Page 11 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

Milo stares at Oz and Mr Johnson goes slowly purple in the face. “What the hell do you mean?”

“Well, talk says they’re always in the pub and a few people have seen the pig’s ear here and–” He shrugs. “They put two and two together and made–”

“Seventeen,” the builder barks but Oz slowly shakes his head.

“I’d have said four myself.”

“What the hell would you know about it, you tatted-up bog-trotting Southerner?”

My fists clench and I go to push my way in but Niall grabs my arm. “No. Leave him.”

“He’s getting really offensive.”

“So? Watch. Oz has got this.”

His utter confidence makes me relax slightly and I peep into the room to see Oz shrug.

“Obviously nothing, Mr Johnson. Because, as you so astutely pointed out, I am an Irishman living in our great capital city and we don’t know much about building work.

” The builder looks suspiciously at him as if he senses a piss take, but Oz carries on relentlessly.

“However, I do know something about gossip and if this inadequate work rate continues and your firm doesn’t complete the job in an excellent and timely manner, well,” He shrugs.

“I might just develop a drinking problem of my own. Of course, I’m too much of a flibbertigibbet and grow bored so easily that I won’t just drink in the local.

I think I’ll spread my drinking around, and, Barry, when I drink I develop very loose lips.

” He turns to Milo who immediately looks worried.

“At least that’s what it says on the toilet walls in Tottenham. ”

I can’t help my snort of laughter. The conversation automatically dies and Niall and I step into the room.

“Oh, Lord Ashworth,” the builder immediately says. “How nice to see you.”

Oz rolls his eyes and I repress a smile.

“The same to you, Mr Johnson,” I say solemnly. “Has Oz been speaking to you about a way forward through this awful mess?”

“Yes. I, … yes,” the builder falters.

“Yes,” Oz says brightly. “We thought, or rather Mr Johnson thought, that the solution would be to put more men on it.” He smiles winsomely at him.

“But won’t that cost more money?” I cry out far too dramatically because Oz’s lips twitch.

“Of course not,” he says smoothly and turns to the builder who has the look of someone who’s walked into a wall he didn’t see.

I’d be prepared to bet my house that a lot of people wear this look after misjudging Oz Gallagher.

“I think that Mr Johnson was about to say that he’d carry the cost because of the mismanagement of the project.

” He smiles sunnily at the man. “And Mr Johnson himself is going to oversee his men. Isn’t that lovely of him? We need him so much.”

“How super,” I cry out, and Niall snorts.

The builder shakes his head, his expression wry and almost admiring when he looks at Oz. “I know when I’m beat,” he says.

“Never beaten,” Oz says charmingly, putting out his hand to the man. “Let’s just say we’ve come to an understanding.”

“I understand it’s best not to underestimate you, Oz.”

Oz nods happily. “That’s the best sort of understanding. Now, shall we get a nice cup of tea and walk through how much work there is to do?” He pauses. “And maybe how you should put some more workers on it.”

The builder nods dazedly and turns to walk out. Oz turns back and winks at me and we share a smile of total understanding, mirth brimming in our gaze, before he leaves like a king followed by Milo clutching the plans and looking nonplussed.

Niall claps me on the back. “Shit, we might get this done in time,” he says in an awed manner.

I shrug. “I haven’t doubted that since I met him.”

“You see? Perfect.”

“What?” I ask absently but he never replies.

Oz

That night at midnight I sit at the kitchen table looking over the mass of papers and plans and sheets of paper covered with my sprawling handwriting. I lift my glasses and rub my eyes and look again. No, still there .

I look down at my current huge shadow who is sitting by my chair and watching me with mournful brown eyes.

“Are you waiting for me to start screaming, Chewwy, or just bored?” I ask conversationally.

He stares at me for a long second and then gives a huge yawn which shows off his massive teeth. I shrug. “Okay, just bored.”

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

The deep voice coming from the kitchen door makes me jump. “Shit, you startled me.” I take my black-framed glasses off, feeling slightly self-conscious at being found talking to the dog. “I took my contact lenses out.”

Silas gives me an exhausted smile. “They suit you.”

He comes into the room fully and I look at the tired slump of his shoulders. “Have you been out on a call?”

He gives a jaw-cracking yawn that almost sets me off. “Horse birth that looked like it was about to go pear shaped.”

“Bugger. Was everything okay?”

He nods and grins. “One very pretty filly called Moonshine.”

“Aw, that’s pretty.” I pause. “So, while we had dinner you’ve had your hand up a horse’s vagina.” He nods, biting his lip in an attempt not to smile, and I grin. “After the dinner we had, I have to say your evening looks like it might have been better.”

A burst of laughter comes from him and I smile as he sinks into the chair opposite me. I can’t help the warm feeling I’m getting in my chest at making him laugh. Why, oh why, does he have to be so nice and sleepy looking?

His voice breaks into my thoughts. “How bad was it?”

I shudder. “We had beef casserole.”

He grimaces. “God, I feel your pain. Last time I forced that down I was ten and I had to eat it because my father believed in serving up leftovers until they were eaten.” I stare at him and he nods. “I had it for breakfast, lunch and supper.”

“Oh my God. Did you eat it in the end?”

“Did I, fuck. I gave it to Cyclops, our old bulldog. It made him sick, though, so I spent a whole night nursing him and mopping up vomit.” He pauses. “Which was still better than eating that shit.”

I laugh. “Is that where the desire to be a vet came from?”

He stares at the wall, deep in thought. “No. I just think that animals are better than humans for the most part. They’re simple. You love them and they love you back, and no matter how you fuck up they still love you. That’s loyalty for you.” He seems to come to and gives me an embarrassed look.

I smile at him, touched but not saying anything. “So, that must mean the cook’s been with you for thirty years. How the fuck is that possible?”

“Mrs Granger is actually lovely. She just can’t cook. Although her baking is wonderful.” He sighs. “Her cakes are so gorgeous and wait until you try her scones.” He gives me an almost shy look. “She was always really good to Henry and me when we were little.”

“Ah, that explains the longevity of a cook that can’t actually cook.

” I pause. “I was starting to think she was a Borrower or something. I’ve never seen her.

Just these meals appearing on the table.

” I think for a moment. “But a reverse Borrower because they’re so awful.

I looked up the nearest McDonalds tonight. ”

He grins. “St Austell. Mention my name and you’ll get a good table.”

“It’s not what you know, it’s who,” I say piously as he laughs.

I smile at him and chuckle as his stomach gives a massive rumble.

“Sorry,” he grins. “It’s all that talk about cake.”

I stand up. “Well, unlike Mrs Granger, I can cook. I’ll make you something.”

He looks startled, which he should be. I don’t usually cook for men, only my mum. “Oh no, you don’t have to.”

“What do you normally do?” I ask curiously. “I imagine vets keep very late hours.”

He nods. “If I’m not too tired I’ll grab a sandwich. If I’m knackered I just go to bed.” He shudders. “And look forward to breakfast.”

“Well, I’m going to make you something and I don’t want any arguments. They’re so tedious and it gets boring when I win them.”

He smiles with a devastating quirk of his lips, but then looks at his watch and frowns. “But it’s so late.”

“Pshaw. This isn’t late. In London I’d only just be going into the clubs. Besides, I’m used to cooking at this time.” He shoots a questioning look at me and I grin. “My mum’s a nurse. I used to cook for her when she came in off a late shift.”

“How old were you when you started doing that?”

I think hard. “I was about twelve when I picked up a cookery book. She used to be so bloody tired when she came in, literally dragging herself over the doorstep, and it was a way for me to help.”

He gives me a soft smile. “You’re close to your mum, aren’t you?”

I turn to grab a pan from the cupboard and nod. “It’s always been just the two of us so we’re Team Gallagher. She’s the best person in the world.”

“She sounds it,” he says softly.

“I’ll make you a breakfast frittata,” I decide. “It’s her favourite.”

He groans. “God, that sounds good.”

I shift slightly at that low sound, my cock filling. What would it sound like if we were lying naked together? I push the thought quickly away and busy myself with grabbing the stuff I need from the fridge.

He prods the papers on the table. “Are these keeping you awake?”

I groan. “It’s a mess. I can’t lie.”

He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why? It’s not your fault.”

“I did employ him.”

“Did you know him from before?”

He nods. “He’s a friend’s little brother.” He pauses. “Which has gone down as well as can be expected.” I grimace and he nods. “Still, you make your bed.”

“Seems to me he didn’t help with the making of it or the tidying up in the morning.” I shrug. “He’s gone. We’re here. This is the mess we have to deal with.”

He looks startled. “Okay. That’s blunt.”

I smile at him as I fry the potatoes. “It is as it is. If I was nobility I’d have that as my heraldic motto.” I pause. “What’s on yours?”

He looks almost embarrassed. “Duty and love,” he mutters, and I pause with the spatula held up. I don’t know him well but already that seems like something he would try to live by. He has a very honest and earnest air about him. An air of capability and strength. I mentally shake myself.

“Shame it doesn’t read, ‘Ashworths. Making the money rain for centuries’.”

He laughs. “That sounds like an insurance ad. Or a stripper’s business card.” He picks up one of the plans. “I was very impressed with you this morning.”

I look up startled and feel a flush on my cheeks. I had no idea he was listening until he appeared and I’d spent a few hours afterwards trying to remember if I’d said anything outrageous. After that, I’d shrugged and accepted the fact that I probably had.

“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Because Barry–” He shoots me a glance and I grin. “Barry is a very tough customer. He’s a really good builder but a shit judge of character, and the leader of the project on his side is his future son-in-law.”

“Shit!” I say with feeling. “I’m amazed he gave in.”

He laughs. “I don’t think he had much choice with your not-so-veiled threat to chat shit about him all over Cornwall.”

“Just South Cornwall,” I protest. “And then only the pubs on a bus route. I can’t drive.”

His head shoots up. “You can’t drive?”

“I also can’t shoot aliens and ride unicorns if you want to say that in the same disbelieving tone.”

He tries to stop his smile. “I’m sorry. It’s just I thought everyone drove.”

“Out here probably,” I say mildly, dishing up his very early breakfast and placing it in front of him.

Chewwy immediately sits up in an interested fashion and I shake my head at him.

The frittata looks colourful with peppers and tomatoes gleaming like tiny jewels.

“But we didn’t have the money for either driving lessons or a car when I was of age so I never bothered.

Besides, it’s so expensive to have a car in London, and where would I keep it?

It’d only have wheels for a few hours where I live. ”

A troubled expression crosses his face so I shake my head. “Don’t feel sorry for me, for God’s sake. London transport is cheap, and although not cheerful, it’s plentiful. I don’t need a car.”

“You might struggle out here.”

“You mean I haven’t got my own chauffeur?” I ask, opening my eyes wide.

He laughs. “Of course. It’s just that he’s at the pub at the moment.” He takes a bite of the frittata and moans under his breath. “Christ, this is lovely.”

“I know,” I say modestly.

He grins at me as I pour us both a cup of tea. “It’s like a miracle. It’s not cold or greasy and it even looks like food.”

“Oh, stop it,” I grin. “And by that, I mean do go on.”

He smiles and falls on his food, eating with a healthy appreciation that touches me. I draw my pad to me and out of sight scrawl: Employ new cook and do something else for Mrs Granger.

He looks at me curiously. “So, you’ve sorted out the builders. Tell me what’s next on your list of miracles.”

I consider before shoving my master list towards him. “I think I’ll start here.”

He looks down and for the next hour we sit companionably, chatting over tea with our plan of action, and I wince as I realise that this job just got a lot more difficult because at the top of my plan of action I really want to write: Make Silas smile and stop being so tired and worried.

Shit!