Good With His Hands E-Book

Lucy Felthouse

• Herausgeber: Lucy Felthouse
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Layla is enjoying a beautiful moorland walk in the English countryside when suddenly, clouds start to roll in. The weather was forecast to be fine all day, so Layla is woefully unprepared when the heavens open and her visibility is reduced to next to nothing. Trying hard not to panic, she carefully makes her way towards a remote hut she spotted before the fog descended. When she arrives, though, she discovers park ranger Stuart already there, and luckily for her, he’s much more prepared than she is, and they soon find a way to pass the time until the storm blows over.

Note: Good With His Hands was previously published in the Down and Dirty boxed set.

Leseprobe

Good With His Hands

By Lucy Felthouse

Text Copyright 2018 © Lucy Felthouse.

All Rights Reserved.

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the aforementioned author.This book was created without the use of AI. Scanning by AI for training purposes or derivative works is strictly prohibited.

Warning: The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s written permission.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

About the Author

If You Enjoyed Good With His Hands

Chapter One

Anticipation seeped into Layla’s body, increasing with every second that ticked by. Each handhold she groped for, each push off with her feet brought her that bit closer to the moorland plateau she’d been wanting to explore ever since she’d seen photos of it in a Facebook group a few weeks ago. She was a keen hiker—or walker, she’d never really understood what the difference was between the two—but she’d always stuck to places she knew well, or had at least visited a couple of times before, mainly because she always walked alone, and getting lost was bad enough without doing it by yourself.

But one Sunday evening, after a flurry of yet more stunning photographs of the area had been uploaded to the group, Layla made up her mind. The following Sunday, she would join the seemingly scores of people that headed up to the dramatic-looking gritstone edge in Derbyshire’s Peak District every weekend, no matter the weather. Hikers, climbers, fell runners… they all raved about the place, despite the crowds. And if she did get lost, well, she’d just ask one of them for directions. No problem. Then, providing it was indeed as amazing as the photo-uploaders proclaimed it to be, she’d add it to her list of regular haunts. It’d make a refreshing change from her usual low-level trail walks.

Now she was beginning to understand what all the fuss was about, and she wasn’t even at the top yet. After leaving the relative familiarity of the car park, she’d trekked up a slight incline through some dense woods—surprised to pass only one or two small groups of people on the way. She’d expected it to look like London’s Oxford Street but with outdoorsy types in hefty boots and backpacks instead of shoppers with umbrellas and carrier bags. The moment she’d stepped from the shadow of the woods, the landscape had opened up in front of her and she’d got a real sense of how special it was. Then she’d glanced up and to her right and, taking in the height of the edge she had yet to climb, realised she hadn’t seen the half of it yet.

With one last push to get her onto a particularly large boulder, then a small step, she was there. On the gritstone edge, the moorland plateau—whatever you wanted to call it. As she took a couple of tentative steps forward and looked around, she decided she wanted to call it heaven. It was like nowhere she’d ever been before—so removed from everyday life that she was half convinced she’d stepped onto the moon, except it was unmistakably England. Wild, untamed, rugged, but England nonetheless. How had she never been up here before? And were there more places like it? She suddenly felt like the worst kind of ignorant city dweller—her walks up until now had made a mockery of wearing walking boots. She may as well have done it in flip flops.

She turned at the sound of voices behind her, and moved aside to let a group of three men in their early twenties pass. They had enormous, weirdly-shaped bags strapped to their backs, and yet strode along—exchanging smiles and nods with her when they drew level—as though their burdens weighed nothing.

Layla shook her head incredulously and started to follow in their footsteps. She didn’t need to consult her walk instructions yet—there was only one path, deliberately keeping footfall to a dedicated area for conservation purposes, according to a snippet of text she remembered reading on her printout. The trail stayed close to the edge—not so close as to be dangerous, but close enough to afford the most amazing views. The ground beneath her feet was made up of mud, rough grasses, rocks and boulders in shades of grey, brown, and black, scrubby bushes, and what she suspected was heather. To her left, the stunning countryside went on for as far as the eye could see, with delightfully twisted trees in the foreground, followed by brown and green fields, woodlands, moorlands, and more fields, broken up only very occasionally by a road—often only identifiable by the moving glint of light that passed along them—vehicles highlighted by the reflection of the sun off their metalwork. It’d be incredibly easy to forget civilisation even existed while she was up here.

To her right, the moorland, a wash of greens, browns, and oranges stretched out—a haven for wildlife, no doubt. All kinds of creatures could hide, eat, burrow, and nest in there.

And ahead was… what was that? She squinted, trying to block out some of the bright sunlight so she could make out what she was looking at. She was still none the wiser, but after a minute or two she’d got close enough that she thought she knew. Set against the bright blue sky were a series of enormous… what did you call something that was bigger than a boulder? Bigger than a car, even! Amazed, she hurried closer to see the gigantic gritstone rocks, which she quickly realised had been where the men that had passed her earlier were headed. She now knew their oddly-shaped backpacks had contained climbing equipment, which they were currently sorting through in preparation for their chosen pastime. She took the opportunity to stop and have a drink of her water as she watched other climbers who’d arrived earlier scaling the rock faces, displaying incredible skill and strength as they navigated overhangs, seemingly impossibly smooth surfaces, and all manner of physical challenges.

Glad to be firmly on her own two feet, Layla watched in wordless awe for a short while longer, then continued on her way. Her route would take her the entire length of the majestic gritstone edge, then down it again at the end, and back along the foot of the cliff to the car park. Not the most complicated of walks, or the most adventurous, but she didn’t want it to be, not for her first time up here. She wanted to take in the views, not check her instructions every two minutes.

For a good long while, all she had to do was put one foot in front of the other, follow the path, and enjoy herself—all of which proved incredibly easy, particularly since the weather was playing ball, too. As well as the sunshine and blue skies, there was only the slightest breeze—literally perfect conditions for being somewhere so exposed. Layla imagined it wouldn’t be much fun at all up here in the wind and rain.

She continued on at a leisurely pace for another mile or so, stopping periodically to take photos, have a drink, or just gaze around her. When her stomach rumbled a protest, she began keeping an eye out for somewhere to sit and eat her lunch. Before long, she spotted a large, flat rock close by that would do the job nicely. It made up part of the edge, but she wasn’t worried. It had to weigh a ton—maybe more. If it was going to plummet off the cliff, it would have done so a long time ago. Adding her relatively inconsequential weight to it wasn’t going to make the slightest bit of difference. And besides, if it was unsafe, there wouldn’t be climbers scrambling up and down it, would there?

She headed over to the rock, then removed her backpack and sat down, wincing slightly as the cold seeped through her trousers and underwear onto her bottom. Ignoring the mild discomfort, she opened her bag and took out her lunchbox. With a flick of the catches, she released the lid, put it to one side, then dug in to her sandwiches and bag of crisps, followed by an apple and a cereal bar. She continued to admire the view as she ate, convinced there couldn’t possibly be a more beautiful place on earth to enjoy a meal.