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Percy winced. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”
The look on Elsie’s face had been similar.
“It’s fine. Sorry,” Albie mumbled. “It’s not your fault. I...” He sighed. He should what? Be stoic and not talk about his grief?
Probably.
That’s what mountain men did, right?
With the quick memory of Elsie’s face, he remembered something else. He reached into his saddle pack. “Here,” he said, handing a piece of bread out to Percy. “Clara cooked this fresh this morning.”
He took it gratefully and bit into it with a grin. Then he groaned and his eyes rolled closed, and Albie was stuck... stuck staring, the look of pleasure on Percy’s face, the sound he’d made.
“Sorry,” Percy said with a laugh, covering his mouth. “This is good bread.”
Albie made himself look ahead and he shifted in his saddle, his pants suddenly a little tight. Damn it. He bit into his bread, and yes, it was good.
Percy was, thankfully, oblivious. “Say... if you’re short-staffed at the moment, dare I ask if you got any staff that can cook?”
Albie couldn’t help but smile, and he squinted at Percy in the sunlight breaking through the trees. “Well, me.”
His whole face brightened as if he found that hilarious. “You’re the cook?”
“Well, I try.”
“Are you any good?”
“Heavens, no,” he replied with a laugh. “I’m terrible.”
Percy’s laughter rang down through the valley. “Well, you might have to add that to my list of duties.”
“You can cook?”
“Better than you by the sounds of it,” he replied. Then he froze. “I mean, if you’d like me to, Mr Bramwell. I didn’t mean... I never meant to offend?—”
Albie dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “It’s quite all right. But for the love of all the heavens above, please call me Albie.”
Chapter Four
Percy knew the highlands were supposed to be pretty. People talked about the wildness and how remote and isolating it was, how dangerous it was, but they’d also said there were views that had to be seen to be believed. Misty mountains, tall gum trees, and from the very top, how you could almost see the whole world.
None of what he’d heard did it justice.
The road came to a clearing fronted by a moss-covered post and rail gate with the name Bramwell painted on it in faded white, and a driveway that led down a sweeping pasture to a farmhouse. There were outbuildings and stables, by the looks of it, but the house itself was modest, with a veranda and steps, a shingled roof with wisps of smoke from the stone chimney. It stood proud on the rise, and it made Percy smile.
It looked welcoming and homely. Warm.
Albie leaned down and unlocked the gate, shoving it open enough for them to pass in single file. A move so well-practised, Percy could guess, that he must have done it a thousand times.
“Home,” Albie said. “Never a sight like it.”
He dropped his reins and slid down from Minnie, closing the gate behind them. He fixed the lock, and when he turned around, he found Minnie headed for home, Ox dutifully following.
Percy laughed, Albie’s expression too funny to ignore.
“Oh, she’s a right sod,” Albie said.
Percy gave Bandit a nudge and he quickly caught up to Minnie, taking her reins. He held them up for Albie to see. “She’s telling you to stop dawdling.”
