Chapter 31 - Alec
THIRTY-ONE
ALEC
Ishade my eyes against the setting sun as I steer the tractor one-handed through paddock twelve.
It’s getting late, and golden evening light is flooding the green field, lighting the hills around me.
The flock is grazing peacefully, and the spring air is cool and gentle.
I’m doing my final rounds of the land before bed, but my mind keeps wandering.
It’s been hours since Fraser brought Summer back from their swim. He and Cameron had to leave to do some deliveries in the village, so she’s been alone in the farmhouse all day. I don’t know if she’s okay after last night.
Running next to the tractor, Scout barks an alert. I jerk my head around. A few feet away, a fat ewe is lying on her back, her wee black legs in the air.
I swear, put the tractor into park, and hop out. This happens sometimes. If sheep roll onto their backs, they can’t get back up again. They can die from the pressure on their lungs if they’re left too long like that.
I jog over and crouch next to the ewe, who bleats at me pitifully.
“All right. Let’s get you up, okay?” I grab a fistful of wool and heave her right way up.
She stumbles a bit in my arms, and I hold her while she gets her footing.
“I hope you haven’t been like that too long,” I murmur, rubbing her back as she wavers.
If she has, it’s my fault. I was meant to be done with my rounds an hour ago. I’ve been running behind schedule all day. No matter how much I try to focus, my mind keeps wandering.
All I can think about is Summer.
Even now, as I pet the sheep, I can see her on the floor of the guest room last night, her hand curled in the front of my jumper as she sobbed. She thinks everyone hates her.
She thinks I hate her. I’ve added to that pain.
I don’t hate her.
I want her. Of course, I want her.
It’s been hell having her on the farm. Everything about her is a distraction. She’s beautiful. She’s everywhere. She’s always dressed in tiny clothes. And to top it off, she’s sleeping with both of my best friends.
I grit my teeth. The damn moaning through the walls two nights ago kept me up until well into the morning. I woke up rutting in my bedsheets like a teenager. I’ve been half hard for two damn days.
I’m angry. I don’t have time to feel like this.
It’s storm season. I have to take care of the lambs.
I have to make sure Fraser’s okay, that Cameron’s not pushing himself too hard, and that the entire business is running smoothly.
I can’t afford to be distracted. So when I saw her in the kitchen yesterday, all of that frustration took over, and I snapped at her.
I shouldn’t have. I just couldn’t help myself.
And now she thinks I hate her.
I’m as bad as my father.
He was the same. Short-tempered. I was seven the first time he locked me out of the house.
He’d ordered me to muck out the stables, but apparently, my work wasn’t good enough.
He told me I couldn’t come back inside until it was done properly.
It was the middle of winter. I slept with the horses to keep warm.
Mum was furious when she found out, and he mellowed slightly after that. Until she died. Then he got a lot, lot worse.
The ewe in my arms baas loudly and prances off.
I look up. The rest of the flock has wandered over to see what’s going on.
I’m surrounded by a ring of black faces all staring at me.
A smaller sheep runs up to me and headbutts my shoulder.
Years ago, I might have stayed out here for an hour or so to unwind with the animals.
I force myself to straighten. I need to get back and start on some paperwork.
And maybe check on Summer.
After I park the tractor, I head to the farmhouse with Scout, lost in thought. Scout suddenly stops and alerts loudly. There’s an unfamiliar black car in my driveway, stencilled with the logo of the local council. A man in a cheap suit is rummaging around in the boot.
You have to be kidding me.
“You’re trespassing,” I call.
The man jumps, almost slamming his head on the boot, then grins at me sheepishly. “Mr Gray. I was hoping to catch you. I just finished up the building survey. I see why the bosses are so keen to buy up your Eastern pasture. It’s a beautiful spot down by the loch.”
I try to keep my head. “I didn’t give you permission to be on my property.”
He blinks. “Didn’t you get the letter that we were coming?”
“I got it. But Lochview is not for sale. This is my land. Get off it.”
The man gives me a pitying look. “See, here,” he says. “Can I give you some advice?”
“No.”
He leans in. “When the next offer of sale comes, accept it. The council is very set on this development plan. They’ll just push through a compulsory purchase order if you refuse, and I’d wager the terms wouldn’t be half as generous.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“They can force you to sell the land against your will,” he says bluntly. “You may as well go quietly.”
I clench my fists. “Get the hell off my property.”
He laughs, like I’m being unreasonable. “Mr Gray, please—”
“Speak up,” I order Scout. He barks loudly. It’s a bark trained to startle a sheep, but it also apparently works on smarmy council workers.
The man creeps closer to the driver’s seat, alarmed. “Mr Gray, I am here in an official capacity—”
“Come by,” I tell Scout, and he darts forwards. Come by is a herding command, meant to herd an animal to the right. The council man throws open the car door and practically jumps inside. I watch as he reverses out of my driveway, his tyres throwing up gravel.
“Good boy,” I tell Scout, pulling a treat out of my pocket. He scoffs it up happily. “That’ll do.”
That command ends a work session. Scout trots off to play in one of the ponds, and I scrub a hand over my face.
Well, shit.
When I step through the farmhouse door, Summer’s sitting at the kitchen table talking to someone on speakerphone as she taps at her laptop. I watch her as I take off my coat. She looks stressed.
“Do you really think it would be that bad to go dark?” she asks into the phone. “Just for a couple of weeks? It feels like everything I post is making everyone madder.”
I frown. I read the article that was released about her last night. It was a bunch of crap. The writer blamed Summer for everything from smartphone addiction to consumerism. It was, at best, very bad faith journalism. At worst, it was blatantly misogynistic.
A girl’s voice comes out of her phone. “It could be catastrophic. Remember Kylie? She took four weeks off after her mum died, and the algorithm straight up dropped her. Her posts don’t get shown to anyone anymore.
She’s lost most of her sponsors, and now she’s struggling for money.
” She sighs. “I know it feels awful right now. I get the article must be super scary. But I’m thinking about this long-term, you know?
I don’t want your entire career suffering because a bunch of losers who hate women ‘cooing over eyeshadow’ decided to mock you.
This WILL blow over. You’re so close to five mil, and I want to see you get this Icons Only collab.
You’ve worked so hard. I don’t want to see their bullying actually work, you know? ”
Summer pales. “Yeah. Okay. Okay. I’ll keep going.”
I slip off my shoes, and the movement catches her attention. Her eyes immediately widen.
“Lulu, I have to go. Call you later.” She hangs up and stands.
“Sorry,” she tells me brightly, gathering her things.
“I didn’t mean to get my stuff everywhere.
I just needed to take a phone call, the signal in my room is kind of bad, but I’ll get out of your way.
” She’s rocking from side to side like she’s nervous.
The realisation settles over my shoulders like a physical weight.
She’s scared of me. I scare her. “Summer, you don’t have to—”
“It’s fine, I swear!” As she fumbles to collect her stuff, her hand knocks her mug of tea. It topples off the kitchen table and shatters on the floor. “God. I am so sorry, I’m a mess.”
“Step back,” I order. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Hang on, I’ll just clean this up—” She bends to pick up the shards, and I suddenly get a front-row view up her short skirt. I see the soft lines of her thighs. The lace of her blue thong. The flash of pretty pink peeping out from underneath the fabric.
Dear God.
“Summer!” I bark, and she jumps to her feet. I close my eyes, trying to get the image out of my head. “Please, just get back.”
She’s already backing away from me. “Yes,” she says, heading towards the front door. “Of course. I’m so sorry.” She grabs her coat and shoves her feet into her shoes. Before I can tell her that I don’t mean she has to leave the building, she’s gone.
I stare down at the broken ceramic on the floor. I can feel myself swelling in my jeans.
I kneel and start picking up the pieces.