Page 19 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Lando

JEREMY: Mate, I need to talk to you.

JEREMY: I know I fucked up but pick up your phone. It’s important.

T he vision of Jeremy’s Superman logo’d white arse burns in my brain, and until the day comes when it’s not the first thing I think about when either of their names are mentioned, I have no intention of speaking to them ever again.

Wherever Caroline is, I’m sure she’s happily wearing the four million pounds’ worth of jewelry I bought her over the course of our relationship and was allowed to keep.

And Jeremy? I have zero fucks to give about what Jeremy’s doing or why he needs to speak to me.

On the plus side, the messages do make me realize I haven’t thought about either of them in a few weeks. Unless you count Mrs. Fraser at the summer fair or when I went to Bluebell to see Holiday, my thoughts have been adultery-free.

And I plan on keeping it that way.

Just like all the others before it, I delete the messages and go to slip the phone back into my pocket. On second thought . . . I bring up Jeremy’s contact details and hit Block.

There.

No point in ruining a perfectly lovely day with a stream of unwanted messages.

A lovely day that I intend to continue by taking Thunder through the fields, one of his favorite things to do. First, however, he’s got a new set of shoes being fitted.

Arriving at the stable yard, I’m only greeted by silence. Silent enough for me to notice Thunder isn’t where he should be. Usually, when I arrive, he’s whinnying his head in excitement, hopping about while a groom is trying his best to tack him up.

All I find is Max’s pony Sherbet, a fat little Shetland, face first in a bucket of feed, snorting up his breakfast like he’s never eaten before, and Sunday, Thunder’s best friend, kicking his door in annoyance because Thunder isn’t there.

The rest of the stables contain their usual residents. It’s only my horse who’s not where he’s supposed to be.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” One of the stable boys walking past with two very full buckets of water nods.

“Morning, Will. Where’s Thunder?”

“Jack’s out in the field trying to get him in. He wasn’t waiting at the gate this morning, so I brought the rest of them in, and Jack went to fetch him.”

I frown because my horse is too astute for his own good.

There’s a reason we’re doing the farrier’s visit at breakfast time—Thunder doesn’t like to miss his breakfast. He’s usually fighting Sherbet to be first in line and into his stable for a bucket of feed, followed by a long nap. But as much as he loves breakfast, he hates the farrier.

“You should have called me earlier.”

“Sorry, Your Grace, he’s just gone over to the far field, is all. Jack’s gone out with a headcollar. ”

We try to keep the horses contained within designated spaces, but Thunder does what he wants and will jump a fence without a second thought, which makes it all the more inconvenient when he has an appointment.

I run into the stable office, grab the keys for one of the four-wheelers, and take off for the far field at the top of the valley.

I’m going so fast, it only takes me ten minutes to reach the place where Will said he’d be.

In the distance, I spot Jack, hurrying up the bank to the top of the hill, and hit the throttle.

Jack spins around as he hears the engine, his red cheeks puffing from his unexpected morning jog. Or perhaps his annoyance at a misbehaving horse.

I’ve had Thunder since he was a foal. His father, Zeus, was my father’s favorite horse, and every time I ride him, I feel like I’m closer to my dad. But just like his father, Thunder has a tendency to misbehave, which I find more amusing than Jack does.

“Mornin’, Your Grace.”

“Where is he?”

He taps the binoculars around his neck. “Walking the fence line.”

“But he’s okay?”

“He’s fine. Just bloody stubborn,” he grumbles. “Won’t come in if he doesn’t want to.”

Jack’s ahead of me, so he doesn’t see me smile.

Because if I’m grumpy, there’s one person who could legitimately be called grumpier than I am, and it’s Jack.

Now in his late sixties, I remember him when I was a boy running the stable yard for my father, and even then, his temperament was less than sunny.

But regardless of his mood, everyone loves him. Humans and animals alike. And while he’s less keen on the humans, no one cares for horses more than Jack, even when they’re misbehaving .

As we pass through the final gate and reach the top of the hill, I spot Thunder for the first time. Sure enough, he’s prancing back and forth along the fence line.

“What is he doing?”

When I take the binoculars from Jack for a closer look, it appears that Thunder is absolutely fine—no limp, no sullen posture, no signs of trauma or anxiety—just doing everything he can not to visit the farrier.

It’s as he jumps around that I notice something on the other side of the fence. Or should I say some one. A blond someone.

I don’t know what she’s doing or how she’s found herself there, but if I’m not mistaken, Holiday’s talking to Thunder.

My lips twist, and before I can stop it, a laugh barrels up my throat and belts out. Jack turns to me with a quizzical expression.

“It’s okay. I got this. You take the four-wheeler back, and I’ll bring him down,” I say, holding my hand out for the headcollar.

I approach slowly, taking my time to watch Holiday make her way along the drive with Thunder walking beside her, his glossy black coat shining in the early morning sun.

At seventeen and a half hands, he’s a big boy, and as docile as he can be, it’s unusual for him to be quite so enthusiastic about a stranger.

But there he is, matching her short strides with his long legs.

I’m wondering how she got here because it’s not an easy road to walk along from the village, when Thunder turns and spots me. His nostrils flare, and he lets out a long whinny, galloping over to me and grinding to a halt just in time to nudge my pockets.

I stroke down the thin white stripe on the bridge of his nose. It’s the only marking he has, like whoever painted him missed a spot.

“You get nothing until after the farrier.”

In response, he puffs out an annoyed snort, then turns and trots back to Holiday, who’s leaning against the fence.

A pair of aviators hang off the neck of her T-shirt, which means I can see her whole face.

The edges of her clear blue eyes crease from her smile, but aside from those, her face is devoid of lines.

As I get closer, I notice a constellation of freckles along her hairline and down the rim of her nose, which spills out onto her cheeks.

Once again, I realize how incredibly pretty she is.

I can see exactly why she’s Hollywood’s darling or whatever Miles called her.

“What are you doing here?”

She’s trying to pull her smile in, her mouth rolling in on one side.

“Well,” she begins, and I’m all ears. “I have my first cooking lesson with Pierre, but this morning, I realized I’d never been to your .

. . um”—she’s waving her hand around—“ place before. Except when Clemmie drove.” Her smile breaks out again.

“I guess I hadn’t been paying attention to how far it is or how dangerous the road is.

You know there’s no sidewalk, right? On the plus side, this road is quieter. ”

I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head. “It should be. This is the drive. It’s private.”

She peers left, then right. “This is the driveway ? It’s got to be two miles long.”

“Something like that.” I chuckle. “Didn’t you go through a set of gates?”

She nods. “Yeah, but I thought they were just gates, like the arch in the village.”

“Nope. They’re entrance gates.” Which should have been shut, but I don’t tell her that because I don’t want to discourage her from coming again.

“Okay, then. Well, I should ask what you’re doing all this way up here without a car. And maybe I need to add ‘get a car’ to my list. ”

“I came to fetch my horse. He’s late for an appointment. But it seems he’s being distracted.”

Truthfully, I can’t blame him. Holiday would make anyone lose track of time, and right now, he’s back to being by her side like he’s hoping she’ll protect him.

“What’s the appointment?”

“The farrier. He needs fitting for some new shoes.”

Turning to Thunder, she lets out a loud gasp, her eyes wide. “You’re going shoe shopping? Oh, Thunder, what a fun morning for you. What are you going to pick?”

I move to stand alongside them, though I’m thwarted by my horse. He’s decided he’s the only one to get Holiday’s attention today and blocks me from getting near the fence.

“He’s going to have a very attractive steel horseshoe-shaped pair.”

“Steel. Hmm. Well, I’m sure you’ll pull them off nicely.”

I know he doesn’t understand her or have any clue what shoe shopping is. But something about the way she’s combing her fingers through his forelock has him standing statue still, his head bent so she can reach between his ears.

I’m not convinced he hasn’t fallen asleep.

“You seem to know a lot about how to manage a horse, Hollywood.”

She peers around his huge head. “I can make anything seem believable. I’m an award-winning actress, aren’t I?”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

This time, she sticks her tongue out, and I decide this is my favorite version of her. The one with her chin jutted in defiance, with fire behind the blond hair and blue eyes, especially when it’s followed with a laugh that finishes in a snort.

“I’ve spent some time around horses. But I had a bad accident once, so now I keep my feet firmly on the ground. I’d also prefer to keep my distance, but Thunder here doesn’t respect personal space. ”

“It’s because you fed him donuts. He’s never going to leave you alone now.”

She chuckles and drops a kiss on his nose. I watch the movement—Thunder’s eyes closing as her lips touch him—and have a sudden and alarming desire to know what it feels like.

To be kissed by her. To kiss her.