dogs. She had to tell him the truth — which, let’s face it, wouldn’t go over well. How to explain to Alex that, because of a tiny glitch, all of BritTEEN’s readers in England, Scotland, and Wales — and possibly their parents — thought he condoned teen sex on the first date?
How indeed? She couldn’t tell him. Not yet, anyway.
“Is everything okay?” Alex called out as she approached.
“Yes,” she said, slightly breathless after her climb up the last half of the hill. “Work stuff. It’s not much farther to the village, just across the field.”
“Good, we can burn off some of that breakfast. And the dogs don’t have the slightest inclination to head back yet, anyway.” He draped his arm around her shoulders. “Nor do I.”
The mastiffs brushed against Holly’s legs, jumping up, leaving muddy paw prints on her capris and yelping with joy as she fell into step alongside Alex. But she scarcely noticed. She was aware of nothing but his arm around her and his hip bumping now and again against hers as they walked.
Suddenly Caesar spotted a squirrel and went racing after it. Holly, knocked off balance as the other dogs barrelled past her to join Caesar in the chase, lost her footing and fell. An immediate, searing pain shot through her ankle.
“Holly!” Alex exclaimed. He knelt down beside her, his face creased in concern. “Are you all right?”
“I think so. But I’ve given my ankle a twist.”
“Can you stand on it?”
“Give me a hand up, and I’ll try.”
Alex took her hands in his and helped her up; she balanced on her good foot. “Good. At least you’re vertical now.”
“I bet you’ve never said that to a girl before.”
“No. Never,” he agreed.
Gingerly Holly lowered her other foot. An instant, shooting pain made her wince and blurt out a rude word. “Sorry,” she apologized through gritted teeth. “Hurts,” she added unnecessarily.
“Right, then,” Alex decided, “I’ll carry you the rest of the way. How close are we to the village?”
“Not far, maybe ten minutes. You can’t carry me,” Holly protested. “I won’t let you. I can manage—”
But it was too late; he was already lifting her up. She linked her arms around his neck and dropped her gaze, embarrassed at his sudden close proximity. After all, she barely knew this man; yet here he was, carrying her across the buttercup-strewn field like a Saxon warrior, taking his bride-prize back home to his castle…
“Damn it, woman,” Alex said companionably as he navigated the second stile, “did you have to eat quite so much at breakfast this morning?”
She looked at him, indignant. “Are you saying I’m fat?”
“No. I’m just saying I wish you’d made do with a plate of dry toast or a boiled egg, instead of packing it in like Wayne Rooney at a buffet.”
“If I weren’t in so much pain right now,” she informed him through gritted teeth, “I’d throw cat poo at you.”
They reached the village a short time later. Holly directed Alex to the newsagent’s, where he lowered her to a chair just inside the door and went off in search of paracetamol and a bottle of water. She rubbed her ankle. It was throbbing, and swelling up horribly…
Her eyes came to rest on the newsstand. The latest issue of BritTEEN, emblazoned with the bright yellow tagline “One Outrageous Question with Hottie Henry”, sat in the middle of the shelf. Alex was just steps away; if he turned around, he’d surely see it.
Please, Holly silently begged the magazine gods, please don’t let him see it…
The magazine gods must’ve listened, because Alex walked past the newsstand and went straight to the till.
He returned to Holly. “Here you go,” he said, and opened the paracetamol and tipped a couple of pills into her outstretched hand. “Now—” he frowned “—how do we get you back to the house?”
Holly took the bottle of water from him and swallowed the pills. “Well, we can’t take a taxi, not with the dogs. And Dad went to fetch Hannah early this morning.”
“I noticed an estate car parked round the back of your house when we left.”
“It’s Mrs Henley’s. She’ll be far too busy fixing lunch to come and get us.”
“Well, I’ll call the house just the same, and see if someone else can fetch us—”
But calling proved unnecessary when Mrs Henley’s teenage daughter, Lucy, came into the newsagent’s and offered to take them back. “I’m headed that way anyhow,” she told Holly. “I work half-days on Saturday, helping with the lunch service and the clearing up. Mum likes her chocolate,” she added as she grabbed up a Bounty and a Dairy Milk from the confectionery display.
“Thanks,” Holly said gratefully. “Do you have room for three dogs, as well?”
“No problem.” She indicated an ancient VW Kombi parked just outside. “Go ahead and hop in. I just have to pick up a couple of things. Be out in two ticks.”
The Kombi — painted a virulent shade of lime green and plastered with stickers of flowers — earned a distrustful look from Holly but besotted enthusiasm from Alex.
“This is fantastic!” Alex exclaimed as he opened the double doors. “It’s got a Canterbury Pitt conversion.”
Holly looked at him blankly. “A what?”
“A custom conversion,” Lucy explained as she joined them. “A table goes in the middle, but it’s stowed; and I’ve a cooker, and a poptop with two bunks above, for sleeping.” She waited as Holly, Alex, and the dogs clambered inside, then slid behind the wheel. “’Course, it’s old, so it breaks down a lot.”
“Great,” Holly muttered.
“Not to worry,” Lucy assured her as she started the engine. “Daisy won’t get you back home very fast, but she will get you there.”
The stench of diesel filled the air as Lucy put the van in gear, and, true to her word, with a judder and a toot of the horn, they were off.
“Let’s take you up to your room,” Lucy told Holly when they arrived, “so you can have a nice lie-in and keep the weight off that foot.”
“I don’t need a nice lie-in! I’m fine.” Before Holly could protest any further, Alex scooped her up in his arms and headed up the stairs, Lucy trailing behind.
“Lucy’s right,” Alex informed her. “You need to stay off that foot.”
She glared at him. “And you need to stop acting like Rhett Butler.”
“I’m sure Scarlett O’Hara never ate half a carton of eggs, three pieces of toast, and a rasher of bacon for breakfast,” he retorted.
“Holly!” her mother exclaimed as she emerged from the baize door that led to the kitchen. “What’s happened?”
Alex came to a stop halfway up the stairs. “She had a fall. She’s twisted her ankle. It’s nothing serious.”
“Tell that to my ankle,” Holly said through gritted teeth. “Argghh! It hurts.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, darling.” Cherie tutted. “Your dad’s just texted to say he and Hannah should be here in time for lunch. One of her friends brought her to Hertfordshire, so it’s trimmed an hour and a half from his journey… Mrs Henley’s roasted a chicken