Page 190 of To Catch a Sub

The one thing they hadn’t done was have sex. In fact, they’d both been mostly clothed, except when he needed her to pull up her shirt so he could check the bandages over her nipples. During the removal, she’d asked him to touch her after, but once they were done, he’d held her as she cried and then carried her into bed. He’d given her pain pills and an antibiotic, and she been nearly asleep in his arms before they were done.

“It’s a…farm.” Colette sounded bewildered.

Landon laughed as Mr. Brown drove slowly down the long laneway that led to his family’s property.

“Master Land didn’t tell you?” Mr. Brown clucked his tongue. “Evans Farms is one of our last proper working farms in this area.”

“Is that a baby sheep?!” Colette yanked her hand out of his so she could grip the door and stare at the fenced paddock that lined the road. Fat white sheep and a scattering of bouncy lambs speckled the green. “What’s the word in English?”

“Lamb.”

“Lamb! They’re so…” She flailed both hands in the air. “Fluffy.”

Landon laughed. “You’re excited by farm animals.”

“Fluffy lambs!”

“You know they’re not soft.”

She turned to look at him, outraged. “What?”

“They’re scratchy. That’s wool.”

The laneway curved around a copse of trees, and then the houses and farm sheds were visible.

The first thing that caught the eye was the old two-story stone farmhouse which held court at the end of the driveway. At the time it was built, it was extravagant in both size and construction.

The car passed between stone gateposts, the wrought iron gates open wide. Landon had never seen them closed, though he’d enjoyed swinging on them as a child.

The driveway was narrower than the road that led to it, only wide enough for one car. Alder and hawthorn trees crowded the drive, branches lacing together overhead in some places. They passed a stump, and he remembered the way his grandmother had cried when they had to cut down a diseased tree.

To the right of the old farmhouse was the farmyard—a milking parlor, two barns, and a scattering of smaller buildings. Past those he could just see one of the larger fields, and the cows that grazed there.

Mr. Brown turned left, away from the farmyard and down a branching driveway that led to the modern house, half-hidden by another copse of trees.

The one-story home had been designed and built to house his multi-generation family. In other parts of the world this would have been entirely normal, but Landon had always gotten odd looks in school when he told people he lived with his father and his mother’s parents, all in the same house.

Mr. Brown pulled to a stop, and before he put the car in park, the front door opened.

His grandmother had a little more silver in her long dark hair than she had before, but her eyes were bright, her smile wide. She wore gray leggings and a long, loose shirt-dress in muted blue. The style was quintessentially Pakistani, the color palette and material British.

“Mrs. Malik,” Mr. Brown called through the window. “Look what I brought you. And he has a French girl with him.”

Colette groaned, sinking a little into the seat.

“Don’t be a baby,” he taunted, opening his door and turning to his grandmother. “Nana.” He scooped her into a careful hug.

“What’s this, huh?” His grandfather appeared in the door, rubbing his glasses with the tail of his shirt before popping them on his nose. “Landon.”

“Nani,” he said, hugging his grandfather with equal care.

“Ali, he brought a girl.”

“Ah ha, I told you that fire was good,” Nani said, nodding.

Nana flapped a hand at him. “Put the kettle on. I will introduce myself.”

Landon turned when his grandmother poked him, offering her his arms as they walked towards Colette, who stood by the open door of the car.