Chapter Eleven
Maddie
We don’t talk much for the remainder of the journey. Caesar falls quiet, looking out of the window, and I decide not to interrupt his thoughts. I have enough of my own to contend with.
I can’t believe that when I said I thought we had chemistry, he said, “So did I.” And that he said he’s been looking for me.
My head is still spinning. I’ve convinced myself he saw our one-night stand as a fun, hot evening, and that he didn’t give me a single thought after I’d left.
But his words suggest maybe it was meaningful to him.
That fills me with joy… but of course, it changes nothing. I’m still a Rutherford. He’s still an Ashford. And never shall the twain meet, according to Kipling.
Does it still count if the twain have already bumped uglies?
“Not far now,” I say, signaling as we approach the turnoff, even though I can’t see anyone for miles. I slow the car and turn onto the gravel drive, which winds slowly up through the undulating ground.
“It’s very bleak,” Caesar says.
“Wait till we crest the hill.” I drop a gear and head over the rise, then follow the curve of the road back toward Shepherd’s Cottage.
“Fuck,” he says.
I slow the car and pull up next to the cottage. “I know.”
He doesn’t say anything else. He unbuckles his seat belt, then opens the door as I turn off the engine and gets out.
I do the same, and I walk around the car to stand beside him.
We’re at the top of a relatively flat piece of landscape, surrounded by fields dotted with sheep.
Behind us, the mountains continue to rise to stunning peaks.
In front of us, the valley falls away, giving us a breathtaking view all the way to Lake Wānaka, which glimmers in the distance.
The sky is amazing, vast and heavy with dark clouds that promise to unleash their contents on us very soon.
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That is truly stunning.”
Pleasure fills me. “I’m so glad you like it.”
He turns his gaze to me. “You look so happy.”
“I am happy. This is my happy place.” I walk back to the car. “Come on. Let’s get the stuff into the cottage.”
I open the back of the Land Rover, lift out the cool box that Bill put in there for us, and carry it over to the cottage. It’s made of local stone with a corrugated iron roof, slightly rusted at the edges. A chimney reveals the promise of a log fire for when the temperature drops at night.
I unlock the door and go inside. It’s open plan because it’s so small, with the wood-burning stove in the center of the opposite wall, next to a stack of firewood—good old Bill.
The single sofa faces the stove, covered with a couple of bright-colored wool throws.
The kitchen consists of an old wooden bench topped with shelves full of mismatched cups and plates.
The cupboard beside it contains mainly tins and dried food with a long shelf life.
There’s also a kettle, a toaster, a combi oven, and a bar fridge.
The bathroom is functional rather than fancy, with a temperamental hot water system that makes shower time fast and fun.
As I place the box on the kitchen counter and Caesar comes in with our cases, I look around and see the place through his eyes.
It’s a small, practical, and well-loved hideaway.
Old jackets hang on the hooks by the door.
An old acoustic guitar leans against the wall.
Notebooks and pens are clustered on the small table.
Some of my favorite books that I’ve read over and over take up most of a shelf, while a jar of wildflowers sits on the windowsill—donated by Bill’s wife, no doubt.
“Not quite the Hilton,” I say.
“Mmm.” A non-committal grunt. He stands the cases against the wall and checks the place out, sticking his head in the bathroom, then in the bedroom.
He comes back out and stares at me. “There’s only one bed.”
“I know. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“You’re kidding me?”
I glance at him and lift an eyebrow. “I’ve done it before. It’s relatively comfortable.” I open the cool box and take out a couple of packets of biscuits. “Can you put these in the cupboard?”
He follows my instructions, looking at the groceries on the shelves as he slots the biscuits in.
“Sorry there’s no caviar,” I say sarcastically.
“That’s okay, we’ll just order room service.”
That makes us both laugh. I open the bar fridge and squash the milk, bacon, eggs, and cheese in there, then put the cool box to one side.
“Oh…” At the bottom of the cupboard, he’s discovered a half-full bottle of Glenlivet. “Wow. Nice.”
“There’s a bottle of red wine at the back, too. Although I probably won’t have any. It makes my migraine worse.”
“Of course.” He puts the whisky back.
“I don’t mind if you have a drink,” I point out.
“Nah, I can do without. As long as there’s chocolate.”
“Oh, there’s chocolate. Look at the back of that shelf.”
He moves something aside, then laughs. There are about ten big bars of Whittaker’s Dark Ghana chocolate in a stack. “Seventy-two percent cocoa solids. Jesus. That’s dark enough to swallow all the light in the room.”
“I like dark chocolate.”
“Me too. Well, we have enough for a couple of days, anyway.”
I chuckle. He closes the door, then turns and leans a hip on the counter, looking through the window at the view.
I open a bottle of water and have a few mouthfuls, then hold it out.
He looks at it, and for a moment I wonder whether he’s going to comment on the wisdom of sharing a bottle.
But he obviously realizes how weird that would be considering what other fluids of mine he’s imbibed, and he takes it and drinks some before replacing the lid.
We study each other for a moment, not saying anything.
“It’s very quiet here,” he says eventually, looking out at the view again.
“Yeah. It’s one reason why I like it.”
“No TV.”
“Nope. You can get the internet via mobile data, but it’s spotty. I normally have a few movies downloaded onto my iPad though. Are you worried about being off grid?”
His gaze comes back to me. “I’m not troubled by a lack of entertainment.” A slight frown flickers on his brow. “Aren’t you concerned about being here? With me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a woman, Maddie, with a guy you hardly know. Aren’t you anxious about your safety?”
“I’ve got a taser in my pocket.”
“Really?”
I snort. “No. Caesar, I went up to a hotel room and had sex with you. I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t trust you. Now, shall we take a quick walk around the fields before we eat? It’s definitely going to rain soon.”
He just nods and doesn’t say anything as he heads for the door.
I do trust him, but would that change if I discovered later that he’d known who I was when we slept together? Might I be as suspicious as he is?
Musing on that, I follow him out, sliding on my sunglasses. Sometimes even dull light hurts my eyes.
“I’ll take you on a full tour in the morning,” I tell him as we walk slowly along the path that runs between the fences surrounding the fields. “But I thought I’d show you the scope of the farm and the project.”
I point out the boundaries of the fields so he can orient himself in the landscape, and tell him a bit about the way the soil changes from the low hills to where the ground rises steeply toward the mountains.
Eventually, I stop and show him the small appliance set in the fenceline, facing north to catch the sun.
“This is one of the solar-powered devices we use to collect data. Like the AgriTech system, I believe, they transfer the data to an app which we can then use for Verdant, to predict how the pasture growth will respond to weather, soil moisture, and seasonal variation.”
“Right,” he says.
I stop walking. “Look, I know you’re not won over by the AI stuff, but can I ask that you keep an open mind while you’re here?”
“I said ‘right.’ What part of that makes you think I’m not keeping an open mind?”
“It was your tone.”
“I didn’t have a tone.”
“You totally did.”
“I really didn’t,” he says dryly. “I think you’re expecting me to have a tone and so you’re seeing something that wasn’t there.”
“Caesar, your body language is screaming resentment and frustration that you have to be here.”
“My body language? I’m just standing here!”
“It’s the way you’re standing.” I can’t explain how I can feel the waves of exasperation coming off him.
He puts his hands on his hips and stares at me for a moment, his chest heaving and his jaw working. Then he looks away, across the fields.
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. I wait, though, because I can see he’s trying to form his thoughts.
Eventually, his gaze comes back to me. “Can I tell you something without being mocked?”
“Almost certainly not.” My lips curve up as he huffs. “I’m teasing. I’ll do my best to restrain myself.”
“I have strong feelings about AI,” he says.
“I’m not a Luddite—I know it’s here to stay, and we have to learn to live with it.
I can see its possibilities, and I understand how we should be utilizing it and making it work for us.
But it scares me.” He leans on the fence, looking across at the view.
“I don’t want it anywhere near my company.
But if we don’t embrace it, we’ll fall behind. ”
I lean beside him. “I totally get that.” I look down and kick the fence post. “Honestly? I feel the same.”
That earns me a surprised look. “I thought you were all-in on Brielle’s model.”
“The tech is sound. The science works. The results are promising. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“So… why didn’t you let her show me around?”
I scratch at a mark on the fence. Then, as he watches me, I look up at him. “Why do you think?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”
“You really have no idea?”
There’s a slight frown on his face.
“Jesus,” I say, “men are dense.”
The frown vanishes, and his eyebrows rise. “Are you saying…”
“That I wasn’t going to let my sister within a country mile of you? Yes, absolutely.”