five now … and still she looked at me like I was fascinating. That was hard to resist.
But I would.
I should’ve driven past her today, but the sight of her pacing along the side of the road with a troubled expression on her stunning face … I had to stop. Had to make sure she was all right. Then I’d been a sullen bastard because I didn’t know how to act around her.
Guilt pricked me.
“Enough. Fuck.” I pushed up off the couch, shoving thoughts of the American out. I had far bigger things to worry about than Allegra Howard.