Summer at Lavender Bay: A fabulously feel-good summer romance perfect for taking on holiday!

Chapter Four

Jack chugged along the ruts on either side of yet another row of lavender, muttering curses over the sweltering weather. Even with the side windows fully open, the glass windscreen of the tractor magnified the heat of the mid-afternoon sun leaving him drenched in sweat. Since the first night after he’d transferred the new plants to the field, there’d been not a drop of rain and the forecast for the week showed little sign of any materialising. After chatting it through with his mum, they’d decided to water manually—well, mechanically. Reaching the end of the field, he turned the tractor and the water bowser attached to the towing hitch, lined up over the next row, then parked up and turned off the engine. The sudden silence came as a relief. Noah had suffered another terrible nightmare and another sleepless night combined with worry over his nephew had left Jack with a banging headache.

After clambering from the cab, he rummaged inside the rucksack beneath his seat and pulled out a bottle of water. He placed the bottle against his aching forehead. Sighing in relief as the chilly surface eased a little of the tension, Jack opened the bottle and drank. The cold liquid soothed his parched throat and he drained half the bottle before capping it again. The cloth he’d tied around his neck to protect it from the glare of the sun was soaked. He tugged it off to wring it out, using a bit of water from the bottle to rinse the worst of the sweat from it, then draped it over the bonnet of the tractor. The combined heat from the engine and the sun would dry it out in no time.

His shirt was in a similar state, and he tugged it away from the base of his back in the hopes of allowing the faint breeze to cool his skin. It did little to ease his discomfort, so he quickly unbuttoned the soft denim and shrugged out of it, shuddering a little as the clammy material stuck to his skin. He tied the sleeves in a loop around the side mirror on the tractor to hang in the sunshine, then took another long draft from the water bottle.

Squatting on his heels, he sighed as the body of the tractor offered a respite from the heat and studied the nearest lavender plant. Strong pale green stalks radiated out from the base, forming a dome with the first hints of the spears which would soon be laden with tiny purple flowers showing. A few more days, a week—maybe two—and the whole farm would be transformed into delicate blankets of every shade from palest lilac to deep imperial purple. There was plenty of work to be done between now and then.

With a soft groan, he stood and stretched his arms over his head to loosen the kinks in his spine. Another couple of hours bouncing around in the tractor’s seat would leave his body vibrating from scalp to toes, but it had to be done. Gritting his teeth at the state his head would be in by the end of the day, he reached for his shirt, intent on untying the sleeves when a soft, feminine voice hailed him. ‘Hello! Mr Gilbert?’

Jack spun on his heel, catching his elbow on the jutting out mirror in the process. ‘Shit!’ He rubbed the sharp pain and studied the small figure waving at him from the other side of the field. Shrouded beneath a huge floppy straw hat and swathed in layers of white linen, it was hard to distinguish much about her, other than her diminutive size.

Shading his eyes with one hand, Jack cast a glance down the sloping path she must have followed. Plenty of locals—and tourists—liked to stroll along the public footpath which led them out of the bay, along the edges of the farm and back towards the cliffs that tumbled into the surf marking the far end of town. His unexpected visitor had strayed far from that route though, ignoring plenty of ‘Private Property – Keep Out’ signs in the process.

Striding along the top of the field, he closed the gap between them. ‘Are you lost? The public footpath is back that way.’ He gestured impatiently hoping she’d take the hint.

The wide brim of the hat tilted up, revealing a pair of pale green eyes and a small, slightly upturned nose spattered with freckles. She was a lot younger than he’d expected from the way she’d buried herself under layers of white cotton and linen. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite place her. For a brief moment he wondered if they’d dated in the past before dismissing it. She looked too sweet for his tastes. A shy smile lifted the corners of her delicate mouth, confirming his instincts. Definitely too sweet. For some reason that only served to irritate him further.

‘Not lost.’ Her smile faltered for a second before she tried again. ‘I knocked at the farmhouse, but there was no answer. I looked for a shop, but you don’t seem to have one.’

Well, she’d certainly had a good nose around the place. Jack folded his arms across his chest, remembering belatedly that his shirt still fluttered from the tractor’s wing mirror. ‘This is a working farm, as you can see. We’re too busy to play bloody shopkeepers.’

Her eyes seemed to follow the motion of his arms, then skittered away as a ruddy blush brought roses to the pale cream of her cheeks. ‘Oh…um…I assumed you’d have one to sell your lavender. That’s why I’m here…to buy some, I mean.’ Her hand waved vaguely towards the field at his back.

Hot and tired, and with still several hours of work left to do, Jack felt the reins on his patience slip. ‘We already have a wholesaler we deal with, and I’m not in the market to change. Especially not to some random cold-caller who can’t be bothered to make an appointment first.’

Her face flushed, her embarrassment at his sharp words etched plain in her shocked gaze. Jack shrugged away his momentary discomfort. It was her own bloody fault for trespassing.

Her next words wound his frustration levels back up again. ‘Oh, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. I’m not from a company, I was just looking to buy a few things for myself. I want to use it for making soap, scented candles, that kind of thing…’ Not even a company rep, then. Just some woman with a new hobby looking to buy a tenner’s worth of product—twenty quid, tops. He scowled. This conversation with her had cost him more than that in wasted time.

A sudden gust of wind tugged at the brim of her hat and she clapped a hand on top of it to hold it in place. ‘Well, I can see you’re busy…I’m sorry to have bothered you…’ The woman took a sidestep which placed her directly in the line of the sun, turning the diaphanous drapes of her skirt almost see-through. His attention strayed to the shapely curves of hip and thigh, then to the way the angle of her upraised arm strained the cotton of her blouse over her breasts. Who’d have thought so many secret delights lay beneath all those layers?

God, she’s lovely.

The thought completely blindsided him, and he faked a cough as an excuse to turn away from her. When he looked back, her eyes were fixed on him, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. That hesitant expression making it clear she hoped for some reassurance otherwise, but she had bothered him, and in ways he wasn’t ready to analyse. There was too much going on in his life, the last thing he needed was a distraction—not even one as pretty as this delicate beauty. It wasn’t like he was in a position to ask her out, or any other woman for that matter. The sorry state of his romantic life added another layer of frustration to his already frayed temper.

Jack rubbed his aching temples, wishing like hell he’d never got out of bed that morning. ‘If you’ve finished wasting my time, I assume you can find your own way back out?’

He was already striding away as more stuttered words of apology spilled from her lips, and he hunched his shoulders as though to ward off the guilty waves lashing him over such rude behaviour. It didn’t matter how attractive she was, after that display she’d likely run a mile if she ever laid eyes on him again.

Frustrated, hot, and overwhelmed by a sudden sense of longing for simpler days when his only responsibility was to stick in a hard day’s graft, Jack snatched his shirt from the mirror and thrust his arms into it, then grabbed his now-dry neckerchief and knotted it around his throat. He swung into the cab of the tractor and turned the key, wincing as the engine coughed, shuddered and rattled into an ominous silence. No, no, no, don’t do this. He tried again and the starter mechanism whirred, but didn’t catch.

Flinging himself back down to the ground, Jack stomped around to the side of the engine block and unlatched the cover. A hint of white caught his eye and he turned to watch the woman disappear around the corner of the hedge edging the field. He didn’t believe in karma, or any of those flights of superstitious fancy…but if he did, then the universe had just given him a serious kick in the arse for his behaviour towards her.

Covered in grease, dust and sweat, Jack finally parked the tractor in the rear yard. He was in such a foul mood he couldn’t even be bothered to uncouple the bowser and return it to its storage spot. He just stomped into the mud room and kicked off his boots. Turning the tap over the metal sink on with his elbow, he reached for a thick bar of soap and began to lather his filthy hands and lower arms under the stream of water. The tangy scent of the mass-produced soap stung his nostrils, and his mind strayed unwillingly to thoughts of the woman from earlier. He could picture her delicate little nose wrinkling at the overpowering smell, and—he gave himself a rueful sniff—not just from the bar in his hands.

She’d been too far away for him to catch a hint of her perfume, but he would bet his last pound on it being something as pretty and fresh as she’d looked. Something sweet and tempting—cherry blossom, or roses. One of the ideas he’d had for expanding the farm had been to turn the old, neglected vegetable patch they’d abandoned since his father’s death into a huge bed of roses. Good quality rose oil was in as high a demand as lavender, and the scruffy, weed-strewn patch was over half an acre. More than enough room for a trial area. If Jason had agreed to the plan they would’ve had their first batch of oil—something else the pretty soap-maker might have been interested in. Jack rolled his eyes; he was not in the market for tuppenny ha’penny deals, no matter how sweet her smile.

The inner door to the kitchen swung open, and Jack glanced over his shoulder at his mum. ‘Hello love.’ She greeted him with a smile. ‘You’re late tonight. I’ve stuck you a plate in the oven and Noah’s just finishing off his reading and that’s the last of his homework.’

Thank God she was there to pick up the slack. His weren’t the only plans that’d been thrown into chaos by Jason’s death. Their mum had wanted to take a back seat on the farm, had even talked about finding a little place to live down in the bay before setting her heart on the old farmworker’s cottage. All that had gone on hold for the foreseeable future, though. ‘Cheers, Mum. I’ve had a shit afternoon, not helped by some random woman swanning about the place thinking she can buy a couple of sprigs of lavender for some stupid bloody craft hobby, and then the tractor breaking down. I managed to get it going, but it doesn’t sound happy. If I can’t work out what the problem is tomorrow, we’ll have to get someone in.’ And that would cost a small fortune, no doubt. They had an annual budget set aside for repairs and maintenance, but still, it was another complication they could do without.

His mum gave him a sympathetic wince. ‘You look fed up. Get yourself showered and then eat your dinner, hopefully that’ll make you feel better.’

He nodded. ‘And I might treat myself to a cold beer, too.’

Her next words depressed him even more. ‘I don’t think there’s any in the fridge, but I’ll check.’

She turned aside, making room for Bastian to come wagging out of the kitchen to greet him with a cold nose shoved against the bare skin where Jack’s shirt still hung unbuttoned. Jack yelped and flicked his wet fingers at the dog. ‘Get off, you daft thing.’

His mum reappeared. ‘No beer, love, sorry. Why don’t you take this one for a walk down into town and treat yourself to a pint and a bit of company? You’ve hardly stopped for days and I can see to Noah for the rest of the evening.’ She closed the gap between them to cup his stubble-roughened cheek. ‘I’m worried about you, Jack. You need to take a break.’

His bad mood evaporated under the deep concern in her. ‘I’m all right, I promise.’ Stretching his legs after a long day cooped up in the tractor sounded like a bloody good idea, though. And just maybe he could find a pretty girl down the pub for a chat, maybe a stroll along the promenade and a kiss or two if he was lucky. The image of a pair of moss-green eyes and a freckled snub nose rose in his mind before he dismissed them. If he bumped into the woman he’d been so rude to that afternoon he’d be lucky if she didn’t kick him in the balls. ‘A walk will do me good, and poor Bastian too, I bet. Thanks, Mum, you’re the best.’

She winked at him as she dropped her hand. ‘And don’t you forget it. Go on, hop to, and I’ll butter you a slice of bread to go with your dinner.’

As his mum had predicted, a shower, change of clothes and a hot meal had done the power of good to lift his spirits and chase the worst of his fatigue away. She and Noah had ensconced themselves on the sofa in front of The Lego Movie and had both seemed perfectly content to carry on without him. With a whistle to Bastian, Jack gathered the dog’s lead, a disreputable looking tennis ball and a pocket torch for the way back and set off across the circular driveway towards the footpath leading down into Lavender Bay.

It was a pleasant evening, and as they drew closer to town a refreshing breeze came in from the sea, lifting his mood even further. The walk down from the farm had taken just under fifteen minutes so although his mouth was watering at the prospect of a cold pint, Jack took the time to head down onto the beach to let Bastian have a really good run. There were plenty of people strolling along the promenade, as well as a few hardy souls who were paddling their toes in the sea as the evening dusk drew trails of pink, orange and indigo across the sky. The sun had been hot, but it was still early enough in the season for the water to remain frigid.

He shared a smile with a shrieking woman and the laughing man beside her who’d got caught out by a wave splashing halfway up their calves. It was his own turn to curse as Bastian came pounding through the surf, tongue lolling around his tennis ball, sending a spray of icy water soaking the front of Jack’s T-shirt. ‘Cheers, mate!’ Jack shook his head at the dog, who dropped the ball at his feet, tail wagging a mile a minute.

Stooping, he picked up the ball and tossed it again, making sure to aim up the beach this time. Bastian charged off with Jack in slower pursuit and the pair met near the steps leading back up to the prom. ‘Enough for now? Let’s see if we can get us both a nice cold drink.’ He clipped the short leather lead onto the dog’s matching collar and led him up the steps.

Laughter, music and the smell of hops and rich gravy greeted him in a delicious wave of sensation as Jack pushed open the door to The Siren. Pausing just inside, he caught the eye of a familiar face behind the bar and nodded down to the dog. ‘He all right?’

‘Jack the Lad! You’re a sight for sore eyes!’ Sam pushed his fringe out of his eyes as he pointed to the other end of the bar. ‘Come around to the side and I’ll get you a dish of water for him.’

He’d first got to know Sam the previous year after the man had returned home to help his parents run the pub. Jason and Jack had been regulars since they’d been old enough to buy a pint, but they’d never really mixed with others their own age. In the way of kids, the two of them being home-schooled had created enough of a barrier to potential friendships.

A few years of maturity on all sides had closed any gaps and once Sam had returned to Lavender Bay, he and Jack had hit it off. ‘Cheers, I appreciate it.’ Jack said when a large metal bowl was placed on the bare patch of tiles next to the raised section of the bar.

Sam straightened up. ‘No trouble, now what about you?’

‘A pint of lager, please.’ Jack looked around the bar whilst he waited. It had been too long since he’d been down into town, but the place looked the same. Accepting the beer placed before him with a nod of thanks, he dug in his pocket for some change and handed it over to Sam. ‘Sorry I haven’t been around for a while, but—’

‘Don’t even mention it, mate. I’m just glad to see you.’ Sam cut him off before Jack could get bogged down in a painful explanation. It was so damn hard to say the actual words and he appreciated the other man’s sensitivity.

Raising his glass, he took a long mouthful of the cold lager and swallowed his grief down along with the bitter brew. ‘Damn, I needed that. So, how’s things been with you?’

The blond man laughed as he slung the handful of coins into the till without bothering to check them. ‘Oh, you know same old, same old. Fell in love, opening a new restaurant. Nothing special.’

‘Nothing special?’ Jack shook his head. ‘Bloody hell, I’ve only been out of the picture for a couple of months and you’re living the dream. Tell me more…’

‘Hello, gorgeous boy! Look at you! Yes, yes, you’re very handsome, aren’t you?’ A familiar soft voice distracted Jack from whatever Sam had been about to say next and he glanced down to see a woman crouched over an ecstatic-looking Bastian. He couldn’t make out her face thanks to the sandy curls tumbling around her shoulders, and she sounded a lot more enthusiastic than earlier, but he had more than a sneaking suspicion of who she might be. Well, damn.

The woman straightened up, one hand still scratching the dog behind his ears, and familiar moss-green eyes met his stare, proving his suspicion correct. ‘Oh. It’s you,’ she said in the way one might observe finding a slug in their salad. ‘What are you doing here?’ Make that half a slug.

Jack gestured to his drink, trying to ignore the heat rising on the back of his neck. Embarrassment over his earlier rudeness doused his good mood. ‘It’s a pub, isn’t it? I’m doing what most people do in one.’ Nice one, you wanker. What was it about her that made him so defensive?

She wrinkled her snub of a nose at him, drawing his attention once again to the smattering of freckles across it. ‘Not for much longer if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head.’ She glanced away from him to Bastian, crouching once more to lavish the Labrador with attention. ‘Not even if you’ve brought the most gorgeous-looking dog with you.’ The tone she used to address Bastian was infinitely warmer than the one she’d used on Jack.

Sam cleared his throat. ‘You remember my sister, Eliza? She’s not normally this rude.’

Eliza. Memories of giggling girls he’d eyed from across the pub in his teenage years tumbled through his head. So that’s where he’d recognised her from. Although if memory served him right, she’d always been with the same boy.

His trip down memory lane ended abruptly when Eliza straightened up and graced him with a look likely to give him frostbite, even in the middle of the current heatwave. ‘Mr Gilbert took offence when I disturbed him at the farm earlier.’

There was enough of a trace of hurt in her voice to smack some sense into Jack, and he offered her his hand. ‘It’s Jack.’

‘The lad, I heard.’ The look she gave him said she knew exactly why her brother called him that. Jack rolled his shoulders; so he’d played the field a bit, what of it? He’d never been out with a woman who didn’t share the same expectations—and boundaries. Refusing to feel embarrassed when he’d done nothing wrong, Jack decided to skip over it. ‘Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was in a foul mood, but that’s no excuse for being an arse. Can we start again?’

She eyed his hand warily for a moment before placing her palm against his. Her slender fingers seemed to disappear beneath his as they closed around them, adding to his early impression of her delicacy. ‘All right, then.’

Another customer hailed her, and Eliza made to step behind the bar, then froze to look back at him, then down. When Jack followed her gaze, he realised with a start that he was still holding onto her hand and dropped it with a mumbled apology. Jesus, he needed to get a grip. Or not as the case may be.

Finding his eyes straying towards where she was laughing over the bar at some comment from the man she was serving, Jack shook himself and turned his attention back to Sam. Now he knew the connection between them, it was obvious he and Eliza were related. Same sandy hair, same green eyes. He listened avidly as Sam described his plans to convert the old skittle alley beneath the pub into a high-end restaurant until eventually another customer drew him away.