Cricket by Anna Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

Ryan advised. “Everyone around here will offer you tea.”
    “No coffee?” Henry asked, somewhat hopefully.
    Ryan snorted. “Yeah, we’ve got coffee. It comes out of a jar, though.”
    “I’ll stick to the tea.”
    “It’s probably for the best. What can I do you for?”
    As they settled for the first time since shaking hands, Henry was suddenly struck with how impossibly handsome this man was. Sure, he was wearing a cream knitted sweater that was absolutely hideous, but his eyes were a rich, dark brown that contrasted with the lightness of his hair. Ryan’s jaw was chiseled, and he wore a fairly healthy beard over it. His hands were strong but rough, expected, given his profession.
    For a tiny moment, Henry stuttered. Then he composed himself.
    “I’m Nell Richardson’s great-grandson.”
    “Yeah,” Ryan said, smiling. “I’d heard.”
    “She’s agreed to invest in the renovation of the house, and I want to reopen it for events.”
    “Weddings?”
    “Yeah, partly, and conferences, maybe put a little restaurant in there as well.”
    “Wow. You know you’re not in New York anymore, right? This is a small community, Henry.”
    “I know,” Henry said, stung. “It’s probably got a bigger catchment area than you’d think. You’re close enough to a couple of big towns to be able to pull people down here. Plus, you’ve got the tourist trade.”
    “Hey,” said Ryan, putting his hands up in a defensive gesture, “it’s your money, mate. Do what you want with it. I guess you’re wanting me to supply for you?”
    “If you’re interested, yeah.”
    “Don’t see why not. Do you have a chef yet? Any idea of menus?”
    “I’m working on it,” Henry said stiffly. “I used to do this for a living. I know what I’m doing.”
    Ryan shrugged, seemingly unaffected. “If you say so. Local, organic, sustainable—that’s what I do. And I do it well. And you’ll pay well for it, but you can charge well for it, so it’s worth the price. So,” Ryan said, standing and dumping his mug in the sink. “Do you want the grand tour?”
    “Sure,” Henry said and tried not to be annoyed.
    It made sense to start with the stables, since they were closest to the house, although Ryan seemed intent on emphasizing that they weren’t his horses. He had built the stables himself after he’d been approached by someone interested in renting the land from him: a father, with two daughters who wanted ponies.
    There was space for paddocks, and the family mostly took care of the stables and the horses themselves, Ryan only stepping in for occasional maintenance. On the building, not the horses. As they walked down the path toward the small building, Henry was hit with the smell of hay and beast.
    “They’re friendly,” Ryan said as the two horses ambled over to the fence. “Probably looking for a treat.”
    With nothing to hand, Ryan reached down at the edge of the fence, pulled up a handful of long grass, and offered it to the dark chestnut horse, who munched on it appreciatively. Having never encountered a horse before in his life, Henry copied his movements, although warily.
    Ryan snorted.
    “What?”
    “You’re such a city boy, is all. They won’t bite your hand off.”
    “That’s what you think,” Henry said grimly.
    They moved on.
    “We’ve got about fifty chickens, give or take the odd few that escape and usually end up in Foxy.” He gestured to another building about the same size as the stables with the birds pecking at the ground outside. “They’re all free range. I sell the eggs to the pub, or the grocers in town, or sometimes people come to the back door for a tray. I do a pretty good deal for locals. We inherited the ducks. No one bought them. They just turned up one day and invited themselves in. I don’t really mind. Duck eggs sell pretty well around here.”
    “Are those ducks too?” Henry asked, pointing to a smallish pond with a few larger birds floating serenely on it.
    “No,