WHEN CHRISSIE SAW something fluttering between the duck shed and the drystone wall, her heart sank. Surely the stupid dog hadn’t done it again...not that it was the poor dog’s fault. Will had chosen to buy an excitable dog, and it was his responsibility to teach it the difference between right and wrong. If he couldn’t do it himself then he needed to get some help.
The little Runner duck lay quite still, long neck outstretched and eyes closed. The movement she’d seen was just its feathers fluttering in the breeze, giving the semblance of life. The dog must have nipped it, or perhaps it had died of shock.
For a sheep farmer in the Lakeland fells, death was an everyday occurrence, yet still she felt the pressure of tears against her eyelids. What had the poor little duck done to deserve this? Robbed of a natural life as a working drake with females at its disposal, it had found another use in helping her train the young sheepdogs. Along with the other unwanted drakes, it had become quite accustomed to being quietly herded around the paddock in exchange for food and a weatherproof shelter. And it should have been safe here. That’s what upset her most.
Well, Will would pay, just like he had for the sheep, although this time she would ask for more than the duck’s real value. Maybe then he’d make an effort with his crazy dog.
Determined to make Will pay his dues, she wrote out a bill and put it in her jacket pocket. She’d have to wait until she came across him again to give it to him. However, she soon forgot she was even carrying it because before she got a chance to hand it over, the lambing began.
Chrissie knew that lambs were imminent since all the ewes had been scanned and the dates were pretty accurate nowadays. She had been checking the flock regularly, ever since they came down into the low pasture, driving slowly around the meadows just as it got dark, watching for signs of a ewe in discomfort or maybe even prostrate on the ground with a head or a pair of black cloven hooves protruding, which might mean that the animal needed her help. Apart from routine visits that she paid a set fee for, she only called the vet in exceptional circumstances.
Most of the flock was grazing when she began her routine check. They looked up into the Land Rover’s headlights, their eyes like bright torches in the twilight. An older, experienced ewe was the first one she saw with a lamb—a big, strong, healthy lamb, she was pleased to see. Nothing to worry about there.
After making sure the lamb had started to suckle, she drove on and was almost ready to go back to the yard when she spotted another ewe in the farthest corner of the field. Two tiny newborn twin lambs were standing beside it on wobbly legs. The ewe licked their backs, forming a bond as she nudged them toward her teats, which they both latched onto eagerly. Small though they were, they both appeared okay for now. She watched them for a little while and decided to let them be. The weather was dry and mild for the end of March—it was icy rain that caused problems—and they’d come to no harm out here with their mother. A pity, though, that there were two. On lower ground, farmers welcomed twins, but way up on the fells a single lamb had a better chance of survival.
* * *
FOR THE NEXT week or so, Chrissie was kept busy with the constant arrival of lambs. Night after night, she was up until the early hours, awakening at dawn to check the flock again.
She was proud of the fact that there had been no casualties so far, though one of the twins was having difficulties. It had been weak when it was born, and had already been getting cold when she found it the previous evening. She helped it suckle, making sure it had milk in its belly, and she kept it warm all night by the stove in the kitchen, but in the morning it was almost lifeless. Still, she had to try. Where there was life, there was hope.
Bundling the lamb up, Chrissie took it out into the semidarkness to the pen in the barn where its mother had bleated restlessly all night. She placed it carefully down on the hay and grabbed the fell sheep’s thick, oily wool.
With a twist of her knee, she flipped the ewe expertly onto its back. It lay helplessly against her, forelegs in the air, as she reached for the lamb. Its udder was bulging, she noted with satisfaction, and when she squeezed a teat, warm milk ran onto her hand. She tried to get the lamb to latch on, to no avail. Realizing it was too weak now to suckle, she eased its jaw open and squeezed the milk in drop by drop, lifting the little one’s head and rubbing the underside of its throat to try and get it to swallow.
“Come on,” she pleaded as she felt its first weak gulp.
After almost half an hour of effort, Chrissie moved the lamb out of harm’s way and turned the ewe upright, letting her loose. Chrissie stood with her hands on the small of her back to ease the dull ache. The anxious mother went straight to her baby, letting out low bleating sounds as she licked its tightly curled coat. The lamb remained motionless, and Chrissie’s heart tightened as she realized the milk hadn’t helped enough.
“Come on, little one,” she murmured, picking it up again. “Let’s try a couple more hours in the warm.”
Chrissie settled the lamb down in its box next to the stove, then headed out to check on the lambing sheep, feed the animals and milk the two cows. Tess and Fly were at her heels, as always, but the young trainee, Floss, leaped around her in crazy circles, thrilled to be out in the open with her companions.
As she worked, Chrissie found herself questioning her lonely existence and wondering if maybe some of what Aunt Hilda had said was right. In all honesty, if Chrissie died tomorrow, who would there be to miss her? It was a sobering thought.
Her thoughts went, unbidden, to Will. The fact that he’d kept his ownership of Craig Side from her made her blood boil. Then again, had he really made a secret of it...or had she been ignoring what was right in front of her? The way he behaved irritated her, too, but if she was being honest with herself, their spats made her feel...alive. Apart from making small talk with the postman and the occasional villager, she had so little interaction with other people. So the passion he invoked in her, even though it was generally based on anger and frustration, was kind of fulfilling. And there was something about him that intrigued her. She’d never met a man like Will before.
At eight thirty, when all the jobs were finally done, Chrissie headed wearily back into the kitchen, satisfied with her evening’s work and looking forward to a nice cup of tea and a sit-down. Her sense of well-being faded, though, as she checked on the lamb. Milk trickled from between its small black lips, and the life had faded from its eyes.
She placed her hand on its motionless rib cage and found the body cold and still. Her efforts hadn’t been enough, and now she needed to find a “pet” lamb to replace it. The ewe had milk, and her mothering instinct was strong; she needed another lamb to care for right away, or her milk would dry up and she would be good for nothing. A ewe without lambs was not worth keeping.
Grabbing her phone, breakfast forgotten, Chrissie rang three local sheep farmers before finding an orphan lamb at Chris Bolton’s farm on the other side of the village.
“Come on, girls,” she called to her dogs, pulling on her jacket. They ran eagerly out behind her to jump into the back of her Land Rover, excited to be going somewhere.
As she drove along the main street in Little Dale, stopping for a duck to waddle across the road, Chrissie was reminded of the Runner duck killed by Will’s dog. Well, she may have been distracted by the lambing, but he wasn’t getting away with it. He needed to learn that here in the countryside, he was accountable for the actions of his crazy dog...and hopefully that would help him realize how irresponsible his plans for holiday rentals were.
Come to think of it, though, it was strange that she hadn’t seen him in the past week. Maybe he’d decided to go back to the city after all, but she doubted it. During their last encounter, he’d sounded very determined to settle here. She would be glad if he was gone; he’d already caused enough problems for her. Yet, unbelievably, she realized she’d miss the way his silvery gray eyes sought to overpower her, the way they glinted with anger when their conversations got heated. The touching thing was that in an instant, that glint could disappear and reveal vulnerability. She couldn’t deny that her heart rate doubled when she glimpsed that unexpected softness... She shook her head out of the clouds. If he was still around, she needed to see him so she could give him the bill. He wasn’t getting away with not paying her back.
Approaching the village store, it occurred to Chrissie that she might as well stock up on groceries while she was here. She’d used the last of her coffee earlier that morning and coffee was something she definitely couldn’t do without.
The shop door pinged as Chrissie walked in. She marveled at the abundance. Each shelf was crammed with goods ranging from fresh bread and basics to some exotic items that never seemed to leave the shelves, like dates in small wooden boxes with Arabic writing on the lids.
After filling her basket she waited to pay, idly glancing at the ads pinned to the notice board. There were border collie puppies for sale, as usual, and a tall pine wardrobe, badly photographed, but beneath that, in bright, eye-catching color, was a more professional-looking flyer.
COBBLE COTTAGES. Holiday lets still available. Walk the magnificent Lake District fells by day and relax in front of a log fire at night.
Chrissie tensed as she studied the accompanying photo of a family: mum, dad, two kids and their springer spaniel walking together way up on the hills. What right did this company have to encourage people to put themselves at risk like that? And what chance did sheep farmers like herself have with that kind of advertising around? It made the Lake District look like a playground, and that could mean serious repercussions not just for those who were trying to farm on the fells but for the visitors themselves.
She hurriedly paid for her goods and left the shop, still fuming at the advertisement as she headed back to her Land Rover. Maybe there was a way to create guidelines for promoting holidays here. There must be someone she could approach about it.
Chrissie was still contemplating the problem as she nosed her cumbersome vehicle out into the street. That was when she saw Will walking along the side of the road, being pulled along as usual by an impatient Max. Slowing to a stop, she rolled down her window.
“I see your dog is being just as obedient as ever,” she remarked dryly.
“And it’s your business because...?” he snapped.
“You could ask my dead duck about that.”
Hot color flooded his cheeks. “What? You mean...”
Chrissie nodded, rummaging in her pocket. “’Fraid so. Here.”
Will ripped open the brown envelope she handed him and studied her bill, narrowing his eyes. “Are you kidding?” he exclaimed. “Fifty pounds...for a duck?”
“For that duck, yes.”
For a moment, he held her eyes with his and to her annoyance she felt her heart rate rise. “You do have to pay for your dog’s mistakes, I’m afraid.”
He nodded curtly. “I’ll drop off a check...or cash, if you prefer it. It will probably be tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Oh, and perhaps you’d better leave your out-of-control dog at home.”
“He’s just young and exuberant,” objected Will. “He needs some training, that’s all.”
Chrissie nodded. “Well, that’s true. A different breed of dog might have been a good idea, of course... Labradoodles are renowned for being a bit mad.” The advertisement popped into her head again, and her irritation surged. “Maybe you’d be having an easier time if you’d taken your environment into account before buying a farm here.”
“I’m sticking around for some time yet,” Will remarked dryly. “And I do intend to learn about life here, you’ll see.” In one of his sudden mood changes, he grinned. “You never know, I may even eventually get some sheep.”
Chrissie rolled her eyes in mock horror. “Poor sheep,” she called, putting her foot on the gas. No matter how much he managed to annoy her, she thought, as she drove off down the village street, he always seemed to make her smile.
* * *
IT WAS DAWN when Will woke the next morning, just as the first pale rays sneaked over the dark mass of the fell. He lay for a while watching the light grow brighter as nature greeted the day. At night, there was another world, a world where the familiar became unfamiliar, where creatures padded secretly around in the darkness, living their lives without sun. He thought about the city at night, where anything could happen, loud and vibrant and dangerous, and much brighter than daytime. He used to love the city at night.
In one smooth movement, Will slid from the warmth of his bed and went to the window to peer out onto the fell. It looked so fresh and vital now that spring was here. Green shoots were everywhere, brightening the tips of the stunted trees and low, thorny bushes, finding their way through the dead brown bracken and giving it new life. That was why he had come to love it here, he realized; everything was so real and alive, ruled by natural cycles and laws. Life out here was cruel sometimes and even savage, but without the corruption that lurked in the city.
As Will pulled on his socks, Max nudged and licked him, eager to go out.
“In a minute,” Will said, turning his face away from the dog’s exuberant kisses. Max ran out of the room, long tail waving, and headed down the stairs with a thump, thump, thump. He’d better find the labradoodle a trainer soon, Will thought, before he did even more damage.
He smiled to himself. The whole situation was like a ridiculous farce, a comedy of errors. How could poor, daft, friendly Max—who wouldn’t deliberately hurt a fly—have managed to cause so much trouble? First the poor sheep that fell over the cliff, and now he had contributed to the death of a Runner duck. Will dug the bill Chrissie had given him out of yesterday’s pants pocket. How could she ask fifty pounds for a duck?
Well, she’d get her money, and then he’d hire the best dog trainer there was, no matter what the cost, and walk Max across the fell when Miss frosty Autumn was herding her sheep. He couldn’t wait to watch her eat her words. Unfortunately, though, he had to go pay her yet again for Max’s misdeeds. At least it would be over with soon.
Chrissie was still on his mind as he took Max for a quick walk up the fell. The way she’d glared at him when she ranted about her sheep—not to mention the ducks—had been fueled by her passion for her animals, and he liked that.
Yesterday, though, when she’d handed him the new bill, her tone had been cold and hard, her blue eyes holding no reflection of the fire he’d seen in them before. Like the first time he ever saw her, way up on the fell, defending her sheep.
She had been ablaze with anger that day, but although she’d made him feel stupid and out of place, he’d felt a trickle of admiration for her passion. Their backgrounds couldn’t be more different and they didn’t really have much in common, aside from loving this place in their own ways. Still, there was something about her that drew him in. He didn’t want to feel that way and he certainly hadn’t expected to, but he couldn’t control it. Perhaps he should just try and avoid her altogether. He’d give her the check, he decided, and then stay well away. He needed to stay focused on his plans, and getting into spats with someone he was never going to see eye to eye with was a waste of time and energy.
Although it was spring, the mornings were still nippy, and Will was grateful to step back into the warmth of the kitchen. He’d go over to High Bracken before the builders arrived, he decided; he couldn’t face all that knocking and banging, and no doubt Jim would come looking for him as soon as they got here, or Roger Simmons would stop by with the revised plans.
He’d felt a real surge of interest in the holiday rentals when he’d talked to Roger about his ideas. The thought of people coming here to experience how things used to be gave the project a whole new, refreshing slant. The age-old way of life in the Lake District should never be forgotten, but the area needed visitors to spend their money here and this was one way to combine the two goals. All he needed to do was convince the locals, like Chrissie Marsh. Sure, he’d gotten off to an awkward start here, but surely she’d come around when he explained his intent. She might not think so, but there were some things he did understand about this place and its traditions.
First, though, he needed to take her that check.
The phone rang just as Will was pulling out of the yard. He answered without checking the caller ID, immediately wishing he’d screened it when Roy Wallis’s voice came out over the Bluetooth sound system. He responded before Roy could even ask the question. “I am not doing it.”
There was audible, lengthy silence. “All I want,” Roy began, obviously straining to remain patient, “is for you to talk to Peter, the lawyer who has taken over from you... You know, give him a few tips on how to deal with people like the McBrides.”
“Don’t tell me—he’s having trouble with Ezra?” Will felt immense relief that this was no longer his problem.
“Just a few words on the phone,” Roy pleaded. He was not one to beg, so he must be desperate. “Or a meeting here, perhaps. You owe us that, at least.”
Will’s every instinct screamed at him to refuse. He couldn’t afford to go down that dark road again—there were too many gruesome memories. He’d lost himself once already, and he’d barely recovered. He wasn’t sure he could do it a second time.
“Please, Will. Just a few questions, that’s all. Give him the lay of the land, so to speak.”
Will listened to the plea in Roy’s voice, remembering all the help and support his ex-boss had given him throughout his career, and in a moment of weakness he found himself agreeing to a meeting. Even as the words left his lips, something tightened inside him, something he thought he had overcome. It threatened his peace of mind. “Just twenty minutes or so, though,” he added. “I’ll be there before lunch.”
With a heavy sigh he turned his big vehicle around and drove back to Craig Side. If he was going to do this then he needed to feel right and that meant getting changed into the clothes that made him look strong and confident. One thing was for sure: this was going to be the first and last time they’d ever persuade him to come back, even fleetingly.
As he searched in his closet for a suitably expensive suit, it occurred to him that Chrissie did not need outward apparel to give her a facade of strength. She was strong from the core, facing adversities from bad weather to her animals’ deaths on a regular basis. She would never allow money and power to tempt her away from what she felt was right.
He, on the other hand, had allowed money and power to rule his world for the last ten years, the power of words and the buzz of success that followed his victories...until he’d come to realize that they weren’t really victories after all, and money wasn’t everything. He did feel a sense of responsibility toward Roy, however, and though he didn’t regret leaving Marcus Finch, he could see now that his sudden departure had been unfair. Early in his career, his boss had believed in him, mentored him, even when things went wrong. He owed Roy, so he’d agreed to this meeting. But that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it.
Glancing critically in the mirror, he saw his old self, smart and distinguished; a far cry from the man he was now...the man who always seemed to be dressed in the wrong clothes and was the laughingstock of the local shepherdess. He gritted his teeth, drawing his mouth into a thin line. He would get through today, and then he would prove to her that he really could fit in here. Because he didn’t intend to go anywhere else anytime soon.