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Ambrose hesitated. “It depends. Do you promise your mum isn’t going to kill me, and your dad cut me up and bury me, then use my body as compost?”
Liam laughed loudly. “Pretty sure you’re safe. After all, Grandad approves of you, and that’s the important thing.”
“Sure, lad. I know a good egg when I see one,” Grandad Billy cut in. “Now how about you stop standing there like a fecking scarecrow and get your arse back here so we can get home and get dry? It’ll be dark soon.”
“Oh! Right. Sure.” Ambrose ended the call and started walking again, and he was pretty sure he was covering more ground than the tractor, which was struggling up yet another slight incline. As he approached, it made an ominous graunching noise, before wheezing and shuddering to a standstill.
John Phillip, who’d been loping along next to him, barked and took off, running in circles around the tractor and trailer. By the time Ambrose reached them, Liam had clambered out of the back, and Grandad Billy was peering into the guts of the machine and muttering darkly. Liam hurried over to Ambrose before coming to a stop in front of him. Ambrose wondered if Liam would kiss him, but instead Liam reached out, hesitantly at first, then he grabbed both his hands, giving them an affectionate squeeze, and somehow that was better than a kiss.
“Your hands are fucking freezing,” Liam said, and didn’t let go. Ambrose forgot about the rain and the cold and the mud as warmth and something like hope flooded him. “I don’t think you came onto Marcus,” Liam said. “Nobody does.”
“Yeah, you said,” Ambrose reminded him. “You said Marcus was the arsehole, which frankly I find to be an insult to my professional integrity as a bad boyfriend.”
A grin appeared on Liam’s face at that. “To be fair, Marcus has probably been a dick his entire life, so he’s had more practice.”
Ambrose laughed.
“So, come back home? If you still want to leave, we can arrange something, but I’d, um, like you to stay? As yourself?” Liam gave him a hopeful look that was reminiscent of the one John Phillip gave when he was in the vicinity of a wedge of Brie, and how the hell was Ambrose supposed to resist that?
“Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.” Liam squeezed his hands again, and Ambrose squeezed back.
Grandad Billy cleared his throat. “This is all very touching, but could we get out of the pissing rain so you can have your heart to heart somewhere dry?” He shivered.
Ambrose turned to him. “Your tractor! She’s meant to be retired, and you brought her out in the rain! Will she be all right?”
Granddad Billy ran a hand over the back of his neck and sighed. “She’ll be fine. She’s just out of fuel. I didn’t expect to be driving her, never filled her up. We’ll have to leave her here, I think.” His mouth twisted, and Ambrose felt bad for him.
“Could we push her back? I mean, Liam’s pretty much useless because he’s a skinny drink of water, but you and I have some brawn, and it’s downhill. We should be able to manage it between the two of us. Liam can steer and look pretty.”
Liam cocked an eyebrow. “And this is you…not being an arsehole, is it? Because I’m honestly struggling to see the difference.”
Ambrose shrugged. “I call it as I see it, pretty boy.”
Grandad Billy roared with laughter, slapping Ambrose on the back in a hearty gesture. “I said it at the start, Liam. This one’s a keeper!”
“He is, isn’t he?” Liam agreed, beaming.
Grandad clapped his hands together. “Right. Liam, you can steer—just this once, mind—and Ambrose and I will push.”
It took some time to unhitch the trailer, but at least by the time they set out back for the sheds, the rain had eased back to a steady misting drizzle. Once they got some forward momentum the downhill slope worked in their favour, and it wasn’t too bad pushing Adeline through the mud. And Liam’s arse was right there in front of Ambrose as he pushed, so that was nice.
Grandad Billy caught him looking, but he just said, “Nothing like country views, right, Ambrose?” with a twinkle in his eye, and Ambrose grinned back at him.
The Connellys were all right.
When they reached the spot where the dam track connected to the driveway, they stopped for a breather—because downhill or not, pushing an antique tractor was hard work—and John Phillip, who’d been trotting happily next to Grandad, raised his head, sniffed then took off at a pelt across the vineyard, barking loudly. Ambrose peered through the fading light and saw the dog, hackles clearly raised, circling someone standing next to a car and growling at them. “Who’s that?”
Grandad looked over and said, “Well, would you look at that? Marcus is still stuck. Guess he couldn’t get a towie to come out in this weather after all. Looks like he’ll be sleeping in his fancy car.”
“He got bogged when he tried to leave,” Liam explained quietly, “and Mum won’t have him back in the house.”
“Really? “Ambrose asked. “But Fi wouldn’t leave him out here all night, would she? She’s too nice!”
Both Grandad Billy and Liam snorted, and Liam said, “No, she’s polite. There’s a difference.”
“Exactly. That little gobshite tried to do the dirty on my granddaughter. He’s lucky Fi hasn’t come after him with the garden shears and chopped his cheating little dick right off,” Grandad said darkly. “Sleeping in his car’s the least of his worries.”
“Serves him right, too,” Liam said. At Ambrose’s raised eyebrows, he added, “We Connellys don’t take kindly to people who mess with one of ours.”
