rush of tears overwhelmed her, cutting through the anger. What if it was still holding on—and suffering? She had to be sure.
Telling the dogs to “lie” and “stay,” Chrissie carefully negotiated the rocky ledge and found a place near one end where it sloped off more gradually, allowing her to climb down and inch across to where the sheep was lying. Its body was still warm and soft to the touch, but its eyes were glazing over and it gazed right past her, into eternity.
“Poor lamb,” she murmured, stroking the rough hair on the ewe’s black-and-white face, recognizing its distinctive markings at once. This would have been the sheep’s first lambing and now it would never happen, all because of a misfit from the city and his stupid dog. Tourists like him should be banned from everywhere but the villages that depended on them for their livelihood.
With a sharp whistle to Tess and Fly, Chrissie headed homeward. There was nothing else to do here.
* * *
THE YARD AT High Bracken was quiet. As quiet as the poor dead sheep, thought Chrissie with a knot in her stomach. Despondency flooded her veins. She certainly hadn’t expected the gather to end like this. Tess and Fly looked eagerly up at her, whining softly.
“Okay,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault. Come on, I’ll give you a feed.”
As she made for the barn, a frantic barking broke the tranquility, reminding her about the new dog, Floss. She opened the small door set into one of the two big barn doors and stepped inside, breathing in the sweet fragrance of hay. Here on the fells they still made small bales of traditional meadow hay—and always would do, as far as she was concerned. Sheep did best on meadow hay, and small bales were easy to handle.
“Hey, girl,” she called softly as the nervous young dog wriggled and squirmed on the end of her chain. Chrissie intended to bring her into the kitchen tonight, where the other dogs slept, but for now she was safest tied in the barn. She leaned down to rub the pup’s ears before unclipping her chain. The little black, white and tan Welsh collie raced around her.
Chrissie laughed, her unsuccessful day temporarily forgotten as Floss rolled over onto her back. “I hope you’re going to settle down a bit, or I’ll never be able to train you,” she said, scratching Floss’s tummy. She liked to spend time with new trainees, get them to trust her before proper training sessions began.
Tess and Fly flopped down in the hay, noses on their paws as they waited patiently, watching their mistress’s every move. “You were young once,” she told them. When she stood, Floss leaped up at her and she lowered her palm in a signal to sit.
“Down,” she said firmly. The little dog wagged her plumed tail and when she repeated the command, Floss did as she was bid.
“Well someone has certainly taught you something.” Chrissie reached into the feed bin for the bag of dog food. Tess and Fly jumped up and stood by their bowls, while Floss held back submissively.
The shadows were lengthening by the time Chrissie finished feeding the dogs and turned to her other animals.
With Floss on a long piece of twine, she fed and locked away the chickens and the Indian Runner ducks that she used in the sheepdogs’ early training. It was too early yet to test out Floss’s natural herding instincts, so she kept the young dog close and gave the command to sit on a regular basis.
The two shorthorn cows she kept for her own milk lowed hungrily, and she fed them before milking them in the old traditional way, enjoying the warm feel of their teats and the rhythmic sound of the milk squirting into a stainless steel bucket.
People around here thought she was as mad as a box of frogs to bother milking twice a day. “You could buy your milk from the shop,” Andy, her vet, had reminded her for the thousandth time just the other day. “It would be a darn sight cheaper and a lot less hassle.” Her response had been just to smile and shrug. The truth was she enjoyed it. The age-old task helped her relax.
And after her bad experience with the city dweller and his dog, she definitely needed to relax.
Remembering the poor, broken sheep, a flood of emotion overtook her. If Will Devlin thought he was getting away scot-free, then he could think again. Nothing could bring back the ewe or her unborn lamb, but he could pay for it. That was the least he could do.
Tomorrow, she decided, she’d get an early start and make the gather again. Once the flock was safely down on the lower pasture adjacent to the farm, she’d try to find out where the man was from. She stood, lifting the pail of milk and covering it with a cloth. In fact, she would write out a proper invoice as soon as she went inside. Perhaps she should take it with her in the morning, in case she saw him on the fell again, though surely he had learned his lesson there. Someone in the village must know where he was staying.
No matter what, she was determined to find him and make him pay.
WILL DEVLIN ROLLED OVER in bed, breaking into a sweat as he woke in the darkness, horrible images flooding his mind. He sat up, flinging back his blankets. Would he never get a good night’s sleep again?
There was something heavy on his legs, pinning them down, and he made out Max’s pale shape in a beam of silvery moonlight. The big dog raised his head and flopped around, spread-eagling himself happily.
If anyone had told Will a year ago that he would be living alone in the country and sharing his bed with a dog, he’d have said it was impossible...and yet now here he was. Max slid off his legs and jumped onto the floor, instantly full of life. He was used to his master’s nighttime ramblings; sometimes they even went out for a walk in the darkness.
Tonight, though, Will felt too maudlin for a walk. Pulling on his dressing gown, he ran downstairs with Max at his heels, poured himself a stiff whisky and sat down beside the stove in the kitchen.
Had he been right to come here? Or was life in the Lake District just a crazy notion that he’d tire of soon? Remembering his disaster the previous day with the woman and her sheep, he realized he had an awful lot to learn if he was going to stay around here.
Max sat on his haunches, watching Will’s every move, his tail waving.
“Perhaps I should get you some proper training, Max,” Will said thoughtfully. “Assuming you’re even trainable...”
Max just looked at him, his brown eyes glowing with trust and happiness. That might have been what had drawn him to the pup in the first place, thought Will—the joyous innocence in his eyes. Innocence had kind of faded from Will’s life of late.
On the other hand, it had been Max’s innocence that caused the chaos on the fell today. Though Will doubted Chrissie would call the big dog “innocent” after what she thought he’d done to her sheep.
Taking another sip of his whisky, he pictured the straight-backed woman with her long blond braid. Chrissie. She didn’t really look like a Chrissie—more a Lorna or an Alice. A smile curled up inside him, warming the cold, hard place in his heart...
He shook his head. What did her name matter? In fact, the last woman he’d dated had been called Summer, and there wasn’t much about her that reminded him of the season—unless you counted how short-lived the relationship was. The shepherdess was no Summer, either. More of a Winter, he thought with a smirk. Remembering her honey-colored skin, though, he changed his mind to Autumn, with its golden tints and beautiful browns.
Summer had soon stopped getting in touch when he’d told her he’d given up his job and was moving to the country. He’d been put off at first, but now he was glad; he needed to be alone, for the time being, and he couldn’t see a future with her anyway.
Sighing, he dropped his empty glass into the sink and headed back up the narrow staircase. Tomorrow, he guessed, the architect would be on the phone. Will was so exhausted that it crossed his mind to put the whole project on hold, completely rethink the decisions he’d