Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“No.” She leaned forward, suddenly excited at the brilliance of the scheme. “I’m saying we should become partners.”
One eyebrow rose. “Isn’t that what I’ve been suggesting?”
“Business partners, not …” Her hands fluttered. “Just hear me out.”
Purposely mute, he made an expansive gesture of invitation.
“You want to build your cottage, but you don’t have laborers. I want to add on to my inn, but I lack the funds. We’ll work together and build both at the same time.” She rose from her stone perch and began pacing back and forth. “I’ll convince the men to work for us, and I’ll provide all their meals during construction. You’ll pay the wages and material costs. Once they’ve completed a rise on one building, they’ll switch to the other while it settles and cures.”
He scratched his neck and peered toward the horizon. “What’s the advantage to me, financing an addition to the inn?”
“It’s a gesture of good will.” She ceased pacing and went to stand before him. “Don’t you see? The villagers are afraid you’re going to disrupt their lives with these plans to rebuild Nethermoor Hall, and then leave them in worse straits than ever. If they see the improvements to the inn occurring at the same time … well, they won’t worry so much. No matter what happens with you and your house, Buckleigh-in-the-Moor will have come out for the better. And if the two of us are working together, they’ll stop fighting you every step of the way.”
“They?” He cocked his head and looked her up and down. “Am I truly to do this because ‘they’ won’t worry so much? Or are we talking about you and your own concerns?”
She inhaled slowly. “I … I don’t know. Both, I suppose. Does it matter?”
“Maybe not.” He studied the grit under his fingernails.
“Please, Rhys.” The wind whipped a strand of hair into her mouth, and she drew it back with one hand. “Either way, it’s going to take you just as long to build a cottage. But if you’ll allow me, I think I can persuade the local men”—and Gideon too, if she played it just right—“to give you a chance.”
“You really think they’ll take work with me?”
“If I approach them about it? Yes. This village is more than those dozen brutes who camp out in the tavern each night. There are several cottagers in the area scraping out a living from the moor, supporting families, many of whom have been here since your father’s day. They’d jump at an offer of work, if it’s presented favorably.”
He released a deep sigh. “Very well, then. You have me convinced. We’re partners.”
“Business partners.”
He didn’t reply—just gave her a knowing half-smile and stuck his big, powerful hand into the gap between them.
Meredith did the same, and they shook hands in a brisk, very businesslike manner. And then, for an extended moment, neither one of them let go.
“Walk with me,” she heard herself say, in an embarrassingly wistful tone. When his chin ducked in surprise, she released his hand and continued, “I mean … I’ll see about assembling a workforce tomorrow. For today, why don’t you rest? Walk back down to the village with me. We’ll take the long way, along the stream. It’s a fine day for a walk, and it will give us a chance to talk.” She added swiftly, “About the construction.”
“What of the ponies?”
“I’ll send Darryl for them later. They’ll be fine.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he wiped his hands on his breeches and picked up his coat where it lay nearby. Slinging it over his arm, he said, “All right, then. Lead the way.”
She set an unhurried pace across the ridge, and he followed.
“Mind the path,” she told him, guiding him around the edge of the bog. He’d been away so long, she worried he might forget where to step. On the surface, it merely looked like a patch of damp land, dotted with scrubby patches of heather. However, beneath the unthreatening wreath of loam lay a spring—the source of the stream that flowed down these slopes and straight through the heart of Buckleigh-in-the-Moor. Peat and muck covered the spring two yards deep, and this bog was the sad end of many an unsuspecting creature with the bad fortune to misstep and become mired.
As they turned down the slope, the waters gathered and funneled into a steady trickle, draining the layers of surrounding peat. The ground was firm and safer now, and they walked two abreast as they followed the winding, ever-widening stream.
From his easy gait, Meredith could sense that much of the angry tension in his body had dissipated. Good. Back at the cottage site, he’d been so tightly wound and obviously hurting, she’d been afraid for him. Or afraid for the rocks.
“It’s been years since I walked this way,” she said. “But it looks the same as it ever did. Has it changed any, in your view?”