Harry

“What on earth are you doing up there?”

Emma wobbled precariously on the rickety ladder. “I’m looking for the bran mash. Tauna lost another tooth overnight, so she’s going to need soft food from now on.”

“Are you sure it’s up there?” I steadied the ladder and gazed up at the cluttered shelves in the feed store. “It’s not with the other sacks of, uh, stuff by the door?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” Emma said. “Joe usually measures up the feeds, but he’s not here.”

I knew all too well that Joe wasn’t around—I’d heard him tear off in the van at the crack of dawn—but I had no idea where he’d gone, and his kiss still bruising my lips kept me from asking. That and stopping Emma from breaking her neck. “Fuck this. Get down. I’ll look.”

Emma shot me a death glare but slid down the ladder anyway. “You’re in a mood.”

“Am I?” I climbed the ladder and heaved myself onto the dusty platform that served as the lowest shelf. “Can’t say I’d noticed.”

“Are you hungover? Because Joe was. He looked like shit when he stopped at the bungalow to give Mum some money.”

That Emma trusted me enough to jabber on like I was part of the family warmed my bones, but the thought of Joe looking like shit turned my whisky-scarred stomach. I’d left him dishevelled and bemused on the couch, and gone to bed with the world and my dick on my mind, but I’d woken to a brain obsessed with only him, and the longer he was absent, the more distracting that became. “Was he okay?”

I didn’t look at Emma, but I sensed her frown. “Why are you asking me that?” she said. “Has something happened between you two?”

“Like what?” I read the label on a half-empty sack and then discarded it. “There’s nothing but oats and molasses up here.”

“Grab some molasses and don’t change the subject.”

I passed Emma two tubs of molasses and climbed down from the platform, brushing dust from my clothes as I hit the ground. “I’m not. I just don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean the fact that you and Joe live in the same house but hardly ever speak. I can deck him for you if he’s making your life miserable by being a grumpy little shit.”

“He’s not grumpy. He’s—” He’s what? I couldn’t find a word that quite fit Joe. Mysterious. Raw. Kind. Funny. Rude. They all fit, but none told the whole story. “We do speak.”

“Uh-huh.” Emma eyed me. “I can still deck him. I’m sure he deserves it for one reason or other.”

“Not going to break his cheekbone again, are you?”

Emma’s face fell. “He told you about that?”

I nodded. “Last night. We had a few whiskys.”

“Oh god. He’s a nightmare when he gets on that stuff. He either thinks he’s the funniest man alive or cries because he’s worried that he’s just like Dad.”

“Is he? Like your dad, I mean?”

Emma’s frown deepened. “That’s a tough question. My brother’s a complex beast.”

I’d figured that much out for myself, and I had a complicated brother of my own, but I followed Emma to the tack room in the hope that she’d continue.

“Ah, here it is.” She tugged a huge sack out from behind a teetering tower of saddles. “What on earth has he put this in here for?”

“He’s complex, remember? You may never work it out.” I took the sack from her and lifted it to my shoulder. “Where do you need this?”

“Back in the feed store. Poor old Tauna needs her breakfast.”

We returned to the feed store. Emma mixed a bucket of bran mash and molasses with warm water while she pondered my question about Joe. “He is like Dad sometimes—impulsive and daft. They’ve got the same soft heart too, like Grandpa, but he’s a better man than Dad . . . stronger, I guess. He works so hard, day in, day out, doing the same stuff over and over again, just to keep this place standing. Jonah doesn’t have that in him. Never has.”

She seemed to speak to herself as much as me. We took the bucket of overdue breakfast out to Tauna and her stablemate, Carric.

“Joe was wild when we were young,” she went on as we rubbed the old mares patchy coats down with bundles of clean hay. “Mum couldn’t keep him indoors. He was always off riding Mani or climbing up buildings and stuff. He loved to surf too, but then Dad started messing things up at the stud farm, and Grandpa got old. Joe picked up the slack, and he’s been doing it ever since. As long as the farm is still going, I don’t think he’ll ever get his life back. And some days, I don’t think he even wants it. I’m the anxious one, but Joe gets so down when he’s tired. I think he’s lonely, so I’m glad he has you, even if it is just for the summer.”

Emma’s speech was long and rambling, but I absorbed every word and filed them away in the “Joe” part of my brain. The part that had also taken up residence in depths of my heart I’d thought were barren. That Joe was ever lonely tore me up, but what could I do? I was only here for the summer, and I didn’t have enough rope for the both of us.

* * *

The pattern of Joe disappearing at dawn continued all week. By Thursday, I was beginning to feel a little paranoid. I sat at my desk, staring out of the window, texting Rhys periodically, though my mind was wholeheartedly on Joe. For the last three days, he’d come back around eleven, but it was midday now, and there was still no sign of him.

I licked my lips, as I had about a million times since our drunken sofa encounter, like I could still taste Joe on them. Part of me was embarrassed for practically throwing myself at him, but the majority of my Joe-themed daydreams were taken up with recalling the scorching heat of his touch that night and fretting over the fact that we’d barely locked eyes since.

Which was my fault as much as his. I’d taken to skipping Sal’s dinners and eating alone when everyone had gone, and by then, Joe was often asleep—or, at least, I assumed he was. I didn’t have the balls to stick my head in the living room. Bloody idiot. And I didn’t understand why. My demons had plenty of lairs, but my sex life wasn’t usually one of them. Not that I’d had sex with Joe. Or was planning to.

Shit. My brain felt like it was about to explode. I thought about going for a run or a drive, but for the first time in forever, I wasn’t in the mood to pound the streets, and my car was still in the garage. Which left work. Lots of work. And I was already behind.

It was lunchtime when I heard Joe’s van coming up the lane. I was still in my room but found myself at the top of the stairs as he pulled into the yard. When I got outside, Lacey and Jemima were piling out of the van, giggling and clutching brown envelopes.

Lacey leapt on me. “I got three As!”

“Um . . . Okay?” I gave her a hug and then set her back on the ground. “That’s great. What for?”

“A-levels,” Jemima said, coming up on me too. “It’s results day. I got two As and a B, so I got into Exeter uni!”

“Wow. That’s awesome. Where are you going, Lacey?”

“Liverpool,” Lacey said. “Joe wrote me a character reference to help me get into veterinary school, and now I’ve got my results, I’m definitely in!”

The girls were on cloud nine. I hugged them both again and then retreated to the kitchen with Sal, who was making them a cake. “They’ve done really well.”

“They have.” Sal smiled fondly. “Don’t know how, though. They spend all their time here when they’re not at school. Their parents must’ve forgotten what they look like.”

I laughed. The younger staff seemed to work when I was busy in my room, but I often smiled when their laughter floated up to me. They ran rings around Joe, and the brotherly affection he gave them in return was wonderful. “It was nice of Joe to take them to get their results.”

“Tradition,” Sal said. “He’s taking Toby for his GCSEs next week. And I think the young ’uns like riding around in the van. Gives them street cred or whatever it’s called these days.”

I was willing to bet that it was the hottie behind the wheel that gave Toby and the girls the kudos in town, but I let it go. What did it matter? It had been a great day for the girls, and I was happy for them.

So happy, that the scent of whatever Sal was baking caught my attention. “What is that? It smells amazing.”

“Banana cake—it’s their favourite. Healthy, too, before you start lecturing me on saturated fat. It’s got olive oil and everything.”

“Not that bad, am I?”

Sal pinched my cheek. “’Course not. I’m only messing, luv.”

But her words stayed with me all the same. Preaching good nutrition was part of my job—a vital part—but balancing that with old demons was hard, and if Joe’s quizzical frowns around mealtimes were anything to go by, I was losing the battle.

Joe came in the kitchen. He didn’t look at me. Just kissed his mother and slumped at the table. I wanted to rub his shoulders, his neck, his chest. More. But I settled for ignoring the urge to retreat to my room and sat down next to him. I half expected him to ignore me. His leg curling around mine under the table made me jump.

But god it felt good. I ran my finger down his forearm until he looked at me. I smiled.

And he smiled too.

* * *

“You can’t stay up here all day.”

I glanced at Joe who was hovering in my bedroom doorway, like coming over the threshold would burn him alive. “I have to work, mate.”

“It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night. Give it a rest for the day.”

“What do you care?” I was joking, but Joe’s lazy grin dimmed. “I mean, who are you to comment on my unsociable working hours? You haven’t stopped all day.”

“That’s because I dicked around yesterday playing chauffeur to a bunch of schoolgirls and failed to fix the boiler in the bungalow. Besides, I’m done now. And so should you be. Mum reckons you’ll get square eyes.”

Joe tapped his beer bottle on the door and jerked his head to the stairs. When I didn’t respond, he rolled his eyes and walked away.

It was an hour before I was done enough with my work to shut it down for the day, and when I poked my head in the living room, Joe was asleep. For the dozenth time that day, I ached to touch him, to trace his chest with my fingertips, to bury my face in his neck, but when he seemed so peaceful, nothing on earth would have made me disturb him.

The landline phone by Joe’s head rang, taking the matter out of my hands. He snapped awake, bolting upright so fast he nearly tumbled from the couch. “Jesus.”

For a split second, our eyes met. The sleep-addled confusion in his expression melted my heart, but then the phone screeched again, and he turned away to answer it, swearing softly as he listened to whoever was on the other end. “We can’t take that many. To be honest, we’d struggle to take two right now, let alone six.”

My heart sank. It was a horse SOS, and by the slump of Joe’s shoulders, a bad one. I considered leaving him to it—getting out his way and letting him do his job, but I didn’t move, and I was beside him in a flash when he hung up the phone. “What is it?”

Joe looked at me, and the awkwardness of the last few days melted away. “Ponies. Six of them. There were ten, but apparently four of them starving to death is only just enough for a seizure order these days.”

“Are they coming here?”

“They can’t. I have nowhere to put them. We’re full, Harry. I don’t know what to do.”

“You can’t double up some of the others?”

“Not any more than they are already.”

“What about the donkey paddock?”

“Where would the donkeys go?”

That stumped me. The donkeys were smaller than the horses, bar the Shetlands, and seemed to be the easiest creatures on the farm to look after, but they still needed food, water, and shelter. “What about the tack room? It’s got a half-door, right? Empty it out and put the donkeys in there.”

“Empty it out where?” Joe gestured around the cluttered living room. “There’s no space anywhere.”

“Put it in my room,” I said. “There’s loads of space in there.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s your room. You’ve paid for a bed and some peace and quiet, not to drown in our mess. It ain’t right.”

I shook my head. “What’s not right is leaving those ponies wherever they are when you have a solution to do otherwise. I know you won’t do that, so let me help you, okay? It’s not like I haven’t had my money’s worth of free food while I’ve been here.”

Joe’s eyes flashed like they always did when we talked about food, but he had bigger things to worry about right now. His frown deepened as he considered my offer, and I could almost see him moving things around the farm to accommodate six more horses. “All right,” he said. “Let’s do this, but it’s temporary, okay? Until I think of something else.”

“Fine by me.” I stood, eyeing the clutch of empty beer bottles on the table. “What happens now? Is someone bringing the horses here?”

Joe snorted. “As if. That only happens when they get dumped at the end of the road. I’m going to have to ring George.”

“What about Emma, or Sal?”

“They can’t drive the horsebox.”

“I’ll drive it.”

“What?”

I held out my hand and pulled Joe from the couch. “I’ll drive.”

“You can’t. You need a category C licence for that beast, and there’s a bunch of coppers waiting for us.”

I retrieved my wallet from my back pocket and thumbed out my driving licence. “Read it and weep. Now let’s go.”

Joe scanned my licence with obvious scepticism but was in motion the moment he found what he was looking for. He made for the door, still clutching my hand from where I’d helped him up. “The box is round the back. Can you bring it down to the bungalow? I’ll meet you there.”

“Keys?”

Joe grabbed a set from the kitchen table and tossed them over his shoulder. Then he whirled around and kissed me fiercely, snatching my breath away. “Thank you. We’ll have to make two trips to bring them all back, and it means the world to me that you want to help.”

I smiled and touched his face, hoping he wouldn’t notice my trembling hands. “Of course I want to help. Let’s go, yeah? Sooner we go, sooner we’re home.”

Joe nodded. “Okay. But on the way, I need you to explain why you’ve got an HGV license gathering dust in your wallet.”

It wasn’t a particularly exciting story, but once we hit the road, Joe seemed fascinated by me driving lorries for ASDA in my uni days. “That’s mad,” he said. “Didn’t you have enough to do with all your doctor shit?”

“I’m not a doctor. I’m a physiotherapist.”

“And a writer.”

“Pretend writer,” I corrected. “I haven’t finished the book yet.”

“But you will. And Emma told me that the whole world reads your blog, so you must be good at it.”

I scoffed. “Most of the world reads The Sun, and you can’t tell me that’s good writing.”

“Don’t put yourself down. I can barely write my name.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Joe turned his dark gaze on me. “I pretty much sign cheques with a big fat X. I didn’t go to school much—Emma has to type out everything for me.”

“Yeah, well . . . there’s plenty of things you can do that I can’t. And every skill is worth more than people think.”

Joe said nothing, and I wondered, as ever, what on earth he was thinking. But I didn’t have time to ponder for long. The derelict farm he was directing me to appeared on the horizon, lit up by the flashing blue lights of police vehicles, and the time for small talk was over.

I parked next to an RSPCA van and we got out of the horsebox. I hung back while Joe talked to the inspectors and glanced around. The police were leaning on a gate, apparently disinterested, and another van from a veterinarian’s practice was nearby. In the darkness, I squinted at the large black objects they were lining up. It took a minute to sink in that they were body bags.

Horror washed over me, and snatched conversations I’d overheard on the farm over the last few days clicked into place. Joe and Emma fretting over ten abandoned ponies. Lacey and Jemima cooking up farfetched plans to rescue them in the night. George grumbling about red tape and bureaucracy. But all of their fears about being too late had been realised. Four horses hadn’t survived.

Joe came up on me, his face grave. “We need to get a move on. These nags are starving. Can you call home and check they’re going to be ready?”

“Of course. Can I have—”

But Joe was gone again before I could ask him for the number. I dug my phone out of my pocket—apart from checking in with Rhys, I’d hardly used it since I’d been on the farm—and searched out the email that had Emma’s mobile number in it. I called, praying that she’d answer. I’d only seen Sal when I’d picked Joe up from the bungalow.

Emma answered on the third ring, breathless and clearly stressed. “Harry? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, as far as I know,” I said quickly. “Joe just asked me to call and see how Sal was getting on in the tack room. He wants to move fast with these ponies.”

“Oh. Okay. You scared me. We’ve never spoken on the phone before, and I’m not very good at it.”

I chuckled softly. “Neither am I, but don’t worry. Joe’s fine. He just wants to get home.”

“I know Joe’s fine if he’s with you. I’m being silly. And you can tell him that we’ll be ready for you. We’ve got most of the stuff out. It’s all on your bed at the moment. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” I glanced across the muddy farmyard and spied Joe heading back my way with the first of the ponies. “We’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Drive safe, Harry.”

“I will.”

I put the phone in my pocket and met Joe at the back of the horsebox. “Are we taking three at a time?”

“Nah. The four strongest first, then the other two. I’m gonna have to go in the back with them to stop them keeling over.”

I didn’t like the sound of that but knew better than to argue with Joe about horses. He stood aside while I opened up the box, then led the ponies up the ramp. Another two followed, and then we were on the road, heading back to the farm.

Emma was waiting for us. George had appeared from somewhere too. He took the ponies to get settled in the paddock.

Joe watched him go, then turned to Emma. “I need to call Dex.”

“Dex? Why?”

“Because the next two aren’t fit enough to go out in the paddock. The foaling stable is the only safe place for them, so I need him to take a couple of old-timers off my hands.”

“We need him to. This isn’t just your problem.”

“So you’ll call him?”

Emma flushed, her face pale, like someone had pulled the plug out of her complexion. I nudged her and held up three fingers, hoping she remembered the coping mechanisms we’d gone through the other day.

She stuck out her chin. “Of course.”

It was a small victory, but when I saw the state of the remaining horses, I clung to it. the ponies were skin and bone, empty eyes, and bleeding gums. I asked Joe if they’d survive, and his hollow stare said it all.

I drove the box back to the farm while Joe stayed in the back with them. I took it slow, avoiding bumps and sharp turns, but he still looked traumatised when we pulled up. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Holding two nags up for ten miles is a bitch on your shoulders.”

I could believe it and made a note to check him over before we called it a night. But it soon became clear Joe had no intention of going to bed any time before sunrise. “I can’t leave them in the yard by themselves all night. Someone’s got to watch them.”

The emaciated ponies had laid themselves down by now, collapsing in the first clean bedding they’d likely ever seen. Joe was hand-feeding one of them bran mash. Lacking any better ideas, I grabbed a fistful and held it out to the other one.

“You don’t have to do that.” Joe wasn’t looking at me. “You’ve done enough already.”

I manoeuvred myself to sit next to the pony, mirroring Joe’s position with my back to the side of the box. “Just tell me what to do, and we’ll get it done.”

He didn’t argue, and a companionable silence settled over us. George checked in from time to time, taking a break from his own watch over the other four ponies, but no one said much until Emma brought tea and toast to us at dawn.

I was half-asleep by then. Joe shook me gently. “Go to bed.”

“Hmm?” I blinked rapidly.

“Bed,” Joe repeated. “Dex is on his way to pick Gerrard and Lily up. As soon as they’re gone, I’ll get these two set up.”

Gerrard and Lily were the farm’s hardiest horses—it made sense they’d be the ones to go—but my heart hurt all the same. It wasn’t right that any of these horses were suffering, and it wasn’t right that I snoozed in bed when Joe was still working.

I shook my head. “I’ll stay till they’re settled. Kind of attached to them now.”

Joe frowned, and I braced myself for an argument, but he simply handed me a cup of sugary tea and went back to tending his sick pony.

I drank my tea, barely thinking about the tooth-rotting sugar content, and considered the mare I’d nursed through the night. I’d assumed she was old when I’d first seen her, but George—the farm’s expert on such matters—thought she was juvenile . . . barely two.

“Hard life ages God’s creatures.”

Was he right?

I chanced a glance at Joe’s face as he muttered nonsense to his sick pony and had to disagree. His eyes, haunted and wise, were older than his years, but his face was young. And that broke my heart all over again.

* * *

Joe’s friend Dex arrived around eight.

“You’d better go inside,” Joe said when we heard another horsebox rumbling up the lane.

“Why?”

“Dex don’t like strangers, especially big, brawny ones. Go on. I’ll explain after.”

At this point, I was too tired to do anything but exactly what he said. I went inside and drifted upstairs, my bed calling to me despite my best intentions to stay awake until Joe called it a day.

Balls. The entire tack room was stacked up on my bed. Somehow, in all the excitement, I’d forgotten about that. Admitting defeat, I got in the shower. The tiny bathroom window looked out over the yard, and I watched as a newer, shinier horsebox than Joe’s pulled up.

I expected someone equally shiny to get out, but a slight, dark-haired man jumped down from the driver’s seat and gave Joe a friendly hug, before climbing straight into the box with the sick ponies.

Joe followed him, and they were in there long enough for me to wash my entire body. The hot water was starting to fade when they finally emerged, and I caught sight of Dex’s face. Christ. He was stunning, all wide eyes and high cheekbones. Joe and Emma had spoken of him as though he was far older than them—a kind uncle who helped them out—but Dex didn’t look much older than Joe.

I got out of the shower and peeped through the window some more as Dex went around the yard to greet the horses that hadn’t been turned out into the fields. He stood with Tauna and Carric for a long time, his arms around Tauna, his face turned into Carric’s neck. For some reason, I felt like crying and forced myself to finally turn away.

He left a little while later, taking Gerrard and Lily with him and the random goat who’d taken up residence in the yard. “He’s not going to cook the goat in the restaurant, is he?”

Joe whirled around from where he’d been leaning on the gate. “How’d you know he has a restaurant?”

“Emma told me on my first night when she introduced me to the horses.”

“Damn, that girl and her mouth.”

“Is it a secret?”

“The restaurant? No, but Dex doesn’t like people talking about him.”

“Why? Is he a gangster or something?”

I was joking, but Joe didn’t smile. Just shook his head and tapped his finger to his lips. I shrugged. “Is it a gypsy thing? A code of silence?”

“Dex is a Traveller.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Between the Roma and the Irish?” Joe shook his head again like I was the world’s biggest idiot, and for once I agreed with him.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m so fucking tired. I do know the difference between the two . . . I think. Ask me again when I’ve had some sleep.”

Joe grinned, though his exhaustion was obvious too. “I did tell you to go to bed.”

“Yeah, well. I forgot about my bright idea to stack the tack room in there, so I might have to kip in with the donkeys.”

“Fuck that. We’ll figure something out . . . after breakfast. I’m so hungry my brain hurts.”

Joe took my arm and tugged me inside. Sal was waiting with bacon sandwiches and more builder’s tea, but she hustled us out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Get comfortable,” she said. “No more work for either of you today.”

“Nice try, Ma,” Joe protested. “But the vet’s coming at ten.”

“No, he ain’t. He called and said he can’t be here until midday. George is setting up in the foaling stable, so I don’t want you tramping about that yard until this lunchtime, got it?”

“Thought you were going to Cardiff today?”

“I am, but that doesn’t mean I won’t find out if you don’t do as you’re bloody told, boy.”

Sal’s words were firm, but her gaze soft. And she was apparently the only person that Joe didn’t argue with. Or maybe he was simply too tired. He flopped down on the couch and waved her away. She kissed me on her way out. “Thank you for being here, luv. We couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Sal—”

But she was already gone.

“She’s right, you know,” Joe said from behind his hands. “George could’ve helped me get through the night, but then there would’ve been no one to watch the foaling stable today.”

“You’d have done it.”

“Aye, but it would’ve killed me. As it is, I don’t know what I’m going to do when the girls go off to uni.”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” At his subtle nod, I claimed the space on the sofa beside him. “One problem at a time. Get through the next few days first.”

“Is that your professional advice?”

“No. My professional advice would be to quit smoking, eat your greens, and let me work on your back and neck before you spend the next twenty-four hours asleep, but we both know none of those things are going to happen.”

Joe laughed softly and leaned into me, bumping our shoulders. “You can stick the first two up your arse, but the only reason I’m not letting you put your hands on me is because you’re as tired as I am.”

I couldn’t deny it, though I’d have stayed up for days if it meant getting to touch Joe again. His flawless skin was hypnotising—addicting, and however many times I got to lay my hands on him, it would never be enough.

We ate our breakfast in silence. For once, Joe didn’t shoot surreptitious stares at me while I ate, and I was glad of it. The bacon sandwich was amazing and I was doing pretty well at ignoring my carb phobia. Or perhaps I was the one too tired to argue, even if it was with myself.

Either way, I didn’t much care.

And I cared even less when Joe took my empty plate and tossed it on the table. “Ma can probably make you a bed up at the bungalow . . . or, you could kip on here with me. Top and tail? I don’t snore.”

The proposal was tempting, and practical, considering the large L-shaped couch, but despite craving Joe’s touch—craving this—what little sense my fatigue-addled brain had left told me that begging a bed off Sal and Emma was probably a better idea.

I opened my mouth to say as much, but Joe was closer than he’d been a split second ago, and for the second time that week, I was kissing him before I truly knew what I was doing.

The first time, Joe had taken control from his position straddling my lap, but now he submitted, falling backwards onto the couch. I followed him as easily as breathing, chasing him down and covering his body with my own. His arms snaked around my waist, holding me in place, and all bets were off.

I slid my hands under his T-shirt and deepened the kiss. He hooked his legs on mine, gasping, and I dove in harder. I’d never kissed a man like I found myself kissing Joe. Never felt a kiss so entirely. But I felt him everywhere—my skin, my veins, in every nerve. Tiredness faded away, and blood roared in my ears. I could’ve kissed him forever, if he hadn’t broken away with a jaw-cracking yawn.

He groaned. “Sorry. I’ve been thinking about you like this for days . . . can’t believe I’m close to sleeping through it.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and warmth in my chest eclipsed the heat pooling in my jeans—stronger, even, than the desperate craving to have Joe’s hands on my dick again. I wriggled around until I was beneath him, and coaxed him into using me as a pillow. “Rest, mate. It’s okay. We can revisit this later.”

“Promise?”

I wove my fingers into Joe’s silky hair. “Promise.”