case. He’d even had Roger Simmons, his architect, check out the property to brainstorm before the deal was properly finalized.
Now that he was actually living here, though, Will realized he didn’t want to share it with anyone...not even the workmen. What he needed to recover from his breakdown was peace and quiet, not the stress and tumult of a huge project. But what was done was done, and he had to deal with it.
Jim laid the plans out on the kitchen table. “Have a good walk?” he asked.
Will thought about his clash with the woman on the fell. “I wouldn’t exactly put it like that,” he replied with frown. “In fact, you may have noticed that I look as if I have been dragged through a rather thick thorn hedge backward.”
Jim raised his wild, gray eyebrows. “Well, I did wonder...”
“I upset some sheep on the fell,” Will explained. “Or, at least, Max did...”
Jim glanced at the mud-splattered labradoodle, unable to contain a smile. “And I’ll hazard a guess that, as she is your nearest neighbor, the sheep were rough fells and they belonged to Chrissie Marsh.”
Will shrugged. “I wouldn’t have a clue what the sheep were, but the shepherdess—can you call them that these days or are they all just shepherds?—was definitely Chrissie Marsh.”
Jim grinned slowly. “If you’ve upset her sheep then I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes.”
“It will take more than a disgruntled sheepherder to upset me.” Will thought of all the hardened criminals he’d mingled with in the past ten years. “Unless she has a violent husband...”
“Oh, no,” Jim said. “Chrissie is a loner. She loves her sheep and her dogs, and she doesn’t suffer fools gladly. She’s never been married.” He went back to the plans. “Now, what about this entrance hall? Roger wondered if you wanted a central entrance—you know, like a foyer, and then have apartments inside the barn rather than build individual cottages in the farmyard.”
Will shook his head, cupping his chin between thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. “No, I’m beginning to think that perhaps they need to be...authentic. You know, traditional, just like they were in the past.”
“What...no showers or microwaves? Electricity?”
“It’s just a thought. Roughing it is all the rage these days. City dwellers love the idea of going back to nature and experiencing how things used to be.”
Jim rolled up the plans, securing them with an elastic band. “It sounds as if you need to have a meeting with Roger, then. He wanted you to look these over because he was hoping to get them ready for next month’s planning meeting, but it seems like it’s going to take a bit longer than that. I’ll drop these off at his house on my way home and tell him to give you a call.”
Will nodded. “Thanks. My first thoughts were to have apartments, but to be honest since coming here I’ve been realizing how strong the traditions are. I mean, take Chrissie, for instance. I reckon shepherds just like her have been walking these fells with their dogs in the same way for hundreds of years.”
“Thousands, more likely,” Jim remarked. “Maybe you have something there, then, but I am no architect—or expert on what folks want, for that matter. You need to talk to people who know about stuff like that. Anyway, I’ll see what I can do about your shower. Oh, and I’m afraid the roof trusses in the barn are rotten, six of them, at least. It would be a big mistake not to replace them.”
“Just order what you need,” Will said. Suddenly, he felt stifled. He had come here to relax, not open himself up to a whole new set of problems like rotten roof trusses and planning applications. Perhaps he should just tell the architect to put everything on hold for a while...but then again, he still had to survive, and his savings weren’t going to last forever.
He saw Jim off then turned to the woodstove. “Come on, Max,” he said. “Let’s go and get you cleaned up.”
It was much later, as he sat in the garden watching the sun slowly disappear, that Chrissie’s face slid into his mind.
She had been so angry with him, standing stalwart with her dogs at her feet, blue eyes blazing. And then she’d surprised him by revealing a different side to her nature, when they had hauled at the trapped sheep together, side by side, their fingers locked into its oily wool. Her sheer determination had freed it. There was no doubt in Will’s mind about that.
Yet her face had been a picture when she’d ended up sprawled on top of him, bright red with embarrassment. Funny, really, when she came across so tough and strong-minded. Perhaps some of that self-assurance was an act.
Who was he to judge her if it was? He had acted a part every day in his job, putting on a front for his clients, judges, juries...the whole world, if he was honest with himself. Maybe that was what most people did. Maybe, underneath, everyone was vulnerable. Some just hid it better than others.
The relief Chrissie had shown when the tough little ewe eventually ran off up the hill with a series of stiff-legged jumps had been no act—he was sure of that. Her face had crumpled with emotion...until she’d turned to look at him. And the way she’d just walked off with her dogs down the steep hillside, her head held high... He had never met any woman like her.
Anyway, he had certainly learned his lesson. If he saw her again—especially if he was walking Max—then he’d know to steer well clear.
* * *
CHRISSIE WAS CONSUMED with anger as she headed homeward with Tess and Fly at her heels. Will Devlin, whoever he was, had ruined her day. Not just because he’d let his dog terrify the sheep, but because he’d made her feel like a fool when they’d pulled the ewe out of the crevice and she’d fallen on him. No one ever made Chrissie Marsh look foolish.
Her whole day had been wasted and it was all his fault. What kind of idiot let a dog like that loose on the fell, anyway, especially at lambing time? Well, if there was any damage then he would be paying for it; she hadn’t been joking about that.
The ewe that had fallen was quite likely to lamb too early after all that stress. It was hard enough for the lambs to survive up here as it was; premature labor would mean Chrissie would have to keep mother and lamb—hopefully not lambs—on the lowlands for longer. Well, at least lambing time was imminent so they couldn’t be very premature, but shock could have unpredictable effects, even resulting in lambs being stillborn.
And she hadn’t yet ruled out the possibility of finding more damaged sheep. Anything could have happened to them when they ran away from the dog. In normal circumstances, fell sheep were sure-footed and knew their territory far too well to get into difficulties, but today had been something else—something she really could have done without.
Homeowner or not, Will Devlin and his fancy clothes had no place up in these hills. He must have bought a holiday cottage somewhere around here. In the village, probably.
It was Tess who noticed it first. She stopped, head up to sniff the air, whining into the relentless wind that bent the stunted trees and bushes toward the ground. Chrissie followed her gaze with a prickle of apprehension. “What is it, girl?
The black-and-white collie raced off toward a rocky outcrop, closely followed by Fly. Chrissie headed off after them, using her crook to stop her from slipping on the sharp scree. Her heart fell when she peered over the ominous drop. A white shape lay on the rocks far below.
On a normal day the ewe could have easily traversed the dangerous surface. Today, though, in an obvious panic and separated from the flock, she must have lost her footing on the patch of unstable scree and slipped over the edge...falling to her doom.
Although she was used to the harsh ways of nature, where death often seemed to loom around every corner, losing one of her flock so needlessly—so wastefully—filled Chrissie with rage at the man who had unwittingly caused it. He was so ignorant. She could only hope that this sheep’s death had been quick and painless. And it was dead, she was sure of it. The ewe’s