pluck its catch.
This was a place where only the strong survived, and she had to be strong, too—that was what her father had always taught her, and she still tried so hard to follow his advice.
An outlying sheep took her attention then, bringing her train of thought back to the job at hand; it was moving farther away from the flock, intent on escape. She whistled sharply to Fly. The dog caught her eye, eager to follow her command.
“Come way out,” she called with a sweep of her arm, and the small blue-gray and black dog was on it, calmly persuading the reluctant ewe to return to the flock with the patience and expertise that had made him a champion at the sheepdog trials last year.
It was as she’d turned her attention back to the main flock that the fluffy, cream-colored creature had burst into view, leaping up over the edge of the shallow ravine and racing toward them. For a fleeting second she’d thought it was a wayward sheep...and now she saw how wrong she’d been.
“No! Get away!” Chrissie screamed again, waving her crook madly as the big crazy dog continued to leap and bound amid her animals. One sheep had already disappeared from view, but she had to get things under control with the flock before she could check on it.
Tess and Fly sped at the dangerous usurper, but Chrissie stopped them with a low whistle; the last thing she wanted was for her dogs to go haywire, too. That would really freak the sheep out. But it made no difference. The collies raced around the scattering sheep, trying to keep them contained, but the sheeps’ survival instincts had kicked in and they fled in panic, their pregnant bellies swaying.
The fluffy cream dog, on the other hand, was in his element, running this way and that, barking madly. She yelled at it, screaming into the wind to no avail.
That was when she saw the man.
A hot flood of anger consumed her as he hurried over, a tall, dark-haired stranger dressed in city clothes. He was obviously responsible for this disaster. His face was bright red from climbing the hill and his breath came in loud gasps.
“Get your dog away from my sheep!” Chrissie yelled. “Now.”
With a brief glance in her direction, the man carried on in a shambling run toward the flock, spooking them almost as much as his dog. Chrissie watched helplessly as sheep disappeared in every direction. She whistled madly to her collies, but she would have needed half a dozen dogs to keep the terrified creatures together.
“Max!” cried the man. “Max! Bad dog. Come here.”
The dog ignored him, but as it ran by he managed to grab hold of its collar. For a moment, they struggled. The dog bucked against his confinement and the man staggered forward. If they hadn’t been in such a desperate situation, Chrissie would have laughed as he sprawled to the ground, still holding on to the broad leather collar.
But despondency instantly replaced the momentary flicker of humor. She whistled to Tess and Fly to come back, and they raced over immediately, dropping down in front of her, pink tongues hanging from the sides of their mouths and their bright eyes eager for their mistress’s next command. With the cream-colored dog in the man’s grasp, the sheep had calmed somewhat, but at best she would be spending the rest of the afternoon gathering the ones that had scattered. At worst...well, she didn’t want to think about that just yet.
“Good dogs. Stay,” she told her collies, turning to stare angrily at the man who had caused such chaos. He was on his feet now, looking awkward, his shiny leather shoes much the worse for wear and his stupid suit pants ripped at the knees.
“You,” she said in a cold, flat voice, eyeing him up and down with disdain. “You should get back to the city where you belong and take your idiot dog with you. If any of these sheep are harmed then you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. I’d have been well within my rights to shoot it, you know.”
At that, the man’s demeanor changed and he stood tall, holding her gaze with piercing, pale eyes. “But you haven’t got a gun,” he pointed out in a clear, cultured voice.
Undeterred, Chrissie tossed her head, blue eyes sparkling as they boldly met his. “Then I will start carrying one,” she said. “For the next time that wild, untrained dog of yours terrifies my sheep. And if I lose any lambs from this, you will be paying for them, too.”
* * *
FOR A MOMENT, Will was speechless. A crazy urge to laugh made his lips twitch as it occurred to him what his colleagues would think if they could see him now. Will Devlin, stuck for words for what felt like the first time in his life, his opponent a simple country shepherdess with no apparent culture but a very fierce temper.
When he made the decision to move to the country, he’d imagined it would be quiet and relaxing, a peaceful place with room to breathe. He definitely hadn’t expected to get told off like a schoolboy on his first outing.
Two bright spots of color burned in the woman’s cheeks as she noticed his smile. “You may think this is funny,” she said, refusing to be daunted by his efforts at trying to appear imposing. “But the sheep are now way too spooked to get down the fell today. I’ll have to wait until they’ve settled down again, and that’s at least a whole day wasted. Anyway...” She lifted her chin, pushing back the stray wisps of blond hair that had escaped from her braid to curl around her cheek. “What makes you think you have the right to look down on me when you are walking the fells dressed like that?”
“But I don’t look down on you...” Will objected. “At least—”
“Oh, yes, you do,” she cut in. “I can see it in your face. You think I’m just a simple country bumpkin. Well, let me tell you now, Mr. Whoever-you-are—you may be some kind of hotshot in the city but it counts for nothing here.”
Will glanced at his ruined leather shoes and torn, mud-splattered trousers, feeling suddenly ridiculous. “I...I was in a rush,” he muttered, still hanging on to Max’s collar. “And it’s Mr. Devlin, by the way. Will. Of course I’ll pay for any problems I’ve caused. I do have the right to walk these fells, though, whatever I’m wearing. You can’t stop me.”
“What rights?” snorted the shepherdess. “Being a tourist doesn’t give you the right to ruin my day and injure my sheep.”
Determined to stand his ground, Will tried his well-practiced courtroom stare again. She just stared back, flicking her heavy braid back over her shoulder.
“I have grazing rights,” he said.
“Grazing rights don’t come with holiday cottages, you know,” she retorted, turning away with her dogs at her heels. “Anyway, I have enough to do without standing around talking to you. You’d better just hope that the sheep are all okay and go buy yourself a lead for that crazy dog. My name is Chrissie Marsh and I live at High Bracken, just down the fell from here. In case you end up owing me for lost sheep.”
He watched her walk over to the ledge where the ewe had disappeared. She was tall and almost stately, walking the hills with proud strides and her crook in her hand. Her dogs followed, totally obedient, while Max strained and pulled at him, eager to run off. For the first time in his adult life, Will Devlin felt out of his depth.
In another way, though, he felt somehow free, as if all the layers of artificiality that had been such a big part of his life for so long had been torn away. Another urge to laugh hit him as he took in his situation: his totally unsuitable clothes and his silly dog. A hotshot from the city, she’d called him, and she hadn’t been too far off with that. Well, he was certainly no hotshot now. Out here in the wilds of the Lake District a silver tongue and a steely gaze counted for nothing.
* * *
AWARE THAT WILL DEVLIN was watching her as she headed toward the place where the ewe had disappeared, Chrissie held her head high, determined not to let him sense her discomfort. There was no way she was letting him see that he’d bugged her. She wasn’t used to folks like him; he didn’t belong up here, with his posh voice and fancy clothes. This was her place, her land and her way of life.
Resisting