Good Enough to Trust (Good Enough, Book 2 - Going Back) (2 page)

“Well, well if it
isn’t Mrs. Doolittle.” Accompanied by a deep male voice that wouldn’t have
sounded out of place in a Welsh male choir. Except this wasn’t Wales, and the
burr tinging the edges of the voice was closer to a Cornish burr. But it was
deep and full, and with a hint of strength. Presumably for bellowing across the
Cornish hills, competing against whatever the elements was throwing out.

I must have looked
as blank as I felt, probably because all the blood had drained from my brain to
my hammering heart, just in case I needed to make a run for it.

Though God knows
where, Mr. Built-like-a-brick-shit-house was on one side of me, and a herd of,
for all I knew, mad cows on the other.

“Talking to the
animals?” He nodded at the cows behind me, and I had a horrible feeling they
were creeping closer while I was distracted. But I couldn’t stop looking at him
and that voice was like a dose of syrup, all gooey and warm, and strong.

Did I mention
strong? I’m a sucker for a man who sends out an aura of control, even if I am
the last girl on earth who’d want to be told what to do.

I shook my head to
try and clear the weird thoughts.

“I like cows.” I
wasn’t quite sure if the mad rush of adrenalin was because of a fear I was
about to get squished by cows, a dread I was about to be attacked by a strange
man on a hillside, or whether it was something that wasn’t fear at all. Fear
and excitement were close bed mates. “You’re not a mad axe murderer are you?”

“Not the last time
I checked.” He tipped his head to one side and I could swear there was a
glimmer in his eye that was more friend than foe. “Don’t get many of them down
here in Cornwall, no demand.”

“You’re not in
collusion with the cows?”

“Nope, no
collusion, I’m a work-alone kind of guy.” He was grinning, a broad grin spreading
like sunshine across his face, and he reminded me of Charlie, okay it was in a
totally improbable way that would make anyone laugh at me if I said it. But he
did, it was the openness, the ‘let’s laugh togetherness’ about it. He looked
kind, and non-judgemental, which was sexy. Well, it could have been the rush of
blood back to my nether regions, once my brain had stepped down from red alert,
which made him seem sexy, anyhow it didn’t seem to matter.

I grinned back and
had a crazy urge to hug him. But then who would be the weird one?

 “Don’t suppose
you do, get axe murderers I mean, not many people to murder I suppose.”

“Not this time of
year.” He was still studying me, trying to work out which planet I’d come from,
no doubt. “But those aren’t cows, you know.”

“They are.”

“Those are
bullocks, girl. Big boy bullocks.”

For a second I
thought he said bollocks, which made no sense at all, but the big boy bit did.

“Not from round
these parts are you?” He laughed, a warm low laugh. “Those boys can be a little
bit skittish at times, so it doesn’t do any harm to be prepared.” He held up a
short stick and half waved it, as though he thought I might want it, or even
know what to do if I had it.

“Oh.” I suddenly
realised he was actually stood on the other side of the wall, but he didn’t say
it like they were dangerous. Just low, steady, warm, slowly melting treacle,
mmm.

Stop it Sophie
.

 “A little bit
skittish?”

“A little bit is
all they need to be when they’re that size.”

The man had a
point. I looked over my shoulder, and the twinge of nervousness got a bit more
firmly established in my gut, but he didn’t look like he thought I was about to
get trampled. Did he?

“But, they’re not
dangerous, they’re just cows? Well, boy cows?”

“Well, I can
guarantee they won’t eat you, but they might accidentally give you a good
trampling.”

Hmm, accidentally
and trampling didn’t seem to go together too well.

 “It might be a
good idea to join me on the other side of the wall before they get brave.”

 I eyed up the
wall, which looked about as unapproachable as the cows, sorry bullocks.
Vaulting over walls was not my forte Well not unless there were extreme
circumstances and I didn’t think we’d got to extreme yet. It must have shown on
my face because he laughed and turned slightly, waving his stick in the general
direction of the wall.

 “Stile over
there, didn’t you use it to get in the field in the first place?”

“I don’t think
so.” I frowned and half turned, trying to remember what I’d been doing before
the ghostly cows had materialised out of the mist and nearly given me a heart
attack. Talking to them had seemed the best response at the time. You know,
disarm the enemy with small talk.

“I came over up
there I think.” I gave a random flap of my hand.

He reached his
side of the stile just as I started to clamber over and looked at me a bit
awkwardly as though he thought he should help, but didn’t quite know how. Maybe
they didn’t get many girls in this corner of Cornwall.

“I’m fine,
thanks.”

“Wasn’t sure if
you’d hit me with your handbag if I tried to help.”

Ah, maybe not as
unworldly as I thought, which for some strange reason made me relieved.

“No handbag, so
you’re pretty safe.” I glanced down to try and work out where to put my foot
next and he took a step closer.

“Here.” He put a
steadying hand on my elbow and that word ‘strong’ jumped straight back into my
head and my belly. “You do look more of a handbag girl than a rucksack girl
though.”

I wasn’t sure
quite how to take that. I was back on
terra firma
and he was only inches
away, leaning against the wall eyeing me like I was some alien species again,
and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if he put that hand
somewhere else.

“I can be either.
Well, erm, thanks for rescuing me, I’ll be off then.”

But I didn’t know
which direction was off, which made it a bit tricky. Did I just stride off in
any direction, wait until he’d gone then come scurrying back? I had thought I
was on the public footpath we’d followed last time, but I’d got a horrible
feeling I wasn’t. We, being me and the man who’d been the centre of my universe
at the time.

“You off in any
particular direction? Or are you open to a diversion?”

Okay, he did get
girls in this far western part of Great Britain, just not girls like me. Girls
who got lost and talked to the animals, and looked like they needed a handbag.

“Well, I was
heading for St. Nectan’s Glen, but I think I’ve taken a wrong turning.”

“You’ve taken a
turning, not so sure it’s a wrong one though. No one goes up there this time of
year. It’ll be shut for a start.”

Neither of us
moved, still only inches apart.

“I wasn’t going to
the tea rooms.”

“Whole thing’ll be
shut, too dangerous for emmets.” The boyish grin was back, but his brown eyes
weren’t quite joining in. Sure, there were crinkles at the corners, but he
looked like a far more serious bunch of thoughts were jingling in his brain. I
swallowed and that familiar deep down coiling in my stomach started up. The one
that started up when a sexy man got that brooding look on his face. We could shag,
here on the hillside and no one would know. We wouldn’t be hurting anyone, it
would just be fun, and because we both wanted it. I glanced down, more to
distract myself than anything. He had wellies on, I’d never been shagged by a
man in green wellies before. I shook my head to try and dislodge the thought of
those strong arms holding me in position on the bonnet of his Landrover. There
was a pause, and I wondered whether he liked to keep his fantasies to himself
or make them real.

“Emmet?” I had to
ask, even though a part of me was screaming out, too many words already.

“Y’know, a
grockle, tourist.” His tone was steady, but he definitely had his mind on
something else.

“And there was I
thinking you were a nice boy.” I tried to look judgemental and probably failed.

“I am. I just
saved you from my bullocks.”

Which made me
think of something I didn’t want saving from.

“And you were,
technically speaking, trespassing. Path goes way over there.” He waved his
stick in the general direction of the hills behind me.

“Ah.” I knew I
should have grabbed a map, but I’d thought it couldn’t be that difficult to
find my way. It had been easy enough last time. When I had Ollie holding my
hand and the warmth of the sun against my back making me feel all languid and
sexed up.

“Why would a girl
like you be heading up there anyway, specially this time of year?”

Now there was a
question, and one I wasn’t sure I could answer. It was the start of sorting
myself out, the place I thought might give me some answers, help me think. When
I’d been there last time there was something so calm, so other-worldly about
the place, it had struck me as somewhere you could find peace. And that was
before it had all gone so very wrong. But I couldn’t say any of that to him,
now could I?

 “It was nice last
time I went, I promised myself I’d go back.” I shrugged and shifted my feet
awkwardly. “I forgot Cornwall was so damp this time of year.”

“I can take you if
you want?”

Which took me a
bit by surprise.

“Shouldn’t you be
doing whatever you do with your bullocks?”

“I’d rather be
doing something with you.”

He looked almost
bashful for a second, almost. Who’d have thought a man in wellies could be so
direct?

“You’d risk being
seen with an emmet?” I gave him my mock, horrified look and he went back to
what I took to be his normal laidback relaxed state, which made me wonder just
how he’d be in bed. No rushing this man would be my guess.

“Nothing ventured.
Anyhow you don’t strike me as much of a tourist, and you’ve come the wrong time
of year to qualify. You know why they’re called emmets?”

“Surprise me.”

“Come for a beer
and I’ll try my best.” He straightened up which took him another couple of
inches away.

So, no quickie
against the wall with his wellies on. Which was kind of disappointing, but probably
for the best.

“I’m Will by the
way.” And he held out a big meaty hand, which kind of fitted in with the rest
of him.

I took it and the
strength of those short, blunt fingers seeped straight through me and headed
even lower than the swirl in my stomach, and I had a sudden inkling he probably
could surprise me.

He didn’t let go
of my hand, just pulled me in the direction of his slightly battered Landrover.

“I’m Sophie,
Soph.”

“My first
girlfriend was called Sofia, met her in Italy.”

He opened the car
door and watched me clamber in. Yeah, I was sure he could surprise me; Italian
girls definitely hadn’t been on my radar.

“So, what
happened?”

He started up the
engine and gave me a quizzical look.

 I grinned,
because something told me she’d left a mark. “With Sofia?”

“I met her big,
Italian momma and saw the future.” He laughed a low, deep chuckle that made me
sure he was thinking about more than the momma. “It was just a first love thing
we both grew out of.”

The engine leapt
into life and my new friend, Will, shoved it into gear and started a
not-so-slow trundle across the uneven field, and I hung onto the seat and the
door, and anything that looked like it wouldn’t move and did my best not to
turn into an untidy bundle in the foot well. Talking was not an option.

We were sitting in
the snug of a pub with beer on the table before he said anything else, and when
he did it wasn’t quite what I expected. I mean, why are you here? Where do you
come from? That kind of thing is normal isn’t it?

“Ants.”

“Sorry?”

“Ants, that’s
where the word ‘emmet’ comes from. Whole place gets invaded in the summer, a
swarm.” He curled his fingers round his pint as though he wasn’t sure what he
should say next.

I wondered what
Holly would make of him if she was here. She liked to label people. Charlie was
her surfer dude, Dane her cowboy. Something dark and heavy settled inside me. I
missed them. I wanted to be with them, sharing a joke, finding out what they
were all up to in Cheshire without me, not soul searching in a part of the
country that didn’t seem to want me.

“You okay?” The
brown eyes were surveying me slightly dolefully, steady, gentle. This was a man
who could probably be patient, prepared to wait.

“Sure.”

Holly would
probably say he reminded her of one of his bullocks. Right from his curly
shortish hair, spritzed with the damp air, through those broad shoulders and
muscled-up arms he was like some stocky bullock. Strong and probably just as
skittish when the mood took him. Fun and a bit rough and tumble, which made me
wish I’d pushed my luck on the hillside.