Sweat drips down my face, plastering my hair to my forehead. I bend and pull at a wild blackberry bush, but it’s too deeply rooted. Ouch! I suck a thorn from my finger, the tangy taste of blood in my mouth.

The sudden sound of a door slamming, and Toby bounds towards the hedge, barking. I look up. Daniel has just stepped into his garden; he leans a large canvas against the side of his cottage before turning around and giving me one of his glowering looks.

I stare at him in return, then push myself to my feet. Except, my foot has caught in a trailing root and I fall flat on my face. A starburst of pain explodes in front of my eyes; I lie still, catching my breath.

“Are you alright?” a concerned voice asks.

I let out a gasp. Daniel has come to stand in front of me; he must have thrust his way through that damn gap in the laurel.

He scowls. “You’ve cut yourself.”

Wincing, I touch my cheek, then stare at my fingers. Blood. “Shit.”

“Do you have a first aid box?”

I’m the mother of a five-year old. Of course, I have a first aid box. I nod and stagger to my feet, embarrassed by the sudden sting of tears in my eyes.

He rubs a hand through his dark hair. “Well, lead the way then.”

We step into my kitchen. Thank God, it’s tidy for once… dishes loaded in the dishwasher, cereal packets in the cupboard. I reach for the box on the counter, about to open it, but Daniel grabs it from me. “Sit down while I clean you up.”

With shaky legs, I do as he asks. He takes a wad of cotton wool and soaks it in disinfectant. I press my lips flat as he wipes my cheek. Carefully… like I might break. “It’s only a scratch,” he says gruffly, “you’ll live.”

His masculine scent is in my nostrils and my treacherous body starts to respond. I white-knuckle the chair.

Stop it, Cat. This man is not for you.

“Would you like a coffee?” I ask, to give myself something else on which to focus.

He glances at his watch. “Thank you, but I haven’t the time. There’s a painting I need to finish before picking Ben up from school.”

“Right.” I feel the blush. “Thanks again for being a good Samaritan.”

That scornful smile is back. In full force. “You’re welcome.”

I see him out, then open my laptop to search for Daniel Collins the artist.

Nothing.

Not one word.

How weird!

* * *

The next afternoon I’m working out in the garden once more, fighting a losing battle against the weeds. Bent double, I yank at the damn plants, puffing out breaths and sweating buckets.

Toby starts barking and a voice booms across the garden. “Would you like a hand?”

Daniel is standing on my side of the hedge. I stare at him openly. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure.” His lips curl.

“In that case, thanks.” My throat tightens. “Josh, my husband, I mean my late husband, used to do all the heavy gardening back in Manchester.” An image comes into my mind of him digging the flower beds before planting summer bulbs. I turn my head away from Daniel, swallowing the lump in my throat. Tomorrow will be the third anniversary of Josh’s passing. It will be a poignant day.

Daniel grabs the garden fork and sets to work, his muscular arms pushing the prongs into the earth. “Need to get those roots out, or they’ll just grow back.”

He works quickly while I pull up the smaller weeds, but in silence; it seems small talk isn’t his thing. Eventually, I feel an ache in my back, signalling the need for a break. “How about a coffee?” I ask like I did yesterday.

He shakes his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I should get back to my painting.”

“I’m sure it can wait a couple of minutes.” Nervous knots swirl in my stomach. I can’t help myself; I want to find out more about him.

The hint of a smile gleams in his eyes. “Okay, but not coffee. I’d prefer water.” He laughs low in his throat; it’s as if he’s mocking himself.

We remove our mucky boots and leave them by the kitchen door. I fill two glasses from the jug in the fridge and hand one to him.

He drinks it down.

“There’s mud on your cheek,” he says, out of the blue. “Good thing that cut has scabbed over.”

I must look a complete mess, covered in dirt and sweat. It doesn’t matter; I don’t care what I look like. I mean, I’m not interested in Daniel Collins. He’s a brute. I grab a cloth from the sink and rub at my face.

“Here, allow me.” He reaches for the cloth and I let him take it.

Let him hold my chin.

Let him gently wipe away the mud.

I breathe in his masculine scent again and fight the urge to trace my fingers through his wild beard. I lower my head, my eyes avoiding his. Then I pull away and take the cloth from him. “Tell me about your paintings.” I decide to come right out with it. “I looked you up online but couldn’t find anything.”

His brows pull together in a frown. “Spying on me, were you?”

My fingers fly to my chest. “Of course, not. I was just curious.”

“You know what they say about curiosity?” His eyes are cold, hard and flinty. “It killed the cat. You don’t want to know anything about me, Cat with a capital C. I’m toxic.”

I fold my arms. “I feel sorry for Ben, having a dad like you.” The words are out of my mouth before I realise what I’m saying. I clap my hand to my lips. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s none of my business.”

Without warning, he leans into me. “It is none of your fucking business, but I’ll tell you this. I sell my work anonymously. For reasons you don’t need to know. Get that, Welsh woman? Now butt out of my life.”

I stare him in the eye, my body tensing. “I didn’t ask you to come around here today. I’m grateful for your help, don’t get me wrong. But you didn’t have to.”

“No. I didn’t. It was a mistake.” His voice is a growl.

Without a backward glance, he spins on his heel, picks his boots up off the floor, and storms out of my kitchen.

Brute!

* * *

Later, after putting Becca to bed, I pour myself a glass of wine. We went to Aldridge House to have tea with Eleri and her kids after school. She was excited about recording another album. Hard to believe she’s the same shy girl I used to know in high school. Gabe and Luke brought her out of herself and gave her the confidence to pursue a singing career. She’s quite a celebrity these days; she’s released three albums already and has topped the charts with all of them. She keeps a low profile, though, except when she’s on tour.

I didn’t tell her about Daniel’s rudeness, didn’t let on I’d had anything to do with him. What would be the point? I’m not going to slip up on that front again. He’s a freaking monster. If he so much as shows his face around here I won’t relent; I’ll tell him to damn well sod off.

I take a sip from my glass. My eyes grow heavy, and I swallow more wine. I remember when Josh and I first got together after a school hiking expedition. I’d sprained my ankle and he literally carried me down the mountain. It made me change my perception of him; he became everything to me. We applied to go to the same university, so we could be together; we were married soon after graduation. Becca came along almost immediately, and we planned on having at least two more kids.

Except, fate shattered all our dreams. Terminal Leukaemia, they said, when they finally figured out what was wrong with him. A genetic mutation in the cancer cells made the disease so aggressive it was too late for a stem cell or bone marrow transplant. I lost him within weeks. I knuckle the tears from my eyes, remembering that night like it was yesterday. I watched him take his last breath lying on the bed we’d moved downstairs. It nearly killed me. I’d held his hand, committing his beautiful but gaunt face to memory. I sip more wine now, the salt from my tears mingling with the taste. I miss him so much. Will he come to me tonight in my dreams? It’s like he does that to help me get over his loss.

I knock back the last of the wine in my glass, put it in the dishwasher, and, with heavy steps, go upstairs to bed.

* * *

Josh holding me in my dream feels so real. He runs his warm tongue up my breasts, swathing it around my nipples before lapping at them hungrily. I thread my fingers through his hair and writhe my body. “Yes, oh yes, like that.”

I squirm down the bed and take him in my mouth, sucking hard and fast. He’s so deep in my throat that I gag. I swallow his cum and kiss the skin on his abs, loving the taste and smell of him. He’s hard for me again, and I straddle him. I ease myself onto him, slowly; I’m so wet that I take him into me easily. We rock together, our eyes locked, until we come in a mutual explosion of such pleasure it jolts me wide awake.

My pussy is still quivering, and I touch myself between my legs. I don’t always dream about Josh fucking me, though. Mostly we’re just hanging out. He comes to me from beyond this world, I think. Once, he told me he wanted me to find love again. That he wouldn’t mind if I did. But I’d told him I wasn’t ready.

I close my eyes, willing sleep to take me to him again. The night is hot, and my bedroom window is open. A sudden shrill scream echoes in the air, followed by the sound of a child crying.

Oh, my God, Becca.

I jump out of bed and race to her room, but she’s fast asleep, curled on her side with her Paddington teddy in her arms. Toby looks up at me and wags his tail.

I return to my room and listen. It’s Ben. Sobbing as if his heart will break. Jesus, what has that brute done to him? I grab my dressing gown and go downstairs. Not even giving myself a second to question my actions, I sprint out of the cottage and down the garden path. There’s a full moon and I can see clearly. The laurel leaves part as I push my way through the hedge. I suck in a quick breath, then run up to Daniel’s front door.