Valentine Nook: Chapter 5

“So then . . . listen to this . . . Clementine announces that Pierre’s offered to give her cooking lessons. Cooking lessons.” I throw my hands in the air. “Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?”

There’s a snort of laughter to my left.

“Amazing. I’m so glad I woke up early for this.”

I glare at Miles, who’s wearing one of his more annoying smirks. Not an ounce of him is bothering to hide how amused he is by my plight. There’s no feign of support. Nothing.

I turn to Hendricks, hoping for a shred more empathy. “Henners, don’t you think it’s ridiculous?”

He removes the earbuds of his stethoscope and loops it around his neck.

“I’m a little busy right now. If you’re going to be in here, at least make yourself useful and give me a hand,” he snaps, one of his palms soothing over the heifer’s neck. The other one is nowhere to be seen. “Easy, mama, they’ll be here soon.”

“Sorry. What d’you need?”

I jump down off the stable gate and step closer to Elsa.

We don’t normally name our cows, but Max took it upon himself to name all the cows last year, and this one stuck, along with Minnie two corrals down. She’s also in active labor, with one of Hendricks’s veterinary assistants monitoring her.

Elsa lets out a loud moo followed by a series of grunts, just to reiterate how uncomfortable she is. Usually, we leave the cows to deliver their calves by themselves like nature intended, with Hendricks keeping a close eye from a safe distance, but Elsa is having twins, so we’re being more hands-on. Read complete version only at Fɪnd-Novel.net

At least I am. I’m not sure why Miles is here.

These calves are the last to be born this season. It’s been a busy two and a half months adding to our small herd of Aberdeen Angus cattle. It usually finishes in early May, but Elsa and Minnie needed to be inseminated twice, having failed the first go-around.

“Just keep her calm. I need her to lie down,” Hendricks replies, peeling off a pair of long gloves. “Her amniotic sack is still intact, but we need to get this one out without the other one bursting. I think he’s a big boy.”

A couple of the chickens have come to see what’s happening, unlike Hamish, who’s snoring loudly under the gate. Every few minutes, one of the farm staff pops their head into the corral to check, and we get an update that Minnie’s calf arrived safe and sound.

I stay with Elsa as Hendricks runs the portable ultrasound across her stomach, nodding in approval, and there’s nothing else we can do except wait. Twins are not something we’ve had often. In fact, in the sixteen years I’ve run the Burlington Estate, we’ve only had twins half a dozen times.

I’m about to ask Hendricks how long he thinks we should leave it before we step in and help when Elsa drops onto her front legs and rolls onto her side.

Her huge belly convulses as her first calf finally decides to make an appearance.

“There we go,” Hendricks murmurs as the pink birth sack appears. “Excellent, I can see a hoof . . . and a nose.”

While Hendricks and I have moved to the side to give Elsa some room, Miles, being Miles, kneels in the hay and strokes through her mane. “Well done, darling, you can do it. Babies will be here soon.”

Amazingly, Miles’s presence seems to calm her, proving it’s not just women he has this hypnotizing effect on. It’s females of all species.

God, he’s annoying.

“Come on, girl. Push.”

Another round of intense contractions, loud mooing, and heavy breathing, and the calf’s legs, head, and shoulders make an appearance. From where I’m standing, this all looks good. The sack still hasn’t burst, but it’s a nice, healthy color, and one more big push should have it sliding right out.

Which is exactly what happens, followed by a flood of amniotic fluid, blood, and the placenta, which splatters everywhere.

The little black calf twitches on the hay. Miles is still kneeling next to Elsa’s head, stroking her neck and whispering in her ear, but she’s in no condition to move. Dropping down, I rip the sack open, clear out his nostrils, and clean all the goop off the calf’s face with a handful of hay, trying my best not to touch him before Elsa does.

He takes one big sneeze, spraying me with cow snot, and his first breath comes out in a little squeaking noise. Elsa turns her head toward him but makes no attempt to get closer.

“It’s okay, Elsa. We got him,” I tell her. “You get his brother out.”

Her breathing is labored, and it’s clear she’s becoming distressed. Another set of contractions rolls through her, but nothing happens. I can just make out the tips of one hoof appearing, but that’s it, and there should be more. Sensing the same, Hendricks kneels and feels Elsa for the next calf.

“Shit. Just what I didn’t want. The sack burst with the first calf. If he doesn’t progress, we’ll have to pull him out.”

We wait a couple of minutes to see if Elsa manages to push any more, but after another round of contractions where her mooing is almost deafening, Hendricks steps in to help.

He might be twenty-six and only fully qualified for two years, but Hendricks has spent his entire life caring for animals. Watching him work still fills me with awe. Over the years, I must have been present at the delivery of hundreds and hundreds of cows, a dozen or so horses, and many, many puppies, but it was the first time we ever delivered a calf together that set him on the path to becoming a vet.

It wasn’t long after I took over Burlington. I was eighteen, and Hendricks was ten. We’d taken a four-wheeler out into the fields to check on the pregnant heifers and came across one in early labor. Along with Burt Easton, the previous Valentine Nook vet, we stayed with her for ten hours.

Unfortunately, the calf didn’t survive, but after that, Hendricks made it his mission to learn everything he could, eventually specializing in large animals. He took over Burt’s practice after he retired, and now Hendricks services the farms around Valentine Nook and the Burlington Estate, as well as the ponies of the Polo Club. Plus, Mrs. Winston’s constantly escaping goat.

Taking hold of the legs, Hendricks shifts his weight back and tugs hard on the calf. His face puffs through his exertions while I stay out of the way, keeping my eye on the first calf as he attempts to lift his head.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” Miles coos to Elsa. “Nearly there.”

“Fuck, this calf is massive.” Hendricks heaves.

“Bigger than the first?”

“Yeah, his shoulder is twisted around, I think. It’s what’s sticking.” Hendricks stops pulling and eases his hand inside Elsa to see if he can move the calf before starting up again. After thirty seconds of doing whatever he’s doing inside Elsa, Hendricks steps back and takes hold of the legs again. “That’s better. C’mon, buddy, let’s get you out.”

It takes another minute of grunting all around before the calf arrives with an unceremonious plop onto the hay, followed by another round of blood and goop.

Miles jumps up, joining Hendricks and me by the gate as Elsa eases to standing. She gives both her calves a long lick, beginning the process of cleaning them and bonding, and next to me, Hendricks takes a long, hard sigh of relief. By now, we have an audience of twenty or so chickens, a couple of the stable cats who are busily sniffing the newest arrivals, and even Hamish has woken up.

“Excellent work, bud.” Miles holds his hand up to Hendricks for a high five as we all watch on. “Looks like one little happy family now.”

Hendricks lets out a tired chuckle. “It sure does.”

“Congratulations on another successful birthing season,” I add with a laugh.

It has been successful too. We haven’t lost any calves this year. Which is not something I can always say, but those are the realities of farming.

We don’t have a huge herd. It has always been kept small, allowing us to personally manage it. These calves will have an incredible life and will eventually be either kept for stud purposes or used for meat. The income received from the Burlington Estate farm is directly allocated toward the upkeep of Valentine Nook and supporting the long-term residents through supplemental income.

It’s a process that has been ongoing for the last couple of centuries, and it’s what allows us to ensure Valentine Nook stays pristine, attracting tourists who spend more money.

We watch in silence as the second calf makes a wobbly attempt to push to his feet and join his brother, already drinking hungrily—a good sign after such a stressful birth.

“I think we can leave them to it,” Hendricks says eventually.

“Always enjoy being present at a birthing,” says Miles, throwing his arm around my shoulders as we walk out into the main yard. “Feel like we should be passing around cigars.”

“I’d rather have a coffee,” I reply, stopping by one of the yard’s large outdoor sinks to wash our hands and clean up as best we can.

Even using a scrubbing brush and a bar of soap doesn’t get me fully clean, but it’ll have to do until I take a long soak in the bath later tonight. If I didn’t have to go to London once a month, I’d quite likely be permanently covered in mud.

Running seven days a week, the yard is the busiest place on the Burlington Estate. A staff of fifty is responsible for everything from maintaining the machinery to rolling the hay and plowing the fields and taking care of the various animals, including—cows, of course—horses, sheep, chickens, geese, pigs, goats, and the farm cats who keep the mice away.

Every day is an all-hands-on-deck situation, and I come down here each morning to make sure everything’s running smoothly and check in with the yard manager.

Normally, however, the staff is too busy to hang around. Not today, it seems. It’s like everyone suddenly decided to pick up a sweeping brush or fill the buckets with water, although on closer inspection, three-quarters of the staff I can spot are female. Which has everything to do with Miles being here.

I don’t know why I haven’t banned him from the yard because I’m convinced productivity drops by fifty percent when he’s around. On the flip side, I don’t need to ask anyone to bring us coffees because they’re already being brought over by someone who’s going to trip on something if she doesn’t stop staring at Miles instead of paying attention to where she’s going.

“Coffee, Your Grace, my lords.”

“Thanks.” I nod to her with a smile, though she’s obviously not looking at me.

“This is perfect. Thank you.” Miles flashes a smile that is way less professional than I care for, and I swear she swoons. She’s walking away, backward, mind you, because god forbid she wastes an opportunity to stare at Miles when he calls her again. “Also, could you call over to the yard and let them know I’m running a little late? Ask them to get Chester ready. I want to stick and ball with him.”

“Oh yes, absolutely, sir. No problem. I’ll do it now, sir.”

Foxleigh Park, the polo yard that Miles runs with his own team of stable hands, is a couple of miles across the fields and where you can find him when he’s not causing havoc elsewhere.

Amazingly, even though Miles is chaos personified, the polo yard is run with an unarguable attention to detail. There isn’t a speck of hay out of place. The ponies are treated like Olympic athletes. Their diets are closely monitored, and their exercise schedules are strictly regimented.

“Thank you,” he replies, watching her as she hurries off as quickly as possible without breaking into a run.

The number one rule of any yard is no running. You never know what will be coming around the corner.

Bringing the cup to my lips, I sip while my to-do list floods my brain. Calving season might be over, but that just means something else moves to the top.

“Hey, I ran into Eddie this morning,” Miles says, and I groan because I know where it’s heading. “He wants to know if you’re playing in the cricket match at the summer fair. Henners and I are on The One True Love team this year, and Al is playing for The Cupid’s Arrow.”

The Valentine Nook Summer Fair is held in the field next to the cricket pitch. It’s an eventful weekend with a hive of activity from music and food to games and competitions. When the weather’s good, we can get ten thousand visitors across the weekend.

However, the summer fair, like the Christmas fair, is run by a committee, overseen every year by one member of my family. It’s my least favorite thing about Valentine Nook, and no matter how often I’ve tried to change it, I get voted down every time.

But this year, I really really don’t want to head it up. Because this year was supposed to be Caroline’s year. Her first time as my wife and an official member of the Burlington family.

Six months on and the looks of pity still haven’t stopped. Nor have the sympathetic head nods and understanding smiles.

I see them every time I’m walking down the high street, and people stop me to ask how I’m doing. I hear them whisper as I pass. Even though I try my best to block it out, late at night, I wonder how many of them knew about her and Jeremy.

And the summer fair will bring it all back a thousand times over.

I shake my head in disappointment. “I can’t⁠—”

“Lando—”

“I’m head of the committee this year,” I interrupt before Miles starts up his usual argument about how I’m too weighed down in duty to have fun. Easy to say when you’re the youngest son with zero responsibility. I peer between my brothers with pleading eyes. “But I’ll give you ten thousand pounds if you swap with me.”

“Nope. I did it last year.”

“C’mon, Milo. You’re way better at judging all the competitions than I am.”

“I know, but I’m still not doing it.” He grins. “I want to win the cricket match. Ask Alex. When’s he back, by the way?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Max is entering Sherbet in ‘Best Turned Out Pony,’” Hendricks says, leaning against the wall. “We had to order red wraps because he wants him to match his Spider-Man costume.”

It’s amazing how quickly my bad mood can appear these days. “Well, if I’m judging, you’ll need to warn Max he can’t expect favorable treatment.”

Even Hendricks, who’s usually too laid-back to react to anything, is momentarily taken aback by my snapping. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Lando’s still sulking because of the starlet in Bluebell, remember?” Miles answers for me, unhelpfully and untruthfully, but I don’t bother correcting him. “Have you seen her yet?”

Hendricks shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Me either. Although I watched one of her movies with Clemmie the other night. It was good,” he says and turns to me. “What’s she like, Lan?”

You’d think I’d have gotten used to the really annoying face Miles pulls when he’s shit-stirring, but I haven’t. Especially when I’m the target.

“How would I know?”

“You’ve met her.”

“So—”

“So what’s she like?”

“She’s . . . I dunno. Blond. What do you want me to say?”

I know what he wants me to say.

He wants me to say that she’s the most insanely beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, with curves that Renaissance artists would have killed each other to paint. That while it should be her dripping wet body I can’t stop thinking about, what’s really seared into my brain is the way she glared at me, arms rigid over her chest while enough anger blazed in her eyes she could have melted me if she’d glared any longer.

I was with Caroline for four years, and I never saw that level of emotion.

But I’m not telling Miles that. I’m not telling anyone. It will stay my secret until I’m dead and buried.

“Is she hot? Marriage material?”

“Marriage material? Jesus Christ, you sound like Mum.”

Miles throws his head back and barks out a laugh. “I just wanted to see if I could get that vein in your temple to pop.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you such a dick?”

He doesn’t answer, just takes a sip of his coffee and leans back against the wall next to Hendricks. The pair of them stare at me with their arms crossed, and it’s almost impossible to tell them apart. In fact, very few can outside of situations where Hendricks is elbow-deep in a cow or Miles is galloping down a polo field swinging a mallet.

“C’mon, Lan, go back to what you were telling us before we got rudely interrupted by Elsa giving birth.”

To be honest, I can’t remember where I’d got to. The annoyance I’ve been feeling since she moved in is bubbling too near the surface of my skin to allow me to think clearly.

“Did I tell you about the waterfall?”

Hendricks’s eyes slice to Miles, and he’s doing his best to keep a smile in check.

“Waterfall?”

I nod. “Yeah, you know, the waterfall over on the edge of the village? You can cut through from the back pasture, but the path is pretty overgrown. There’s a track leading from Bluebell, which I used to use.” I stop talking because the twins are staring at me like I’ve grown two heads, and Hendricks is no longer holding down his smile. “What?”

“Nothing. We just know the waterfall, is all.”

I frown. “Why are you saying it like that? I’m talking about my waterfall.”

“It’s not your waterfall.”

Technically it is because it’s my land, but whatever. “I’m the only one who goes there.”

Hendricks shakes his head and laughs. “No, you aren’t. We used to go there all the time. It was our favorite party spot when we came home from school.”

“What? When? I wasn’t invited.”

“That’s because you’d have told us to stop.”

My gaze flicks between the pair of them. Sometimes it’s impossible to tell when they’re joking, and it would be so typical of them to wind me up for no reason. It’s times like these when the eight-year age gap feels so much bigger, and it takes so much more effort on my part not to resent their freedoms when my teenage years were spent preparing for leadership.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.” Miles clasps a hand to his chest, as dramatic as always. “The waterfall has a special place in my heart. It’s where I lost my virginity to Isobel Carruthers. It’s where I ended up with Mabel last Friday night.”

“What? Last Friday?” I was there last Friday too. I squeeze my eyes tight shut and scrub a hand down my face. That is not a visual I want in my head. “Stop ruining my thinking spot for me.”

“You’re ruining my fucking spot. What about the next time I want to go? I’m going to get performance anxiety, thinking my big brother will walk in on me⁠—”

I spin around, checking no one’s listening. Even though everyone knows what Miles is like, he’s talking far too loudly for my liking. I try to keep some level of professionalism around here. “Milo⁠—”

“Kidding. I’d never get performance anxiety⁠—”

“Miles.”

“Sorry.” He sweeps an arm out in front of him. “Continue.”

I sigh so deeply I’m certain my bones rattle. I can’t even remember what I was going to tell them. They’d only laugh anyway.

“Why is she so under your skin?” Hendricks asks when I still haven’t said anything.

“Who?”

“Holiday Simpson.”

“She’s not.”

“Sounds like she is.” His mouth curves down in one of those I-don’t-give-a-shit pouts, and his shoulders jerk.

“Well, she isn’t.”

“Then why do you care whether Pierre teaches her how to cook?”

Fucking Hendricks. He was bloody listening earlier. He’s the dark horse to Miles’s bull in a china shop. Quieter, pays attention, but you don’t realize until it’s too late.

“Because he’s got enough to do, and I don’t want her hanging around the house.”

“In case Clemmie and Mum get the wrong idea?”

“Or because maybe you like her, but you don’t want to admit you like her because then Mum and Clemmie would be right?” Miles adds.

“I’ve met her twice.” I hold up two fingers. “Twice. For a total of about ten minutes. It’s not long enough to form an opinion.”

“What a load of bollocks.” Miles scoffs. “And we both know you’re going to apologize to her because you’re not really the colossal dick you’re so good at pretending you are. So maybe get it over with today and tell her she’s welcome to the Burlington kitchen whenever she likes.”

“I wasn’t a dick.”

Hendricks and Miles raise identical eyebrows.

“Okay, fine.”

Miles slaps an arm across my shoulders. “Proud of you, big brother, and on that note, I have a date with my favorite girl. Legs up to heaven, beautiful chestnut red hair, so soft it feels like silk. And she fits just right between my thighs.” He winks, and I can’t help the grin pulling at my lips because I know the idiot’s talking about Chester, his polo pony.

And just like that, my anger dissipates.

Miles might be the most annoying individual I know, but he also makes me laugh more than anyone else.

Despite having absolutely no intention of apologizing, I’ve parked outside Bluebell Cottage, opened the gate, and am currently knocking on the door.

I try not to think about the fact the last time I was here was the night before my wedding.

Today, there’s a brand-new pair of wellies lined up neatly by the step. So new I wonder if she’s even worn them yet. I mean, there’s not a speck of dirt on them.

The kind thing would be to chuck a bucket of mud over them, but she probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

After a second attempt at knocking, it becomes clear she’s not home, so I decide to leave. It was stupid to come here anyway. Unfortunately, that’s the moment she returns.

She doesn’t see me standing on the doorstep as she closes the gate behind her. She’s too busy humming loudly to whatever she’s listening to while trying to open a bottle of water with her teeth. Based on the light sheen coating her skin and the very tight workout pants and sports bra sculpting her body, I’d say she’s come back from a run.

I’ve only ever seen this woman in the skimpiest clothing, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m being tested in some perverse way. Maybe Miles has put her up to this. That would make sense because fuck me if I can’t take my eyes off her.

I rarely have time to watch movies, and I’ve never seen anything starring Holiday Simpson, but I have the sudden urge to go home and binge everything she’s ever made.

I also have about three seconds before she spots me, and it becomes very awkward, so I decide to preempt it.

I wave in her face. “Hello?”

“Bag of dicks,” she screeches, and the bottle flies out of her hand.

I manage to snatch it mid-air before it hits the ground, twist the cap off, and pass it back to her.

“What an extraordinary greeting.”

She’s still staring at me, blue eyes wide with shock, and I feel bad that I startled her, but I’ve also never had this reaction from a woman before.

It’s both confounding and mildly amusing. I could live without the screeching, though, because so far, we’re three for three.

Eventually, she pulls out her earbuds and takes back the water. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply with a smile, hoping I don’t startle her further. But I’m not sure she’s blinked yet. “Are you okay?”

“Is that blood?”

I glance down at my jeans to see that I am indeed covered in the remains of the morning. I hadn’t realized quite how gross they were, and I take a step back.

“Yes, yes, it is. Um . . . we had some calves born this morning.”

“Oh. Cool,” she says, her lips rolling into a straight line, and her head bobs as she takes a long sip of water. My eyes are transfixed on the delicate curve of her neck as she swallows. “So did you come to yell at me some more?”

“No—”

“You’re fixing my roof?”

“Your roof?”

She sidesteps around me and walks to the front door, where she toes off her trainers and lines them up next to the wellies.

“Yeah, the roof. It’s leaking. You know it’s made of straw, right?”

No idea why I glance up to check. “Yes, it’s thatched. But I didn’t know it was leaking.”

“I told Clemmie. She said she’d get it fixed.”

“Ah.” I chuckle, hoping to defuse any impending annoyance. “That’s where you went wrong. Clementine is notoriously forgetful. But I can promise you that I will have it fixed. Where is it leaking?”

Holiday pushes the door open and gestures me inside. “Come in, I’ll show you.”

I try to take a step forward, but it’s like my feet are glued to the ground. It seems the end of the path is the farthest I’m prepared to go. If this house wasn’t part of the village, I’d happily burn it to the ground.

Peering in, however, the dread I was expecting doesn’t materialize.

I know my mother refurbished, but I never paid attention to anything she was doing. Even from my narrowed view of the hallway, it looks completely different.

Where the walls used to be cream, they’re now wallpapered in thick blue stripes. The wooden floor is stained dark instead of its previous pale oak, and I can see the edges of a curved table with a huge bunch of roses sitting in a vase that wasn’t previously there.

It’s not the house I found Caroline and Jeremy in, but I still can’t bring myself to investigate what other changes have been made.

“That’s okay, I won’t disturb you. I’ll have someone around this afternoon, and you can show them. They’ll be here in an hour.” I pull out my phone and shoot off a message asking James to get it handled. “Will that be okay?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, taking a step back followed by another.

She’s still standing there as I turn and walk to the car.

It takes all my self-discipline not to check and see if she’s still watching when I close the gate. Will I be disappointed if she isn’t?

As I get behind the wheel, I realize I never apologized, and I never mentioned the cooking lessons.

This means I’ll have to see her again, and for some inexplicable reason, I don’t seem to mind.