And now she thinks I hate her.
I’m as bad as my father.
He was the same. Short-tempered. I was seven the first time he locked me out of the house. He’d ordered me to muck out the stables, but apparently, my work wasn’t good enough. He toldme I couldn’t come back inside until it was done properly. It was the middle of winter. I slept with the horses to keep warm.
Mum was furious when she found out, and he mellowed slightly after that. Until she died. Then he got a lot, lot worse.
The ewe in my armsbaas loudly and prances off. I look up. The rest of the flock has wandered over to see what’s going on. I’m surrounded by a ring of black faces all staring at me. A smaller sheep runs up to me and headbutts my shoulder. Years ago, I might have stayed out here for an hour or so to unwind with the animals.
I force myself to straighten. I need to get back and start on some paperwork.
And maybe check on Summer.
After I park the tractor, I head to the farmhouse with Scout, lost in thought. Scout suddenly stops and alerts loudly. There’s an unfamiliar black car in my driveway, stencilled with the logo of the local council. A man in a cheap suit is rummaging around in the boot.
You have to be kidding me.
“You’re trespassing,” I call.
The man jumps, almost slamming his head on the boot, then grins at me sheepishly. “Mr Gray. I was hoping to catch you. I just finished up the building survey. I see why the bosses are so keen to buy up your Eastern pasture. It’s a beautiful spot down by the loch.”
I try to keep my head. “I didn’t give you permission to be on my property.”
He blinks. “Didn’t you get the letter that we were coming?”
“I got it. But Lochview is not for sale. This is my land. Get off it.”
The man gives me a pitying look. “See, here,” he says. “Can I give you some advice?”
“No.”
He leans in. “When the next offer of sale comes, accept it. The council is very set on this development plan. They’ll just push through a compulsory purchase order if you refuse, and I’d wager the terms wouldn’t be half as generous.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“They can force you to sell the land against your will,” he says bluntly. “You may as well go quietly.”
I clench my fists. “Get the hell off my property.”
He laughs, like I’m being unreasonable. “Mr Gray, please?—”
“Speak up,” I order Scout. He barks loudly. It’s a bark trained to startle a sheep, but it also apparently works on smarmy council workers.
The man creeps closer to the driver’s seat, alarmed. “Mr Gray, I am here in an official capacity?—”
“Come by,” I tell Scout, and he darts forwards.Come byis a herding command, meant to herd an animal to the right. The council man throws open the car door and practically jumps inside. I watch as he reverses out of my driveway, his tyres throwing up gravel.
“Good boy,” I tell Scout, pulling a treat out of my pocket. He scoffs it up happily. “That’ll do.”
That command ends a work session. Scout trots off to play in one of the ponds, and I scrub a hand over my face.
Well, shit.
When I step through the farmhouse door, Summer’s sitting at the kitchen table talking to someone on speakerphone as she taps at her laptop. I watch her as I take off my coat. She looks stressed.
“Do you really think it would be that bad to go dark?” she asks into the phone. “Just for a couple of weeks? It feels like everything I post is making everyone madder.”
I frown. I read the article that was released about her last night. It was a bunch of crap. The writer blamed Summer for everything from smartphone addiction to consumerism. It was, at best, very bad faith journalism. At worst, it was blatantly misogynistic.
