Country Lovers by Rebecca Shaw Page A

briefly so too did she. He really was eye-catching. Almost handsome, with his high cheekbones and…Help! She wouldn’t tell anyone he’d gone. They’d never notice. They all knew how withdrawn he was. She hastily put away the photographs and went to see if Mungo was free for five minutes to talk about Bridge Farm and its problems, not knowing that Dan was already on his way there.
    He deliberately pulled up in the lane and didn’t drive into the farmyard, which he would normally have done. The farmhouse was on the roadside with a short path between lawns and flowerbeds leading to the house. There wasn’t a single sound of chickens. His heart sank. Surely they hadn’t already been to slaughter them? He got out of his car and stood listening. A voice shouted from the farmhouse window. “Dan!”
    He raised an arm in salute. “I’ve come to see how things are progressing.”
    â€œThought you were them coming. Come in.”
    It was only when he moved nearer that he saw Mr. Bridges had a gun pointing at him. Dan walked toward the house door, realizing as he did so that there was another gun trained on him from an upstairs window.
    He went in the house without knocking because the door had mysteriously been opened for him as he approached. In the kitchen with Mr. Bridges were three of his sons, all armed with shotguns. “Mrs. Bridges has made a big pot of coffee. Want a cup?”
    â€œYes, please. I’m not too late, am I? They haven’t already been?”
    Dan felt like a dwarf. Mr. Bridges himself and all three of his sons were well over six feet tall and big with it. Mrs. Bridges was a tiny person shaped like a cottage loaf and looked incapable of producing boys of their great size. He heard big boots clattering down the stairs, and yet another of the Bridges boys appeared, shotgun in hand. “Did I hear coffee’s on the go?” His voice was so like his father’s it was uncanny.
    â€œNo, you’re not too late. We’ve shut ’em all away ’cause they’re bloody well not killing ’em. They’ll get killed first. Get yer coffee, Gab, and up the stairs quicko.”
    â€œI am on your side, but I didn’t think things would get this far. Thank you, Mrs. Bridges.” Dan’s coffee was in a pint mug, and he wondered how on earth he’d manage to down that lot and not give offense by leaving half of it. All of them had pint mugs except Mrs. Bridges, who was sipping her coffee from a delicate china cup and saucer. She might have been a tiny woman, but there was authority in her voice when she spoke. “Sit down, Dan. Gab’s watching out. That lovely wife of yours keeping well? And your little son?”
    â€œShe is, thank you, I didn’t know you knew her.”
    â€œNot much goes on in Barleybridge that we don’t know about. It may be a sleepy old place, but it doesn’t mean we’re deaf, dumb,
and
blind. Lovely girl, she is. You haven’t got any more where she came from, have you? These great lummoxes of mine won’t get from under my feet. Gab’s the eldest, so you can find someone for him ASAP. They all need women like your Rose.” There were groans of heartfelt approval of Rose from them all, and the red-haired one said with a good-natured grin, “Shut up, Mum.”
    â€œYou’re too good to them all, Mrs. Bridges.” Dan raised his pint pot to her and sipped his coffee. It was steaming hot, rich with cream and a distinct hint of rum. “This is excellent.”
    Things became convivial, shotguns were laid aside, and lots of leg-pulling and camaraderie ensued. The atmosphere became quite partylike until the laughter was abruptly halted by Gab shouting from upstairs, “They’re here!”
    Instantly the boys left the kitchen, went to other downstairs rooms with windows facing the garden, and when their father shouted “Fire!” they all let off