The Inheritance

Dragging the reluctant Gringo away from his water bowl, she set off back towards Furlings. On a whim, she decided to walk past Wraggsbottom Farm and see if she could see Logan. She wouldn’t go in and embarrass her. Everything Angela did seemed to embarrass Logie these days. She was at that age. She’d just take a peek and reassure herself that the job was going all right.

A few yards from the farm gates she stopped, ducking behind a parked car so as to remain out of sight. There was Logan, in a pair of jodhpurs that were far too tight for her and a half-buttoned white shirt, leaning against a wall and staring. Not doing anything. Just staring, like a hawk focusing in on a distant mouse, oblivious to everything else around it. Following her gaze, Angela saw Gabriel Baxter bending over the open bonnet of a tractor, a spanner in his hand.

Shit, thought Angela, a momentary panic rising up within her. She’d thought – hoped – that all that was over. But a few seconds later, the lanky, bronzed form of Seb Harwich emerged from the tack room. Walking up behind Logan, Seb slipped his arms around her waist. Angela watched her daughter smile and turn into Seb’s embrace, standing on tiptoes in her riding boots to kiss him passionately on the mouth.

‘Oy!’ Gabe’s voice carried across the farmyard. ‘Get a room, you two. Better still, Seb, sod off. I’m not paying her to spend the morning snogging.’

Seb and Logan both giggled. Angela sneaked away, feeling happier than she had in a long time. At least one member of the Cranley family had a love life that was on the right track.

Gabe walked into the kitchen at seven o’clock that evening, dog tired.

‘You look shattered.’ Laura was shelling peas at the kitchen table. In a smocked maternity dress with little pink rose buds embroidered on the bodice, she looked quite different from her normal self, like something out of a Jane Austen novel. There was a serenity about her this evening, Gabe noticed, a sort of calm happiness that clung to her as she worked. As clichéd as it was, you might almost call it a glow.

‘I love you,’ he said, kissing her, suddenly feeling awash with happiness himself. ‘You look beautiful.’

‘You’re blind,’ Laura laughed. ‘I look like a whale.’

Gabe pulled a cold beer out of the fridge and opened it. He started to tell Laura about his day, about Logan and the problems he’d had with the damn tractor engine going on the blink again, when he noticed she was staring smilingly into the distance and not listening to him at all.

‘Are you all right?’ He waved a hand in front of her glazed face.

‘Oh, yes, I’m fine. Sorry. I had some news today. I went to the hospital.’

Gabe put down his beer with a clatter. ‘The hospital? Why?’ He looked worried. ‘Was something wrong? Have you been having cramps?’

‘No,’ Laura beamed. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I went in for a scan and everything’s fine.’

‘Oh.’ Gabe’s shoulders slumped with relief. ‘Good.’

‘We’re having a boy.’

He looked at her blankly.

‘Gabe?’ said Laura. ‘Did you hear me? I said it’s a boy. They gave me some pictures. They’re a bit blurry …’ Scrabbling around in her handbag, she pulled out a white envelope and handed it to him.

Pulling out the pictures, Gabe looked at the pictures one by one. He still hadn’t said anything. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

Gabe looked up, his eyes brimming with tears.

‘Oh, darling! What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing,’ said Gabe. ‘I’m just so happy. This is our son. Our son!’ He looked at the pictures in wonder. Then, putting them down on the table, he took Laura’s hand and pulled her up into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her and their unborn child.

‘I’m taking you away next week,’ he said suddenly. ‘Somewhere romantic and amazing, where all you’re going to do is lie in bed all day and eat chocolates.’

‘Really?’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Sounds lovely. But who’ll take care of things here?’

‘Graham and the lads can manage things on the farm for a few days,’ said Gabe. Graham Dean was Wraggsbottom’s farm manager, a sort of first mate to Gabe’s captain. ‘And Logan can house-sit and feed the dogs.’

‘Logan?’ Laura raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Sure,’ said Gabe. ‘I think the responsibility would be good for her.’

‘Hmmm, maybe. But will it be good for our lovely house? What if she clogs up the dishwasher or forgets to water my tomato plants? She’s not exactly domesticated.’

‘Your tomato plants will be fine,’ said Gabe. ‘Stop fussing. My son doesn’t like it.’

‘Oh, so he’s your son now, is he?’ teased Laura.

‘He’d bloody well better be,’ said Gabe. ‘I’ll text Logan now to let her know.’

Up at Furlings, Logan was in the small family sitting room watching The Big Bang Theory when the text came through. She read it once, then twice, before hugging the phone to her chest and letting out a little squeal of delight.

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