The Deserving Mistress. Carole MortimerЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘ARE you having a heart attack or just resting?’

      May had heard the approach of the car into the farmyard, had even managed to slightly raise one eyelid in order to register the fact that it wasn’t a vehicle she recognised. Which meant her visitor was either lost, or a seed or fertilizer salesman, neither of which raised enough enthusiasm to rouse her from her sitting position on the convenient bale of hay outside the milking shed.

      She managed a grunt of acknowledgement. ‘Which do you think?’

      ‘In all honesty—I’m not sure!’ The man sounded slightly surprised by his own uncertainty, as if it weren’t an emotion that came naturally to him.

      May managed to pry that single eyelid slightly open a second time, just enough to be able to have a look at her unexpected visitor.

      Probably aged in his mid to late thirties, the man was tall, very much so, with thick dark hair that looked inclined to curl, dark brows frowning over piercing grey eyes, an arrogant slash of a nose, his mouth grimly set over a squarely determined chin.

      Uncertainty about anything certainly wouldn’t sit easily on those broad shoulders, either!

      ‘Well, let me know when you’ve made up your mind.’ May sighed wearily, closing her eyelid again.

      ‘Hmm,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘I’ve never actually seen anyone have a heart attack, but I’m sure they should be in more pain than you appear to be in. On the other hand, falling asleep sitting outside on a bale of hay, in a temperature that can’t be much above freezing, doesn’t seem too comfortable, either!’ he concluded dryly.

      May gave a dismissive movement of her shoulders. ‘Anywhere is comfortable to fall asleep when you’ve been up all night.’

      ‘Ah,’ the man murmured knowingly.

      She opened her eyes just wide enough to glare at him. ‘With the vet,’ she defended impatiently before closing her eyes again.

      ‘I see,’ the man drawled wryly.

      May gave a groan as she roused herself to sit up on the bale of hay, every muscle in her body seeming to ache as she rubbed sleep-drowsed eyes before frowning up at her visitor.

      When she viewed him more closely, it was possible to see the arrogant lift of his square-cut chin, the complete self-confidence in the way that he stood and the hardness of his handsome features. Just the type of man she felt like dealing with after a sleepless night!

      ‘Can I help you?’ she prompted irritably.

      ‘That depends,’ the man murmured ruefully.

      ‘On what?’ She sighed at this procrastination, really in no mood to deal with a lost out-of-season tourist or indeed a pushy salesman.

      He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘On whether or not your name happens to be Calendar.’

      Not a lost out-of-season tourist. A seed or fertilizer salesman, then.

      ‘It could be.’ She pushed herself up onto her feet with effort, looking up to find the man was still seven or eight inches taller than her own five feet eight in height.

      The man gave her a considering look, laughter glinting in those piercing grey eyes now.

      Which wasn’t so surprising, May acknowledged, easily able to visualise the scarecrow figure she must represent. Her wellington boots were muddy, her jeans likewise; worse, she was still wearing the same clothes she had put on yesterday morning, not having been to bed yet or indeed managed to get inside for a refreshing shower. Her face was probably smeared with dirt from lying on the barn floor most of the night, a woollen hat pulled down low over her ears, mainly to keep