Chapter Two
MOLLIE
I can do this. This is what I need. A whole year of doing what I want and not what my parents expect. I’m so ready to step away from their clutches.
Tell that to my stomach. Bloody thing’s fluttering like crazy, desperately trying to remind me this is the first time I’ve ever made a decision for myself. Well, it can fuck off. I’ve played the dutiful daughter. But not this time. This gap year will be the best year I’ve had because I’m deciding it. For me.
Money and power don’t interest me. Coming from it has always made me stand out. I’ve always been different. So now, I’m going to be ordinary. I’m going to work outdoors. Get my hands dirty and not once look back.
Never look back.
My grandmother’s old Austin A30 bangs along the uneven, dirty track leading to the farm. The ad said live-in farmhand needed. I can expect to be shovelling shit, waking up at the crack of dawn and spending the majority of my time outdoors. Bliss. I’ve never applied for something so fast.
Parking, I make my way to the farmhouse, my bag in hand. The smell is a mixture of fresh air and pig shit. I smile. Makes a change from classrooms and offices. Gently rapping the door, I wait for the guy who owns this place to let me in. Mick, I think his name was.
The large wooden door swings open.
“Hi.” I hold up a tentative hand with a smile. “I’m Mollie. We spoke on the phone?”
“Mollie. Yes. Come in.” The tall, dark haired guy steps back, making way for me to walk inside the farm house .
There’s a fire roaring in the stone fireplace, but I immediately feel the cold of the old building. I hate the cold. I shake my head, eyes closed. Not to worry. I packed extra socks.
Positive thinking.
“You’ve worked on a farm before, Mollie?”
“Yes,” I lie as I step inside, tightening my grip on my bag. He doesn’t need to know I haven’t. This is what I want. I love the outdoors; I’ll make it work.
“Great. Your room is top of the stairs, first door on the right. Bathroom is across the hall. Breakfast is served at five.” That should shock me, but it doesn’t. “You know how to drive a tractor?”
“Sure.” Another lie. How hard can it be?
The guy, who clearly isn’t one for small talk, holds out his hand, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. He rubs the back of his head with the other. “I should have introduced myself. Mick.”
I take his hand in mine, grateful.
“Sure does sound like you’re the right woman for the job.”
Woman. Not girl. I’m almost twenty-two and this guy’s the first man to ever call me a woman. I smile back at him. I’m going to like it here.
Mick holds out his other hand for my bag.
I hand it over with a dutiful smile, and he shows me to my room.
The walls are off white with low wooden beams hanging up above. There’s a single bed in the centre with a bedside table to the left, a small lamp sits on top. A wardrobe is on my right with a free-standing mirror next to it. “I hope this is, okay?” Mick asks unsure.
He looks nervous as I look around the simple room. There’s no fancy rug, or designer bedding. It’s low maintenance, run of the mill, everything standard. “It’s perfect,” I answer honestly.
Mick nods his head then steps towards the door. “I’m heading to the main field in twenty minutes to check on Blackjack, our pregnant mare. Meet me downstairs, I’ll show you around?”
I nod at Mick as he drops my bag to the bed. “Will do.”
He smiles, closing the door behind him.
There’s a happy buzz swimming around me. I look around my room once again, my heart and my mind finally content. This could be it. My chance to discover who I really am. I’m not about to let it drop from my grasp. Inevitably, I’ll have to go back to my parents and start working in the field I’m trained in, but for now—in this moment, this is a chance for me to be free.
The following morning, I wake to my alarm and get ready. I eat my eggs and bacon, courtesy of Mick’s wife, then I leave the house and make my way to the barn. My teeth are chattering. My toes feel frozen. I’m still wearing the socks I slept in, too scared to take them off this morning. It’s baltic at this hour.
Mick’s mucking out the horse’s stable. “Here, take over.” He throws the shovel through the air which I just manage to grab before it smacks me in the face. “Nice catch,” he says with a smile.
I laugh to myself. “Glad I ate my eggs.”
Mick smiles wider, bringing the wheelbarrow filled with horse muck nearer to me. “My wife is known for being an amazing cook.”
He’s not wrong. I lick my lips still able to taste the runny yolk and brown sauce.
“I’m going to make a start on the pigs. You carry on here.” He drops the wheelbarrow, and I begin shovelling the shit.
Grabbing his wax jacket off the hook, he swings it on. “My nephew should be here soon. He’s lazy though. Was meant to be here yesterday but he thinks he’s too good for this place. You’ll have to keep him in check.”
“No problem.” I’m good at telling people what to do… just not my parents. Could never find it in me to tell them I wanted to live my own life.
“Do you remember what we went over yesterday?”
I throw a shovel of shit into the wheelbarrow. “Yes.” I scoop another load. “I finish up here, let the horses into the paddock,” shovel, “then I feed the pigs, make sure the baby goats are fed,” shovel, “then I mend the fence on the outer field.”
Mick smiles. “You can never leave,” he says, relief and awe beaming from him.
I laugh shovelling another pile of shit into the wheelbarrow. Let’s see if he still thinks that after I’ve mended the fence. I literally have no clue how to mend anything. I’ll YouTube it.
“Is it just you and your nephew?” I ask him.
He buttons up his coat. “And Janette. She pitches in when she can. Arthritis stops her most days, but you wouldn’t be able to tell. ”
I stand slumped, frowning, holding the handle of the shovel with both hands near my chest. “Is she okay?” I didn’t notice anything over breakfast.
“Yeah, she’s grand. Don’t let her know I told you about the arthritis, mind. She’s not one to ask for help. She’ll kill me if she hears me making excuses for her.”
I nod. Relating. I’m not one to ask for help, either. Studying to be a lawyer like my dad has taught me many things. For instance, you have to crack on when shit gets tough. You have a problem? Boo fucking hoo, deal with it. You don’t like it? Suck it up.
The men I’ve grown up around are nothing like Mick. They live to work, are driven by money, and life is all about who you know rather than what effort you’ve put in. And their sons? All the same. The only exception is Henry. He’s the only one who’s shown me signs of being normal.
Neither of us want a serious relationship. I’m not ignorant to the fact he likes me more than I like him, but we hook up with no strings attached, no promises of anything going any further. I don’t want that when I’m about to take charge of my life, and he’s busy working. That’s why it works.
Plus, I’m no little woman. If I am going to settle down one day, I don’t want handouts and Prince Charming. I want late nights, scary movies with popcorn and beer. I want a guy who can love me like he worships me and fucks me like he hates me. None of the guys I know have that in them.
Messed up? I don’t care. It’s what I want. And the privileged lifestyle my parents have tried to impose upon me has only made me crave it more.
“Mollie?”
Shit. “Uh, yeah?” I reply flustered, realising it’s been way too long since I saw Henry. I best text him. Meet up with him later.
“You, okay?”
I hum my okay state, then turn shovelling more shit and hay.
“I’m only a call away should you need me.”
“Thanks, Mick.”
Mick leaves and I get back to work.
By the time I make it to the goats in the barn, I’m down to my spaghetti strap top tucked into my jeans, my fleece tied around my waist, hat still on, music blaring. I flick my long dark hair over one shoulder and lift my arm. Yep, it’s definitely me that smells like beef. Nice .
Grateful Mick’s nephew is a no show, I untie my fleece from around my waist, then, in an un-ladylike manor, swipe it across my armpits. I attempt to throw it over the gate leading to the enclosure, but it slips over the other side.
“The fuck?” I swear I hear the low rumble of a man’s voice say.
I drag my headphones out from my ears with a snap. Who’s there? “Hello?” I ask cautiously, taking a small step forward. Goosebumps prickle my arms when I stop, looking left and right.
Making me jump on the spot, my fleece is thrown back over the gate. I cry out, startled as I catch it, all arms and legs. “Who’s there?”
There’s a rustle, then as if in slow motion, a tall, muscly figure stands on the other side of the iron gate. I watch in awe as he stretches to full height. It’s like the air doesn’t know how to get inside my body. I try to take a small breath, but all I actually manage to do is make a small noise that even I consider a whimper. Pathetic.
Stood at full height, my eyes rake down the man. His hair is as brown as the earth, cut short, unlike his beard which hangs off his chin. Wearing a black hoodie and jeans with a chain clipped on one side, he looks rugged and rough around the edges. I hold my breath. The dark fuzz on his face looks scratchy, yet all I can envision is scrunching it in my hand as I drag his mouth closer to me.
Why? Why is that my first thought?
Swallow. Breathe.
“You threw your fleece at me?”
I shake my head, my eyes trailing to the baby goat under his arm. He still hasn’t looked up, too busy focusing on angling the goat’s feeding bottle.
He looks like a gentle giant. I’m tall for a woman, but he towers over me. “No, I… I was trying to—”
“Smells like you need a break.”
I gawk, my lips parting. Any inkling of appreciation I had for the specimen before me, vanishes. With a huff, I cross my arms rather dramatically across my front. “Well, you try doing all the jobs I’ve done this morning without breaking a sweat.”
I’m guessing this is Mick’s nephew. I hope so. Otherwise, he’s just a handsome stranger feeding a goat.
Wait, handsome ?
“Well, I’m here now. You can take a break, maybe a shower whilst you’re at it.”
Rude . I’ve busted a gut all morning when he should have been here to help. I’m not complaining about the work, it’s just… urgh, why do I have to smell like beef? “I’m good.”
He finally looks up, and I swear I see his eyes widen when he sees me. Shit . What a time to remember I’m not wearing a bra.
My eyes pull up. Fuck. He’s going to see. He’s going to see my nipples through this stupid top.
His eyes trail down, somehow widening even more the lower they go.
Damn it .
He watches as my nipples harden under his stare, then swallows. Eventually, he manages to look back up to my eyes. They hold mine, locking me in place.
I raise a brow as he clearly fights for air.
“You should put that fleece back on if you’re cold.”
“I don’t need it,” I tell him.
He grins a shit-eating grin. “Tell that to your chest.”
Kill me . “I’m good.”
“You said.”
So, he’s one of them. Arrogant and cocky. Just like every other man I know. I eye roll him. “Right, well, you can go mend the fence and I’ll finish up here.”
I step closer to him, wishing I hadn’t. He smells like a fucking god. It’s a mix between something sweet crossed with leather and citrus. I want so bad to shut my eyes and drink him in, but that’s not acceptable for a first encounter. Plus, he’s rude. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Swallowing the burning lump lodged in my throat, I hold out my arms for the goat.
He checks I’m serious, then carefully hands me the small, black and white kid.
I take the thing in my arms, taking the bottle off him too. The goat wriggles, but I manage to settle it as it sucks from the bottle.
“Huh,” the man huffs, surprised. “Thought you’d mess that up.”
“Huh. Guess you were wrong,” I mimic him. I don’t look at him as I sit on the hay bale in the small enclosure, getting comfy .
I grew up with animals before my parents moved us to the city. When we did, I wasn’t allowed one pet. I went from spending every day outside in the fresh air and calm, surrounded by wild ponies, only to be thrown into the jaws of becoming an adult. Endless hours of studying to become something I really don’t want to become.
No. The countryside is where I’m meant to be.
“Which fence is it?”
I look up, my expression one of confusion when dark eyes swallow me whole. His eyes are steel grey, hardened around the edges but soft in the middle. “What?” is all I manage to reply.
“The fence. Which one is it?”
Oh, right . “The one on the outer field.”
The man’s eyes narrow. “I fixed that last week,” he says gruffly.
I can’t help but smile smugly, lowering my head. “Apparently, you didn’t do it right.”
He mumbles something which does nothing to lessen my smile. “I’m not doing it again.”
“That’s fine. I’ll do it once I’ve finished here.” I don’t need him.
He laughs. “Right. You’re going to fix the fence?”
My eyes dart up. “Yeah, that’s literally my job.”
His devilish, condescending gaze rakes over my body. Fuck . My skin burns, my nipples harden again like pebbles. “So, you’re the new farmhand? What’s your name, Baby Doll?”
I narrow my gaze imagining lasers piercing his beautiful features. I’m not sure I like that pet name.
The goat wriggles losing its latch on the bottle. I look down, readjusting my hold, all too aware there are five more of these little blighters left to feed.
“Mollie. You’re Mick’s nephew?”
“He told you about me?”
I smirk at him sounding pleased about that. “Only that you’re lazy and that I’m to keep you in check.” I look up at him.
He laughs, throwing his head back. “You’d be the first to do that, Baby Doll.”
He’s a bad boy? Not like the boys I’m used to? Interesting. Shame he’s kind of a twat.
As if reading my mind, he grabs a leather jacket I hadn’t seen before, off a hook. He swings it over his shoulders in one swift move, leaving me unexpectedly salivating. I swallow, look at the goat, then I look back up, my stomach somersaulting.
The leather is black, the writing on it, fierce. ‘Rippers MC’ is sewn on the front.
He adjusts his hood as he speaks. “Well.” He holds out his hands, palms up. “Seeing as you’ve got everything under control, I’ll leave you to it.” He turns and strides towards the open barn door.
Dick . “That’s fine. You must have worked up quite a sweat feeding Billy here for all of five minutes. Go. I can handle the rest.”
He stops. Slipping his hands in his pockets he turns to face me. “Billy?” he questions.
My curious eyes meet his. His have darkened, his pulse twitching on the side of his head. He’s pissed off? Does he not get the reference? “Yeah, like Billy Goat’s Gruff?” I say hesitantly. No reaction. “From the book?”
“What does feeding a goat have to do with a fucking book?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a kid’s story.”
“My parents never read to me,” he retorts.
“Explains a lot.”
He bites his tongue before he finally gives in and leaves without looking back at me. I must have struck a nerve.
Definitely a twat. Mick said he was lazy. Well, with him out of the way my nipples can relax, and I can get back to my work. I put my headphones back in place, doing just that.