“Come on, Shelley.” I patted the pillow next to me. “Let’s snuggle.”
I held up the blankets so he could get underneath, Shelley curled up in his usual place by my side, and the pair of us were soon fast asleep.
***
All the excitement must have worn me out because I didn’t wake up until gone ten the next morning. Shelley had already left the bed, and he was bound to be grumpy with me when he couldn’t find an easy supply of food. I hadn’t put out his bowls for him yet, so I braced myself for a barrage of incessant mewing when I went downstairs.
Throwing on some jeans and my favourite soft pink sweater, I went downstairs to the kitchen to make myself breakfast and sort out Shelley’s food. But as I pushed open the door, I was greeted by the sight of Rose bustling about and one very happy cat sitting on the kitchen table, watching her work.
“Good morning, Ms. Fortune,” Rose smiled when she saw me come in. “I hope you don’t mind – I took the liberty of feeding your cat. The poor thing looked hungry.”
“Yes, he does a very good impression of a cat who hasn’t been fed for days,” I said, scratching Shelley on the top of his head. I could swear that he looked incredibly smug with himself. Probably realized he’d just found his latest fan. “Thanks, Rose. And please. Call me Libby.”
“As you wish.” Rose nodded. “Now how does blueberry pancakes sound for breakfast? I can whip you something up, no trouble.”
“Thank you, but I can take care of myself.” There was something very weird about letting someone else cook for me when I’d been looking after myself ever since Mum died.
“It’s all part of the service,” Rose reassured me. “It’s what I’m here for. Unless...”
Her face paled.
“Unless what?”
“Well, your uncle told me I would always have a job here,” Rose said. “But that was before his accident. It was presumptuous of me to assume you’d want to keep me on. I’m so sorry.”
She dashed a tear away. Great. Now I felt like the world’s worst heiress.
“Of course I want you to stay,” I told her. “There’s no way I could take care of a house like this by myself. I’m just not used to having someone helping me around the place, that’s all. If it makes you happy to cook my breakfast, then I’d love some blueberry pancakes. Thank you.”
In an instant, Rose was back to her regular cheerful self, as she quickly put together some batter and started frying pancakes.
“Could you tell me more about my uncle?” I asked as she cooked. “I never knew him. Heck, I didn’t even know he existed until the lawyer contacted me about his will.”
“Oh, your uncle was a wonderful man,” Rose gushed. “So kind, so caring, so generous. Your family have looked after our little town for generations. The Fortunes used to be the lords of the manor, and even after things changed and they lost their titles, they still looked out for all of us. If someone lost their job, the Fortunes would magically find something for them to do about the place until something better came along. When the crops failed, the Fortunes would pay to ship in food for everyone. Your uncle continued that tradition. I’ll always be grateful for him taking me on after my Bill died. He gave me a job to keep me occupied and take my mind off raising five sons on my own.”
“Five sons?” My eyes widened. “That must have been a handful.”
Rose shrugged as she placed a plate stacked high with pancakes in front of me. “Boys are easy. You make sure they’ve got plenty of fresh air and exercise and they keep themselves out of mischief. Mostly.”
I heard the sound of a door opening behind me.
“And here’s one of them now,” beamed Rose. “Libby, meet my Matthew.”
I turned to see the man I’d met driving to the house yesterday.
“We’ve already met,” I said. “Although maybe I wouldn’t have recognized him now he’s not knee deep in goats...”
Rose laughed. “Ah yes. We call Matthew the goat whisperer round here because he’s the only one who can keep the wild goats under control. Those things can be a real nuisance. They eat anything they can get hold of, but the mayor won’t let us do anything about them. Says they’re essential to the ecosystem. I say what’s wrong with a good goat stew?”
“Goat stew?” I felt sick.
“Oh, no. Don’t worry. I didn’t feed you goat last night,” chuckled Rose when she saw my face. “That was good old organic free-range beef sourced from a local farmer. But if you were interested in trying some goat...”
“No thanks.” I vehemently shook my head.
“Stop teasing the poor girl, Ma,” said Matthew. “Now where do you want this?” He lifted up the large box of groceries he was carrying.
“Just pop it over there by the pantry,” replied Rose. “I hope you don’t mind, Ms. Fortune – Libby. I asked Matthew to bring up some supplies until we’d had a chance to sit down and plan out your meals.”
“I’ll be honest, Rose,” I said. “I’m not exactly a meal planning kind of person. I’ll eat pretty much anything.”
“Unless it’s goat,” put in Matthew.
“Okay, you got me there,” I conceded. “I’m more than happy to let you cook whatever you like, Rose. I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”
“Excellent. I have a lovely braised pork recipe I’ve been wanting to try out. Now, did Matthew bring enough honey...”
She picked up the box of supplies and carried it into the pantry, chatting away to herself about all the ingredients she was going to need, leaving Matthew and me on our own.
Seeing him without the stress of goats bleating around us, I noticed he was even better looking than I first
