Farm to Fabre, page 1
Farm to Fabre
Dahlia Donovan
Hot Tree Publishing
Also by Dahlia Donovan
The Grasmere Cottage Mystery Trilogy
Dead in the Garden | Dead in the Pond | Dead in the Shop
* * *
Motts Cold Case Mystery Series
Poisoned Primrose | Pierced Peony | Pickled Petunia | Purloined Poinsettia
* * *
London Podcast Mystery Series
Cosplay Killer | Ghost Light Killer | Crown Court Killer
* * *
Stand-alone Romances
After the Scrum | At War With A Broken Heart | Forged in Flood | Found You | One Last Heist | Pure Dumb Luck | Here Comes The Son | All Lathered Up | Not Even A Mouse | Farm to Fabre | The Misguided Confession
* * *
The Sin Bin (Complete Series)
The Wanderer | The Caretaker | The Royal Marine | The Botanist | The Unexpected Santa | The Lion Tamer | Haka Ever After
Farm to Fabre © 2022 by Dahlia Donovan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
Farm to Fabre is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.
www.hottreepublishing.com
Editing: Hot Tree Editing
Cover Designer: BooksSmith Design
E-book ISBN: 978-1-922679-43-7
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-922679-44-4
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Also by Dahlia Donovan
Acknowledgments
About the Author
About the Publisher
For anyone who has struggled to find the right words to express how they feel or their sexuality.
Chapter 1
Andie
January
It is time to wake up.
Feel yourself slowly floating to consciousness.
It is time to wake up.
“No.” Andie slapped her hand absently against the nightstand, knocking over her bottle of water while hunting for her phone. She jabbed at it before holding it above her face and then frowned. “What do you mean, you don’t recognise my face? It’s my face. The faceiest of faces. It’s the only one I have.”
Dropping back onto the pillow, Andie scowled in the darkness. Her nonna had forced her to download the calming wake-up app. Unfortunately, it mostly made her feel like she’d joined a cult.
“Fine.” Andie stretched her arm out to flip on a light. “Oh, that’s unnecessarily bright. There. Now can you recognise my face? Thank you.”
She managed to get the app turned off. How was it supposed to help her wake up in a good mood? All it had done was make her want to smash her phone with a hammer.
“Hello, Rups.” Andie rolled over to scratch her farm dog, a four-year-old Airedale Terrier. She’d named him Rupert because he reminded her of a scruffy, grumpy old man.
“Are we ready for the morning? No, neither am I.”
Andriana Milne-Marchetti ran the M & M Farm outside a little village in Aberdeenshire in Scotland. She’d taken over when her parents decided to retire and move to Sicily to spend time with her nonna and nonno. Her mother had wanted to be with her parents, as they were both getting older.
Andie’s father came from old Scottish farming stock, and the farm had been in the Milne family for ages. They no longer had cows and sheep. Her parents had turned it into a fruit orchard when Andie was a little girl.
She adored the farm. It had been her childhood dream to have the run of the place. She had so many ideas, including running a pop-up supper for her friends in the village.
Farm to table, as it were.
Yes, it was lonely on the farm with just Rupert, but she loved it nonetheless.
“All right, you furry fiend, why don’t we see what we can scrounge up for breakfast?” Andie checked the date on her phone and cursed. “Is it already the fourteenth? Doc’s going to be here today.”
Docherty Fabre was a family friend. He’d lived in the village for a while before deciding to travel. Something had happened to him, though.
Her father had called her a few weeks back, asking if she minded if Doc stayed at the farm. They had a small shed that had been converted into a living space. Nothing fancy. Just a bedroom and a bathroom. Andie had immediately invited him to stay for as long as he needed.
And I’m going to regret it when I can’t handle my embarrassing crush.
Nope. Don’t think about it. Hopefully, the more you ignore it, the easier it’ll become to pretend nothing’s there.
If I don’t mention the awkward kiss under the apple trees, maybe he won’t either.
Probably won’t, since he ran off like a bloody coward.
Stumbling into the bathroom, Andie stared at her reflection in the mirror. She shoved her brown hair out of her dark brown eyes. It was almost time to give herself another trim. She’d begun cutting her own hair when her favourite hairdresser (and best friend) moved to Edinburgh.
She hadn’t done the worst job. It was all one length, and she wore a beanie most days. So what did the slight unevenness to her pixie cut matter?
Rupert sat beside her, huffing at her when she reached for her moisturizer.
“I wasn’t lucky enough to inherit Mama’s smooth, tanned skin. I got Da’s freckles and easily dried-out skin instead.” Andie had learnt the hard way to liberally use moisturizer, particularly during the winter months. “I’ll let you out in a moment. Hold your horses.”
The farm cottage was an old stone home that her great-granddad had built. Her father had renovated some of it. But it retained the personality and creakiness of the original.
Old wooden floors that showed the passage of time and footsteps. Doorknobs that required opening a specific way to get them to cooperate. A smallish kitchen that had seen so many family memories.
Andie had considered completely redoing the interior of the cottage. She’d gone so far as to get quotes from contractors. But sitting at the old family kitchen table, one her great-grandfather had built, with her coffee and toast, she’d changed her mind.
The one thing Andie had done was install a new heating system. Electric radiators. She’d gotten one for the bedrooms and one in the kitchen. The living room had a working fireplace as well.
The cottage had felt so incredibly cramped with two bedrooms and one bathroom as a teenager. Now, on her own, it seemed almost cavernous. Especially on cold nights with no one but Rupert to keep her company.
Making her way through the kitchen, Andie opened the door for Rupert to rush out. She put the kettle on the stove and then raced back to the bedroom for her socks and a jumper. It was a crisp January morning.
Once Rupert returned from his morning ablutions, Andie set his breakfast down for him. She had a few slices of toast while cooking up some porridge. A hearty meal to stick with her through the long hours of working on the farm.
With breakfast done, Andie changed out of her pyjamas into what she jokingly called her farm girl uniform. Jeans, comfortable boots, a long-sleeved T-shirt plus a thick hoodie and a jacket in the winter. Layers. Layers mattered, since all the physical labour meant she’d want to shed a few items of clothing by midday.
Making her way outside with Rupert trotting ahead of her, Andie got to the easiest items on her to-do list. Or what she’d assumed to be the simplest. She hadn’t expected to run into trouble when making sure all the plants were watered.
How wrong she was.
“Ah, you wee little bugger.” Andie had been struggling with the irrigation system for her polytunnels all morning. She’d been trying to get it going for three hours. “Would you just bloody work?”
The answer was no.
It wouldn’t.
Dragging an empty crate over, Andie sat down to contemplate her options. She didn’t have time to run into the village for parts. She whistled for Rupert, who came bounding around the corner.
“What are you up to, Rups?” She scratched behind his ear while continuing to think. Maybe there was something in the tool shed to help get the water flowing. “We’re going to have a visitor. I’ll finally have someone to talk to that isn’t furry.”
Her dog gazed over at her.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with talking to you. There isn’t.” Andie gave him one last go od scratch, then pushed herself up off the crate. “They won’t irrigate themselves, will they?”
The farm had rows and rows of polytunnels. It was how she managed to get her crops of berries planted in the winter ready for harvest. The strawberries arrived frozen, ready for her to take care of them.
The tunnels were composed of timber, arches made of galvanized steel tubing, and a super-thermal cover that had ventilation panelling on the sides and an irrigation system that ran overhead to cover the raised beds. The planting beds had been built with the help of another local farmer. They’d used reclaimed wood, which saved money.
But first, she had to get the irrigation system working.
Three hours.
Three actual hours.
Andie was covered in mud from head to toe by the time she finished. She’d wrestled the irrigation system into submission—found the damaged connection in the sixth polytunnel she’d checked. “Well, Rups? Think I’ve time for a shower before Doc arrives?”
“Odds are against you.”
She smiled at the familiar low baritone behind her and then grimaced when she glanced down at her clothes. “You’re early.”
“I’m not. Your watch is obviously covered in whatever filth you’ve been rolling around in.” He hadn’t changed much since she’d seen him over Christmas a few years ago. Still a tall teddy bear of a man with a riot of wavy black hair now streaked with grey, as was his beard. “You’ve a wee bit of mud on you.”
“Droll, Doc. Is that the word of the day? It should be. Droll.” Andie stood up and stretched, trying to ignore the state of her clothes. She was relatively tall at just under six feet. He stood several inches taller. “What brings you to the wilds of Scotland? Mama didn’t say.”
“Writer’s block.” Doc grabbed his bag and stalked off in the direction of the little shed turned tiny home, throwing a worrying remark over his shoulder on the way. “I won’t be a bother.”
“You’re never a bother. I would have spruced up the place if you were.” Andie stared after him with a worrying combination of concern and confusion. Doc could occasionally be taciturn and often isolated himself; she’d always assumed it was part and parcel of his being autistic. But this seemed different, and she remembered her parents mentioning something had happened. “We’re going to find out what’s going on, Rups.”
Somehow.
How hard could it be? She’d already fixed her irrigation system. It couldn’t be as convoluted as that.
Could it?
“What do you think, Rupert? How complicated can the human head and heart be?” Andie chuckled when he dropped his head down. “You’re probably right.”
Chapter 2
Doc
January
For the past three years, Doc had been travelling the world searching for inspiration. Mostly he’d found heartbreak and misunderstandings. And writer’s block. He hadn’t found words.
He’d lost them.
Somewhere in Venice or maybe Rome.
When his old friend Alex had offered a stay at the farm, Doc had gratefully accepted. He’d been ecstatic at a chance to be alone. Remove himself from people. From crowds. And then he’d considered who currently resided there.
Andie.
Andriana.
She’d been the reason for his flight from Scotland in the first place. They’d kissed. Once. Under an apple tree on Christmas Eve. It had surprised both of them.
There hadn’t even been mistletoe involved.
And then he’d fled Scotland to avoid her.
Someone has to have written a song about kissing under an apple tree.
And about a fool in love who is also a cowardly lion.
He’d told himself it wasn’t running away. Instead, he’d made a conscious decision to leave for both their sakes. She deserved better.
Better than a curmudgeon of an author who had fourteen or so years on her.
Then again, the age gap hadn’t really bothered him that much. Her parents were twelve years apart in age. His mother had been ten years older than his father.
Maybe he’d just been too afraid to make the leap. Too afraid of feelings he struggled to understand, not wanting to delve too deeply into himself for fear of disappointing her.
“Knock, knock,” Andie called, disrupting the swirling thoughts in his mind. “No. Rupert! Come back here.”
It was his only warning before the Airedale came barging into the little house. He skittered around the small living area and then plopped down on his belly. His tail wagged when Doc reached down to give him a good scratch.
“He’s not a bother.” Doc waved off her concern when she inched her way into the tiny living room. “How can I help? I’ve barely unpacked.”
“I know you have a word block to destroy, but I thought a warm meal by the fire might encourage the demolition?” Andie had always loved to cook, he remembered. It was almost like watching an artist create when she was in the kitchen, and almost as messy. “Nothing fancy, mind.”
“Your idea of fancy cooking and mine are vastly different.” Doc was a dab hand at only a few things in the kitchen. “You sure I won’t be a bother?”
“Well, unless you’ve a fully stocked larder in your luggage, you’re either going to starve or eat your meals with me.” Andie eyed him up and down; her brown eyes always seemed to stare right into his soul. “I won’t bite. I won’t even kiss you, since the last time I did, you went running for the hills and over the seas.”
“Andie.” Doc winced at the direct blow she’d dealt him. “I’m—”
“I even baked my nonna’s apple cake for you.” Andie cut him off ruthlessly while picking at the threads of her clean cardigan. She’d changed out of her muddy clothes before coming to see him. “You’ll come up for supper, right? In a couple of hours?”
“I will. How are your cats?” Doc blurted. He’d always found small talk uncomfortable, particularly with an underlying sense of guilt and unresolved tension in the air. “The barn cats.”
Andie raised her eyebrows before breaking into a smile. “They’re lovely. I’ve rescued a few more. I’ll have to show you the home I’ve built for them. They’re doing really well. Seem quite content to hang about, and Rups isn’t bothering them. A win-win.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing them.” Doc had thought about talking with Andie almost every day since he’d fled. He’d practised the speech he wanted to give her, yet all the words had vanished. His brain could occasionally be his worst enemy, so he settled for the mundane. “You’ve done wonders here with the farm.”
“Doc.” Andie dragged her fingers through her short hair, tugging at the ends. He thought she might be a little frustrated with him. Or maybe the situation. “I want us both to be comfortable here. We don’t have to talk about what happened that Christmas.”
“Don’t we?”
“No.”
Doc didn’t think she necessarily believed it would be that easy either. “Can you pretend it never happened?”
“We’ve been doing a bloody good job of it up to this point. Why change now?” Andie reached out to pet Rupert when he whined up at her. “Sorry, Rups. I promise I’m not angry.”
“Aren’t you?”
Andie continued to peer down at Rupert. Doc had always appreciated how she never tried to force eye contact on him. “I’m not angry. I wasn’t at the time either. Frustrated, if anything.”
“Frustration feels like anger to me. But I’m sorry for leaving without speaking to you.” Doc had figured Andie would be fine. He hadn’t thought she’d be overly upset with his absence; he’d been wrong. “I’m sorry.”
The silence grew between them. Doc enjoyed quiet most of the time, but he didn’t like tension-filled moments when the calm was more of an anticipation of the coming storm.
