her hands on the towel and ran into the kitchen. ‘Yes?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Were you outside?’
Divorced from the actual physical presence of the man, Kane Talbot’s voice made its own impression. Deep and level, with an intriguing rasp in the middle register, it brushed across her skin like velvet.
‘I was washing my hands,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful and bright and ordinary. ‘I’ve been weeding.’
‘I thought Mrs Firth had Fran Partridge to help in the garden.’
‘She does, but Ms Partridge went away this morning, and anyway, I like weeding.’ Fran Partridge was a single mother and the probable source, Emma had decided on meeting her, of Mrs Firth’s information about the locals.
How did she know Kane was frowning when he said, ‘Where’s Fran gone?’
A subtle undernote in his voice betrayed his expression. Before she’d realised it was none of his business, Emma told him, ‘It’s the school holidays and she’s on a trip somewhere with her son.’
‘Of course. I’d forgotten.’ He was silent, possibly thinking of Davy Partridge, who lived at the end of the road and rode his bike up and down on fine days, singing at the top of his voice. ‘It’s unusual for someone of your age to be interested in gardening.’
Emma bristled. ‘Is it?’
‘Most twenty-year-olds prefer to be out and raving.’ An ambiguous note of—amusement?—echoed through his words.
Emma’s teeth clenched for a second on her bottom lip. ‘Well, perhaps because I’m twenty-three instead of twenty, I enjoy gardening.’
‘Ah, a mature woman.’
Definitely mockery. Her chin lifted. Very clearly she said, ‘That, I suppose, is a matter of opinion. To someone of your age I might appear quite green and raw.’
‘Sweet, actually,’ he said odiously. ‘Eleven years is enough to make us different generations. Do you want me to ring Mrs Firth and tell her what the problem with the car is?’
Didn’t he trust her to be able to dial a number in Canada? Or did he think she was incapable of understanding the inner workings of an engine? Well, Emma thought, I’ve got news for you, Mr Talbot, sir. Lords of the manor have had their day; nowadays the peasants are more than capable of running their own lives.
Calmly she said, ‘That’s very kind, but it’ll be all right. I’m sure she has some idea of how the car works and the terminology won’t throw her. Or me,’ she added dulcetly.
There was a moment’s pause until he said in an amused voice, ‘That’s put me well and truly into my place.’
‘I—’
He cut in, ‘One thing I didn’t say before—if you need anything, let me know. We pull together in the country; it makes life easier for all of us. Goodbye.’ And he hung up.
‘And goodbye to you, sir, Mr Talbot,’ Emma said, crashing the receiver down. Lucky’s tail swept the floor.
Laughing a little to blunt the raw intensity of her feelings, she said, ‘Takes a dominant male to know one! Kane Talbot might be used to running everyone’s lives around here but he’s not going to run ours. We’d better go out and do some work together, Lucky. By the time your mistress comes back I’d like to have you able to stare at a sheep without wanting to chase it, which means you need to practise those commands. And, speaking of Mrs Firth, I’d better ring her right now and see what she wants done with her car.’
Next morning the sun was shining, and although the wind from the south was cold it had polished the sky into the radiant silvery blue that spring claims as its own. Yawning, Emma drew back the curtains and scanned the green, lovely contours of hill and valley.
Mrs Firth had given her permission to order a new clutch plate for the Volvo, so the part should be in Parahai by now. Thinking of that telephone call, Emma smiled. She’d had to field a couple of enquiries about Kane Talbot.
‘A very sexy man, isn’t he?’ the older woman asked slyly.
‘If you like them rough-edged and masterful,’ Emma parried.
‘Ah, I’ve seen him in evening clothes—no sign of rough edges then! You young things might like your idols to be pretty, but as you get older you appreciate the value of strength and power and discipline. He has a charming mother too.’
‘It doesn’t seem possible,’ Emma said delicately.
‘I’d like to see you both in action.’ Mrs Firth laughed. ‘I must go, Emma. Thank you so much for helping me in my hour of need. I’ll never forget it, and neither will Philippa.’
Philippa was her daughter, five years older than Emma, and as Emma had already asked after her she knew that her pregnancy was not being an easy one.
‘I had the free time,’ Emma said cheerfully, ‘and it’s no hardship to spend it in a place like this, I promise you! Northland in the spring is glorious.’
Halfway through the morning, while she was drinking coffee out on the terrace, she said sternly, ‘Sit!’ to Lucky, and waited for him to decide not to race across the lawn and bark fearsomely at the car pulling into the gateway. He obeyed, but he did bark.
Tamping down a flicker of excitement, Emma ordered, ‘Stay.’
Whining, he obeyed, and she left him to walk across the green damp lawn.
But it was not the car of yesterday, nor the Land Rover, and the driver, although tall, was nothing like the man who had managed to make himself so at home in her mind that she knew the exact shade of his eyes: a mixture of gold and bronze and flickering tawny fire that somehow chilled his gaze instead of heating it.
The woman leaning on the gate smiled at her, and as Emma was telling herself sturdily that she wasn’t disappointed she recognised the smile.
‘Hello,’ Kane Talbot’s mother said, ‘I’m Felicity Talbot, and you are Emma Saunders, and over there, looking desperate, is L-u-c-k-y, whose name I will not say in case it persuades him to disobey you and come across.’
How could Kane Talbot have such a laughing, lovely mother? Emma shook the hand offered to her and agreed, ‘It would indeed, and I shouldn’t push him too far. Do you like dogs?’
‘I love animals.’
So Emma said, ‘Good boy, Lucky. Here.’
Even he fell for that charm. After hurtling across to the gate, he smelt Mrs Talbot’s extended hand and gave her a swift swipe with his tongue before settling back on his haunches and beaming at her.
‘What a darling,’ she cooed.
‘Your son didn’t think so when he drove past as Lucky was chasing his sheep,’ Emma said stringently.
Dark eyes widened. ‘Goodness, it’s a wonder he didn’t shoot him then and there. Kane doesn’t usually hand out second chances.’
It figured. ‘I don’t suppose he had a gun with him, so Lucky was—well, lucky. And he came back when I called him,’ Emma explained. ‘Kane was angry, but I promised most faithfully not to let the dog off a leash again whenever we went near sheep.’
‘I should hope not! He looks as though he’s biddable.’
‘He’s very teachable.’ Emma turned as Babe woke up and realised they’d been joined by a stranger. Barking, she hobbled down from the terrace and sniffed her way across the lawn.
Stooping to let her smell her fingers, Kane’s mother asked, ‘Is she blind?’
‘Not quite, but her eyes are failing. She hates being put in kennels, which is why I’m here. I’ve always looked after her when Mrs Firth’s gone away. And Lucky had