Dirty Daddies(36)

She looks shocked as I hand her a cold beer from the fridge.

“I think you’ve earned it,” I tell her and clink my bottle against hers.

“Just cleaning up my mess,” she says but swigs it back with a smile.

I pull out a stool from the kitchen island and take a seat. She follows suit, propping her grubby elbows on the freshly wiped marble like we haven’t just spent an age making this house presentable.

I’m not like Michael with his super reasonable approach to life. I like to hammer down the ground rules and make sure everyone knows where I stand on things.

I’m direct and I give no fucks for anything less.

“Let’s get a few things straight,” I say and she cocks her head at me. “I may be letting you stay, but I’m not a total fucking moron. If you want to stay under my roof, you’ll be treating the place with respect.”

“I’ve got more respect than you have for the place,” she tells me. “When was the last time you checked on your land?”

I shoot a look at the window, staring at the blackness beyond. “You mean my fields?” I shrug. “Fields pretty much take care of themselves last time I checked, with a little helping hand from the sheep in them.”

“That’s your problem,” she says. “You don’t know your own land. You have no respect for it. You like the house but not what comes along with it. Maybe you should be a city boy instead.”

Her assumptions rile me and my tone lets her know it. “You think you’re from the land? From a tribe of nature in harmony with the soul of these parts? Is that what you think?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Something like that actually, yeah.”

I take another swig of beer. “Listen, sweetheart, if you cut my family tree it would bleed the sap of this fucking county and all the years we worked the land here. I’ll show you, if you like? Agriculture runs all the way back through my bloodline on the very same soil my house rests on now. I belong in a city no more than you do, I’m just better at blending in.”

“So why are you so fucking useless with the gifts you have, then?” she asks, and it takes me aback.

“Why didn’t I fix a fucking fence, you mean? I have hundreds of fences. Miles of hedgerows and brooks and ditches. You think I’m going to keep an eye on every part of it all the time?”

“You should,” she snaps, and I laugh.

“If you’re so bothered about my fences, why don’t you head out there and fix them up for me?”

I’m surprised when her confidence shrivels. She spins her bottle in her fingers and looks at the table, not at me.

I feel a tiny shiver of enlightenment, as though I’ve lifted up a pebble in a rock pool and found a desperate little crab underneath.

“Well?” I prompt. “You could head out there and fix them up for me. I’d say that was a fair exchange for a roof over your head, no?”

Her eyes meet mine but they’re guarded. “You mean like a job? An actual job?”

“I mean like contributing to your keep. Doing what you can to keep the place together. If you’re staying here too, you should be invested in keeping the place looked after, don’t you think?”

“But I’m only here for a few days…” she says. “I’ll hardly have time…”

I’m surprised to find I’m not even trying to fool myself into thinking she’ll be gone in a few days.

“Then you’d better work quickly, hadn’t you?”

She nods. “I can fix a fence, you’ll see. I’ll make it good as fucking new. Better than fucking new.”

“I hope so,” I say. “Carrie, I’m a fair guy. I like things to run smoothly. I believe in order and taking control of life and making your own luck. I’m happy to give you a shot here, but there will have to be ground rules. I’m not talking Michael-type ground rules, either – I’m no fucking social worker out to fix the world and everyone in it.”

“Ground rules like what?”

“Ground rules like don’t fucking take the piss out of me, treat the place with respect, and do what’s expected of you.”

“And what’ll be expected of me?”

I smile and finish up my drink.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve worked that out,” I tell her. “Goodnight, Carrie, I have work in the morning.”

I’ve reached the stairs before I hear her call goodnight after me.

My hand is down my pants before I’ve even reached the top stair, because I’ve no delusions of fucking morality when it comes to women I want to fuck.

Unlike poor fucking Michael.