The Girl from Honeysuckle Farm / One Dance with the Cowboy: The Girl from Honeysuckle Farm / One Dance with the Cowboy. DONNA ALWARDЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘I’m sorry.’ Ash, like the normally thoughtful person he was, sensed what she had not been able to say. The last time Leanne had surfaced had been to attend Phinn’s father’s funeral. ‘Come on,’ he said, shaking off his apathy in the face of Phinn having a weak moment. ‘Let’s go and see how Ruby likes her new digs.’
By early evening Phinn was in her room again, wondering at her stroke of luck at being at Broadlands. Because her watch had stopped working she was having to guess at the time, but she thought it had been around six that evening when she and Ash had returned to the house. She had come straight to her room and begun finding homes for her belongings.
She had been surprised, however, when opening a drawer in her bedside table, to find an envelope with her name on it. When she had opened it, it had been to extract a cheque written and signed in Ty’s firm hand, for what she presumed was her first month’s wages.
She felt a little hot about the ears when, never having been paid in advance before, she wondered if Ty had guessed at the parlous state of her finances. The fact that the cheque was for more than she would have thought too made her realise the importance he gave to his brother’s welfare. In his view Ash needed a companion when Ty could not be there himself—and he was prepared to pay up-front for that cover.
Knowing that she was going to do her best to fulfil that role, Phinn, surmising that ‘companions’ probably ate with the family, went to assess her wardrobe. She had several decent dresses, but she had no wish to be ‘over the top’. Jeans were out, she guessed, so she settled for a smart pair of white trousers and topped them with a loose-fitting short blue kaftan.
It seemed an age since she had last used anything but moisturiser on her face, but she thought a dab of powder and a smear of lipstick might not be a bad idea. Why, as she was studying her finished appearance, she should think of Ty Allardyce she had no idea.
She hadn’t seen him since yesterday. Nor had she heard him come home. Would he be there at dinner? Did she want him there at dinner? Oh, for goodness’ sake—what the blazes did it matter where he was? He—
Someone tapping on her door caused her to break off her thoughts.
And, on her answering the door, who should be standing there but none other than the subject of her thoughts? She felt suddenly shy.
‘Hungry?’ Ty enquired easily.
She at once discounted that she was in any way shy of him. ‘Mrs Starkey said dinner was around seven-thirty,’ Phinn responded. Shy or not, she glanced away from those steady grey eyes and raised her left hand to check the time on her wrist. No watch!
‘It’s seven forty-five,’ Ty informed her.
‘It isn’t!’ she exclaimed. Where had the day gone?
‘You look ready to me,’ he observed. And, stepping back, he clearly expected her to join him.
A smile lit the inside of her. Ty must have come up the stairs purposely to collect her. ‘Busy day?’ she enquired, leaving her room and going along the landing with him.
‘Not as physically busy as you, from what I hear. Ash tells me you put him to shame.’
She shook her head. ‘Once Ash got into his stride it was he who did the lion’s share of lumping and bumping,’ she stated, and saw that Ty looked pleased.
‘And your friend Mickie Yates came and took everything away?’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Good Lord, why would I?’ Ty replied, and startled her completely when, totally away from what they had been talking about, he shot a question at her. ‘Where’s your watch?’
Taken by surprise, she answered, ‘It got wet,’ quite without thinking. And was halfway down the stairs when Ty stepped in front of her, turned and halted—causing her to have to halt too.
‘You mean you forgot to take it off when you did your Olympian dive yesterday?’
‘I can’t think of everything!’ she exclaimed. ‘It will be all right when it dries out,’ she added off-handedly, knowing that it would never work again, but not wanting to make an issue of it. It hadn’t been an expensive watch, after all.
‘As you remarked—you’re no good at telling lies.’ He neatly tripped her up.
What could she do? Say? She gave him a cheeky grin. ‘The paddock is lovely,’ she informed him.
He shook his head slightly, the way she noticed he did when he was a little unsure of what to make of her.
Dinner was a pleasant meal, though Phinn observed that Ash ate very little. For all that the ham salad with buttered potatoes and a rather fine onion tart was very palatable, he seemed to be eating it for form’s sake rather than because he was enjoying it.
‘Did you find time to get into the estate office today?’ Ty, having included her in all the conversation so far, put a question to his brother.
‘Who wants to be indoors on a day like today?’ Ash replied. ‘I’ll see what I can do tomorrow,’ he added. Ty did not press him, or look in any way put out. And then Ash was confessing, ‘Actually, I think Phinn would make a better estate manager than me.’
Phinn opened her mouth, ready with a disclaimer, and then noticed Ty’s glance had switched to her. He was plainly interested in his brother’s comment.
‘I’m beginning to think that nothing Phinn does will surprise me,’ he said. ‘But—’ he glanced back to Ash ‘—why, particularly?’
‘Apparently I’m being taken on a tour of Pixie End Wood tomorrow. Phinn tells me there are a couple of trees there that need felling, and new ones planting.’
Ty’s glance was back on her, and she was sure she looked guilty. She knew that he was now aware that her trespassing had not been limited to the few places where he had witnessed it.
When, after dinner, a move was made to the drawing room, Phinn would by far have preferred to have gone to the stable. But, even though she felt that Ty would not expect her to be on ‘companion duty’ when he was home to keep his brother company, she was aware that there were certain courtesies to be observed when living in someone else’s home.
And so, thinking that to spend another ten minutes with the Allardyce brothers wouldn’t hurt, she went along to the drawing room with them. But she was hardly through the door when she stopped dead in her tracks.
‘Grandmother Hawkins’ table!’ she exclaimed, all the other plush furnishings and antique furniture fading from her sight as she recognised the much-loved, much-polished, small round table that had been theirs up until ‘needs must’, as her father had called their impecunious moments, and the table had been sold.
‘Grandmother Hawkins?’ Ash enquired. ‘You mean you once owned that table?’
Grandmother Hawkins had handed it down to Phinn’s parents early in their marriage, when they’d had little furniture of their own. They had later inherited the rest of her antiques. ‘It’s—er—lovely, isn’t it?’ she replied, feeling awkward and wishing that she hadn’t said anything.
‘You’re sure it’s yours? Ty bought it in London.’
‘I’m sure. We sold it—it wasn’t stolen. We—er…’ She had been about to say how it had been about the last one of their antiques to go, but there was no need for anyone to know of their hard-up moments. ‘It was probably sold to a dealer who sold it on.’
‘And you recognise it?’
‘I should do—it was my Saturday morning job to polish it. I’ve been polishing it since I was about three years old.’ A gentle smile of happy remembering lifted her mouth. ‘My father’s initials are lightly carved underneath. We both got into trouble when he showed me how to carve mine in too. My mother could never erase them—no matter how much she