Читать книгу Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry - Caroline Roberts - Страница 12

Rachel drove the two miles between their farms in the dark, along the familiar, twisting hawthorn-hedged country lanes. She felt a touch nervous, her tummy in a bit of a knot, as she neared his farm entrance gate. They didn’t get an awful lot of time alone, and though she was desperate to see him, all this togetherness was still strangely new. She so didn’t want to mess things up. She pulled to a halt, and soon found herself knocking at Tom’s farmhouse door, a fizz of anticipation building as she let herself in.

‘Hi, I’m here,’ Rachel announced.

Tom turned to greet her. He was standing at the kitchen island unit, opening a bottle of red wine. His hair was still slightly damp, as though he’d just got out of the shower. Hmm, just the thought of that sent a little shiver through her.

The house was a large, traditional honeyed-stone building similar to their own. Inside however, the kitchen had been modernised with light-coloured wood units and chrome fittings – a modernisation Tom’s ex-wife had insisted on, complaining that the original kitchen was archaic. It wasn’t the only thing she’d complained about, so Rachel had heard, with the relationship falling apart after four years. Caitlin had moved back to Newcastle, leaving Tom with a wrecked heart and a large bank loan to buy her out with, so he could keep the family farm intact.

‘Hey.’ He gave her a broad smile, that reached right through to his deep brown eyes.

‘Hi.’ Rachel handed him the pudding gift from her mother. ‘Crumble,’ she said with a suggestive grin.

‘Oh, perfect. Can’t wait to tuck in …’ His smile widened cheekily.

Mabel, Tom’s Jack Russell Terrier, then dashed to greet Rachel, leaving the warmth of her rug by the stove. She was soon skipping around her visitor’s feet, with her tail wagging merrily.

‘Hi Mabel, how are you?’ Rachel leaned to pat the little dog’s smooth white-and-brown patched head.

As she stood back up, Tom took a step forward, taking Rachel into his arms. ‘I’ve missed you.’ His lips met hers with a kiss that was tender and oh so promising. The knot in her stomach began to unravel.

‘Hah, it’s only been a matter of hours.’ She made light of it, but she had been thinking about him too. A snatched ‘hello’ at the Pantry was nothing like spending an evening together. She had a feeling Tom would have liked to meet up more, but life was busy enough and Rachel hadn’t wanted to crowd him or appear needy in these early days of their changing relationship. She was still getting used to it herself.

‘I know. But still …’ Tom added, his eyes intense. ‘Glass of red?’

‘Yes, please.’

They took their wine glasses through to the lounge, where a log fire was roaring away in the stone hearth. It was welcoming and cosy there, with a well-worn plum-coloured sofa set next to a low wooden coffee table. They were soon settled there together, chatting about their respective days. This was just what she needed after being up since six thirty out on the farm, hauling big circular hay bales about, preparing their store of winter supplies in the shed ready for the cattle and sheep, then on her feet all morning and afternoon at the Pudding Pantry. Tonight was a chance to chill out in some rather gorgeous company. She began to feel herself unwind.

Tom was sitting so very close … Then the urge to kiss him again hit her. She placed her glass down purposefully and leaned towards him. He didn’t need any encouragement. His lips were warm and welcoming, their tongues soon entwined. It was becoming familiar, the way his kiss felt, so tender and passionate. Soon, Rachel’s whole body was on high alert, every nerve ending tingling.

Still on the sofa, with their upper bodies pressed so very close, Rachel pushed him down so that he lay back across the cushions. Tom was a tall guy, and as he tried to position himself so she could move across him, his lower legs and feet hung awkwardly over the sofa arm. Rachel looked at his gangly arrangement and giggled.

‘Shall we move this fireside?’ he suggested with a cheeky, and rather sexy, arch of his eyebrow.

‘I think that sounds like a very good idea. We might well end up in A & E otherwise.’ Rachel laughed.

They shifted to the rug and lay down by the glowing heat of a crackling log fire. Tom, who was now propped on one elbow, gently pushed a strand of her dark wavy hair away from her face and gazed at her intensely.

‘You’re beautiful.’

‘Oh …’ Rachel never quite knew how to take a compliment, but she managed a smile.

They kissed again, with warm, wine-tasting lips, and Rachel lay him down, teasing off his shirt, button by button, guiding her fingertips underneath the cotton of his top, and tracing the taut muscles of his chest. She gave a little grin. ‘You’re not so bad yourself, Tom Watson.’

She loved the maleness of him, his strength, those toned muscles. As a working farmer, he was fit and healthy and she had to admit he looked damned good for his thirty-three years. And, it wasn’t all about the exterior, either; Tom’s personality was kind and caring too, and in contrast to all that strength, he still had the capacity to be gentle. He’d been a great support to all of them since her father’s death. In fact, Rachel mused, as she stroked his chest, trailing her fingertips down over his stomach where the muscles quivered involuntary, the whole of him was a very special combination, and making love with this wonderful man was a joy. She couldn’t wait to experience that all over again.

Tom shifted to sit up, his top now off and discarded across the floor, revealing a very attractive chest above his jeans. He began to slowly remove Rachel’s clothing, kissing her bared skin as he went. Down to her underwear now, he traced his hand along the curve of her waist, her hip, her thigh as she lay on her side. Soon they were both naked in the firelight glow.

The emotions within Rachel were powerful … yearning, loving, learning …

As they made love, she lost herself to him. And though she hadn’t voiced those words ‘I love you’ lately, she felt it within every bone in her body.

As they lay naked in the afterglow, Tom propped himself up on one elbow beside her.

‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked.

‘Yes, the fire’s lovely.’

‘And you’re okay?’ He sounded so caring, checking she was happy, that all of this was right for her.

‘Very.’ She smiled tenderly. This was so beautiful, getting to know every inch of his body, getting to know the real Tom, inside and out.

He moved closer, snuggling up behind her, his arm slipping around her waist, moving on until he found her hand, where he laced his fingertips through hers. Then Mabel trotted in from her kitchen bed and paused, giving them a haughty look.

‘Hah, I think she’s put out,’ Tom commented, though there was a smile through his voice. ‘The rug by the fire is usually her spot of an evening.’

Rachel patted the mat beside her. ‘Ah, sorry Mabel; will you share?’

The little dog put her nose in the air as though thinking about it, then took up the spot on the rug in front of Rachel and curled up, letting Rachel stroke the short silky fur of her head. Her short tail thumped contentedly in answer.

There were a few quiet moments, where they lay listening to the crackle of the fire. It felt peaceful there, just being together. A world of two … and a terrier. Rachel hadn’t imagined it could ever be this magical, this close. Her longest relationship having been with Jake, Maisy’s father, at aged seventeen into eighteen. They had been so young, naïve, experiencing snatched moments of sex in the back of Jake’s car or at his parents’ house. It now seemed childish, experimental, as if they hadn’t known each other at all.

This was so much more … heartfelt, body and soul.

Maybe it was because it was so wonderful, so special, that Rachel’s vulnerabilities hit home. She suddenly pictured Tom there with his ex. Had they ever made love here by the fire – they’d lived in this very house for several years, after all? Had he felt all this before? He must have really loved Caitlin once to have married her. Rachel felt a strange twinge of envy for Tom’s ex-wife, for what the two of them had shared before, even though it had been over for years now.

‘Tom … what happened with Caitlin? How did it all go wrong?’

‘Ah, let’s not talk about that now, Rachel. This is so nice, let’s not think about anything else …’ He brushed the question off, seeming a little ruffled.

‘Oh.’ Well, she sure knew how to kill the atmosphere.

‘Look, we weren’t right for each other. It was never going to last,’ he added, matter-of-factly.

That made Rachel suddenly feel sad, lying there with Tom’s arm around her. Could they go wrong too? Is that the way things went? But no; she reminded herself of her parent’s long marriage, they had been happy … up until that last fateful day. She turned her thoughts to Eve and Ben and their secure little family unit. It didn’t always have to go wrong.

‘And Rachel,’ Tom spoke gently, ‘it wasn’t like this.’

She rolled over to face him and they shared a tender kiss. As she finally pulled away, Rachel gave a fragile smile. Oh my, how would it feel not to have him beside her?

The evening passed all too soon; drinking red wine, naked by the fire, with this gorgeous man she had fallen in love with.

Still wearing only her watch, Rachel glanced at her wrist to see that it was already past ten thirty.

Reluctantly, she sat up and began gathering her clothes. ‘Tom, I’m going to have to go. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to take advantage of Mum’s goodwill and babysitting services. And I like to be there in the morning for Maisy, getting her up and ready for school.’ There wasn’t only herself to think of in all this.

‘It’s okay, I understand.’ He brushed Rachel’s cheek fondly with his fingertips. ‘You’re like the three musketeers,’ he said smiling. ‘I take on one, I take you all on.’ His voice had assumed a daft French twang.

‘Exactly,’ she beamed. ‘Thank you,’ she added softly, before kissing him affectionately on the nose.

‘Though, I’m sure we could just snatch five more minutes …’ He gave a sexy grin, before adding, ‘I can achieve a hell of a lot in five minutes.’

‘I’m sure you can.’ She laughed. ‘Hmm, well, in that case …’

And they were soon back together fireside, in a tumble of arms, legs, lips and hot kisses.

Rachel drove back to Primrose Farm through the indigo dark of the winding lane, her heart still full from their sensual night, her skin still warm from Tom’s touch.

The lights were on downstairs and, as she opened the farmhouse door, there was the sound of the radio on in the kitchen. Jill was at the kitchen work surface with a pinafore over her dressing gown.

‘Hello, love, did you have a nice time?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ Rachel still, rather embarrassingly, felt like she was basking in the afterglow. ‘Are you still baking, Mum?’ Rachel added, surprised to see the late-night activity in the kitchen.

‘Oh, I’ve just about finished, love. And don’t worry, I haven’t been here all night. I sat and watched my programme after supper, had a bath, and then I was flicking through the old Baking Bible and found this recipe of my Great-Auntie Edna’s. I was looking for some warming winter puds for the chillier months, and this seemed perfect. Look, she’s even done a little drawing, though I must say those sultanas in the pudding look very like rabbit droppings.’

They both giggled.

The finished article, stood on the side, did indeed look and smell wonderful; a baked sponge in a rectangular dish, with a rich caramel sauce over it. ‘Mmm, that looks great. What is it?’

‘Sultana and butterscotch pudding.’

‘Ooh, delightful.’

The Baking Bible was laid open on the side next to the mixer. There were at least four generations of puddings and bakes recorded there, with the earliest being penned by Jill’s own grandmother, Alice. A legacy of bakes and cakes that Jill had brought with her, and since added to, when she had married Dad back in the mid-Eighties and moved into the farmhouse.

‘I think I’ll put it on as a special tomorrow.’

‘Ideal! I can’t wait to taste it.’

‘Well then, maybe we can spoon out a little portion from the edge to try?’

‘Oh yes, go on then. We need to maintain quality control, after all,’ Rachel grinned.

Jill scooped some out into a small bowl, spooning over a little of the syrupy caramel-coloured sauce.

Lifting her spoon to her mouth, Rachel’s taste buds exploded happily. ‘Oh my, that’s going to be a hit. The sponge is so light and the sauce is naughty but very nice.’

‘Aw, thanks, love.’ Her mum beamed proudly.

Rachel loved seeing her mum in good spirits, and farmhouse-kitchen baking was most definitely Jill’s happy place. The downside was that Jill was still making nearly as much food as in the busier summer months, ‘just in case’, and they were starting to waste some now. Rachel knew she should really ask her mum to ease off on the baking, warn her that they couldn’t afford to throw things away now that it was quieter. But looking at her mother, happy there in the kitchen, knowing that baking helped to fill a loneliness that Rachel still shared … well, she bit her tongue, though she knew she’d have to say something if things didn’t turn around soon. In the meanwhile, their friends, family and the postman were benefitting from some rather scrumptious giveaways for now.

Rachel resolved that she would have to put her mind to drumming up some more business, somehow. Fingers crossed, things would turn around for Primrose Farm soon.

She smiled at her mum over the steam of the delicious pudding, and nudged closer at the kitchen side to give her hand a squeeze. ‘They’re a winner every time, Mum.’