CHRISSIE WOKE AT five thirty the next morning with a fog in her brain. Forcing her eyes open, she sat on the side of the bed with her head in her hands. “Get it together, Chrissie,” she told herself. “Sheep are waiting.” It was mornings like this that really made her question her choice of career.
A cup of hot coffee made her feel a lot better, and when she opened the back door to find that the rain had stopped, she even managed a smile. Floss ran past her and Chrissie called her back into the house; the little dog was coming on well, but she wasn’t yet ready to work with the sheep.
“Won’t be long, girl,” she said, patting Floss’s ruff of white hair and pushing her back into the kitchen.
The clear, sharp air quickly blew away Chrissie’s cobwebs as she set off with Fly and Tess at her heels and a song back in her heart. Truth was, she loved this time of the morning, walking across the yard through the velvety darkness, so familiar with every inch of her surroundings that she didn’t even need a flashlight.
The dogs went crazy, sniffing for rats, especially when a couple ran right in front of them, almost over Chrissie’s toes. With a sharp whistle, she called them back. Immediately obedient, they followed her to the barn, waiting in excitement as she opened the big door and let out the aromas of feed and hay and sheep.
Inside, a low, yellow light gleamed through the darkness so that she could just make out the penned sheep and lambs clambering up from sleep. The big ewe in the farthest pen let out a rumbling bleat and Chrissie smiled to herself. This sheep had only been in the barn three or four days and Chrissie’d had a devil of a job getting her in here, but now it seemed the nervous ewe already knew the routine. That was the amazing thing about these sheep—they were wild and tough, but they knew how to adapt in order to survive, and even more importantly, for their young to survive.
“Here you are, girl,” Chrissie said, throwing an armful of soft, sweet meadow hay into the pen. The ewe stared at her nervously, yellow eyes wide, and then she started nibbling on the hay while her lambs began eagerly feeding on their mother’s rich milk, tails wagging and tiny rear ends bobbing up and down.
For a moment Chrissie stayed to watch them, satisfied with their progress. Tomorrow, she decided, she would let them back out into the meadow.
Checking on each pen’s occupants, Chrissie gave out more hay and made sure the water containers were full before pulling the tractor keys from the pocket of her voluminous jacket and rattling them. Tess and Fly came racing over, and with a last quick look around Chrissie closed the barn doors and headed for the vehicle.
“Come on, then,” she said to Tess and Fly, urging them to jump into the cab. “Time to do it all over again.”
Except, she realized as she climbed into the driver’s seat, she wasn’t about to do it all over again. Although the routine might be the same, each morning presented new challenges; births, deaths and other problems filled each and every day at lambing time, and she wouldn’t have it any different.
This morning, however, the problems were fewer, which told Chrissie that the lambing was almost over. The meadows were filled with healthy lambs and sheep, and soon it would be time for the single lambs to go back to the fell with their mothers, while the less hardy twins spent a little more time down in the shelter of home.
She felt a deep sense of satisfaction as she returned the tractor and went into the kitchen, kicking off her boots on the porch. Floss ran to her, whining softly, and Chrissie smiled, telling her to sit. When the little dog instantly did as she was bid, Chrissie pulled a treat from her pocket. Her methods of training might not comply with those of some of the other shepherds in the area, but her success rates were good and her dogs always wanted to please.
As she put on the kettle, she found herself wondering what it would be like to train the unruly Max, who had none of the collie’s sharp intelligence but a very loving heart. It didn’t matter, she told herself. She wasn’t about to find out anytime soon.
Since she had finished her tasks a little earlier than usual, after breakfast Chrissie allowed herself the luxury of sitting down with another cup of tea and yesterday’s paper. Every morning, the postman brought a daily paper, but she didn’t know why she bothered when it seemed that the news made her either sad or mad.
“Well,” she said dropping the paper into the magazine rack. “What a waste of time.”
Used to their mistress’s ramblings Tess and Fly lay motionless in front of the stove, but little Floss jumped up and came across to sit in front of her, tail wagging and head tilted to one side. Chrissie smiled. “Don’t take any notice of me ranting on, girl. It would just be nice to read something really happy for once.”
She’d be sad, thought Chrissie, when Floss went back home. She’d become really attached to the pup, who would have a great future if her owner decided to do sheepdog trials with her. She’d suggest it to him, Chrissie decided, standing and stretching her arms above her head. Both the older dogs were up at once, knowing the routine.
“And today,” said Chrissie, looking at Floss. “You get to come with us onto the fell. On a long leash, of course, but at least it’s a start.”
The mail van pulled into the yard just as she stepped out the door. With a cheery “Mornin’,” the postman handed her a stack of envelopes, and she flicked through it. Three bills and a bank statement, she noted with a sigh, heading back into the house with her stomach churning. If Roy Eddery had sent her a big bill for the tractor then, basically, she was finished.
Putting off the dreaded moment, she opened the other bills first. The amounts seemed to glare out at her from the page: £500 for feed, £275 for fuel...and then the dreaded tractor bill. Her hand shook as she pulled it from its envelope. The amount was a staggering £1,502.45. She threw it onto the table in disgust, reaching for the bank statement. She’d had to get the tractor fixed, even though Roy had warned her that it would be expensive. The farm couldn’t function without a tractor, especially at lambing time.
She’d been trying not to think about her financial problems for the last few weeks; life was stressful enough at this time of year. But this bill had brought it all back with a bang. She was used to going it alone, but suddenly she felt lonely, her independence in tatters. If only her parents were still alive. Her mum had always been so good with the farm finances, whereas she and her dad had been more interested in caring for the stock. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself wishing she’d spent more time listening to her mother, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. Perhaps her aunt was right; perhaps she did need someone in her life...a partner, like her parents had been to each other.
Well, she had to try and find the money somehow, and soon, for Roy’s garage was struggling just as much as her farm. In fact, she thought, scanning the column of figures on the bank statement, according to most of the people she spoke to, it seemed as if all the businesses around here were struggling to survive. Her overdraft limit was sixty thousand, and at the moment she was way too close to that line. She could just about manage the other bills, but the tractor payment would take her way over.
Trying to retrieve her usual sense of calm, Chrissie sat down. A problem was not a problem, her dad had always told her; it was merely a challenge to be overcome. She always liked to think like that, but this time...
Placing her head in her hands, she fought off tears, searching for a way out. None appeared.
She would have no decent income until the lambs were ready for sale, and selling off grown sheep to pay the bills would be suicide for High Bracken because she would never be able to afford to restock. Fewer sheep meant fewer lambs the next year.
The future loomed bleakly ahead of her. She wouldn’t be the first farmer up here to face this situation...nor the last. But she wouldn’t give up the fight. Not yet. This land, her work and her life here on the fells, was too important to her. She had to find a way through this...somehow.
* * *
WILL WOKE EARLY and let Max out into the garden, making sure that the gate was firmly closed so there was no chance of his escaping.
He was just sitting down with his coffee when the phone rang. He picked it up impatiently. Today he had planned to call in at High Bracken with a bottle of wine for Chrissie to say thank you and maybe have another go at her about training Max. In a way, the dog had saved his life, and Will really felt that he owed Max the opportunity to prove himself. No matter what anyone said, he didn’t believe Max was dumb; he was just full of life and love and exuberance, and surely those couldn’t be bad traits.
“Hello?” he said in a sharper tone than he intended.
“Hey,” replied Roger. “I’m on your side, remember.”
“Sorry.” Will liked Roger—he was up-front, straight talking...and kind of ordinary. He liked that, too. Will had met enough professionals who thought they were something special; up here on the fells, so close to nature, people didn’t have egos like that. They just got on with their jobs—whatever they were.
Had he been like that once? he asked himself. Arrogant and full of self-importance? He hoped not, but he wouldn’t bank on it. Power and glory had definitely gone to his head. “Bad night, I’m afraid.”
“Ah...” Roger’s answer, or lack of it, spoke volumes.
“And before you start any rumors,” Will snapped, “I hadn’t been drinking. If you must know, I got lost in the mist when I was walking Max on the fells yesterday... Chrissie Marsh found me and brought me home.”
“Oh...well, then I’m glad you’re okay,” Roger said. He sounded sincere. “It was cold last night and exposure can be a dangerous thing.”
“Look...” For once in his life, Will was at a loss for words. “I apologize for my short temper, but it was a bit of a traumatic experience. I’m trying to persuade Chrissie to give Max some training and I’m heading on up there soon, so if you want to see me—”
“It’s just these plans. If you could stop in as you’re going past we can maybe get them in to the planning council in time for this month’s meeting. There will be objections, so the sooner the better...before they can get too much ammunition to fire at us.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour. So...you really think there will be objections?”
“No doubt about it. The local farmers always object when tourists are involved.”
“Well, then they need educating,” Will said. “The Lake District needs tourism if it is to survive.”
For a moment, the line went quiet. “It’s Chrissie who needs educating more than most,” Roger told him. “She must be struggling—all the hill farms are—and she needs to find a way to make tourism work for her.”
“I know how she feels about tourists, but surely she wouldn’t actually put in a formal objection,” Will insisted. “She’s a bright, intelligent woman who must understand that things have to change.” He formulated his next words carefully before speaking. “Anyway, we... Well, let’s just say I’ve gotten to know her a lot better lately. She’ll come round to my way of thinking eventually.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Roger said. “I’ve known Chrissie Marsh a long time, and she can be very stubborn when she wants to be. She won’t change her mind easily.”
Roger’s comment dug deeper than Will would have liked, but Chrissie would have told him she was objecting. Surely she wouldn’t go behind his back. She wouldn’t do that to him.
Before Will could leave for Roger’s place, Jim Wentworth caught him and insisted that he go and see how the work on the roof was progressing.
“Any more news on the planning?” Jim asked as they stared up at the rafters in the traditional old stone barn.
Will smiled. “I knew this was a ruse,” he said. “The barn is fine. You just wanted to nag about the planning.”
Jim looked him straight in the eye, and when he spoke his tone was serious. “The weather is improving now, and I’m nearly finished here. I have people ringing up every day with work for me, so if you’re not ready for me to start on the accommodations soon, I’m afraid you’ll have to get someone else.”
“We’re both in luck, then,” Will said. “Because I’m on my way up to Roger’s shortly to see if we can have the plans ready for next month’s meeting.”
“And you’ll let me know how it goes?”
“I’ll ring you later,” Will promised.
Despite his assurances to Jim, Will’s meeting with the architect proved to be anything but decisive. He was way too uncertain about what he wanted to be satisfied with Roger’s ideas, and a new and as-yet unformulated idea was circling around in his head.
“Alright,” Roger said eventually with an exasperated sigh. “Let’s just go for outline planning for now, to turn the farm buildings into holiday accommodation. Then we can work on getting the details ready for next month’s meeting.”
“We might get refused anyway,” said Will. “If as many people as you think are going to object.”
“Get Chrissie Marsh onside,” suggested Roger. “That’s your best bet.”
Will grinned. “I’m working on that.”
* * *
ROGER’S ADVICE WAS still on Will’s mind as he drove up the steep, narrow lane to High Bracken and parked in the yard. The whole place was bathed in spring sunshine and for the first time he realized just how pretty the farm was, and how steeped in time. Unlike most of the other farms dotted around on the fells, High Bracken hardly seemed to have been altered for at least a hundred years. Craig Side was old-fashioned, but at least the yard had been concreted; here the ground between the Lakeland stone buildings was still covered by cobblestones.
For a moment Will just stood there, taking in his surroundings. Brown chickens scratched in the dirt, clucking busily, and a big colorful rooster watched over them, full of his own importance. Like I used to be, thought Will with a smile. It occurred to him how narcissistic he’d always been in the city, never really stopping to look around and pay attention to anything other than himself.
“Can I help you?”
Chrissie’s sharp voice came from over by the barn and he turned to her. She stood tall with her head thrown back, alert for trouble and on the defensive. He remembered kissing her, the feel of her lips beneath his and their fleeting softness. Every instinct urged him to do it again, to just walk across and take her into his arms. What would she do? Probably turn on him like a wildcat. Or melt in his arms, he thought, struggling to resist the impulse.
“Hi,” he called. “I...I wondered if we could have a chat.”
“I need to finish up in here first,” she said shortly, retreating into the barn. Will followed, his heart racing and an unfamiliar churning in his gut.
He didn’t see her immediately as he stepped through the big doors into the relative gloom of the barn. He had never really breathed in the aroma of sweet meadow hay before he came to this place, and he paused, savoring the smell.
“Someone should bottle that,” he said, and Chrissie’s low chuckle came from the farthest corner of the barn.
“What would you call it, High Bracken Hay...or maybe just Sweet Meadow Grass?”
“I would call it Nature’s Elixir,” Will announced, heading toward her. “Possibly with taint of sheep,” he added, as the strong smell of the animals filled his nose.
“Let’s get it out there, then,” Chrissie said, standing. She’d been feeding the “pet” lamb. “I could do with the money. Here.”
She placed the lamb’s bottle in his hands. “Sooner I get done then the sooner I will be able to listen to what you have to say. If you just get this little one to finish its milk while I feed the sheep in the meadow then I might even have time for a coffee.”
With that she strode away, leaving Will with the tiny lamb, which was gazing eagerly up at him.
“Right, then,” he said, bending down to pick it up. It wriggled violently, so he put it down again, pointing the teat in its direction.
“Just cradle it with one arm while you get it going, remember,” called Chrissie. “Like last time.” Will glanced across to see her outlined in the doorway against the sunshine beyond the barn. Never had he met a woman like her, so comfortable and confident in her own space. That confidence and unselfconsciousness gave her a glow that no beauty product could ever match. She was radiant. He smiled at her and she smiled back.
“You’re doing good,” she told him before turning away, and something warmed inside him. Praise from Chrissie was praise indeed.
With fresh determination, he went about his task of feeding the lamb. His own confidence was soaring.
“Come on, little one,” he urged as the tiny creature started to suckle. The tractor roared into life and he could hear Chrissie calling for the dogs. It felt as if he had stepped into another world.
By the time he heard the tractor coming back, the bottle was empty and with a feeling of satisfaction he put the lamb gently back down just as Chrissie came marching into the barn with the dogs at her heels.
“Oh, good!” she cried. “It’s off to a new home later today, and a full belly will help it cope with the trauma of meeting its new mum.”
Will’s idyllic bubble burst in an instant as he realized anew how tough life could be here. “But why can’t you just keep it until it’s grown up?” he asked, feeling protective of the little creature that had been so dependent on him just moments ago.
Chrissie shrugged. “It needs to be back where it is supposed to be if at all possible. Sometimes I’ve been left with a lamb that never finds another mother—and don’t get me wrong, they do okay on the bottle. They never really know who they are, though, that’s the trouble. I had one a few years ago, named Hilda—after my aunt—who thought she was a dog and followed Tess and Fly everywhere.”
“So what happened to her? Please don’t say you sent her for slaughter.”
Chrissie sighed. “I should have, of course, but I managed to integrate her back into the flock... Not without difficulty, mind. She kept turning up at the back door trying to get into the house.”
“And is she still a part of the flock?”
She was silent for a minute and then she dropped her gaze to the ground. “She died last year...difficult lambing.” Chrissie met his eyes again. “Come on. I’ll make you that coffee and you can tell me what you are really here for.”
Chrissie still seemed troubled as she poured coffee into two mugs, which made Will wonder if something other than the death of the sheep last year was bothering her. She was quiet and withdrawn, as if her mind was elsewhere.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Her answer came too quickly. “Yes, of course I am.”
He tried again. “What is it...? Money? Romance?”
“It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Well, at least nothing that a few quid can’t sort out.”
Just as he had when he was a lawyer, Will saw his opportunity and moved in. “Well there,” he said, “I just may be able to help you.”
* * *
CHRISSIE LOOKED UP at him, startled. His features were both masculine and yet finely sculpted, she noted...and his lips...
She shut out the memory of their kiss.
“Two thousand pounds to train Max,” he said. “That’s what I’ll pay you.”
A spot of color rose in each of her cheeks. “But that’s crazy,” she said. “Anyway, I already told you, I’m way too busy.”
Will reached out and took both her hands in his, holding them tightly. “Max quite probably saved my life. If he hadn’t come to find you, then who knows what might have happened. I owe him, and I don’t want him shot by some farmer. Please, Chrissie. The money is nothing to me.”
Chrissie couldn’t speak. So many thoughts were circling in her mind. Two thousand pounds would be life-changing right now, give her some peace of mind to concentrate on what she was good at... But at what cost to her pride, her dignity?
“You obviously need the money,” he went on. She bristled at that, but let him continue. “It would be purely a business arrangement, of benefit to us both. No strings.”
“But what about your plans for holiday cottages? We’re on different sides of the fence over that issue. Going into business with you would undermine my credibility with the members of the community who support my beliefs.”
“But Chrissie...” Will held her gaze, tightening his grip on her hands, willing her to say yes. “Surely your friends and supporters wouldn’t begrudge you doing what you have to, to survive. They’ll probably pat you on the back and say, ‘well done for taking his money.’”
A slow smile spread across Chrissie’s face. Two thousand pounds would more than hold her over until she could start selling the lambs...but was it really worth it? Then again, did she have a choice? “And when would you intend to pay?”
“Is that a yes?”
She shook her head determinedly. “Just a question.”
Still keeping a firm hold on her hands, he didn’t let his gaze waver. She glanced away, her eyes wandering yet again to his lips. They formed words so eloquently, but were the words he spoke true and honest? Will’s whole career had been based on clever words. What if Max proved to be untrainable—would Will still pay up?
“We’d need a contract,” she said slowly, and his eyes shone.
“Here is my contract,” he began. “A verbal one. I pay up in full here and now, and you try and train my dog.”
Chrissie frowned, trying to pull her hands away but he wouldn’t let go. An amused smile lightened his features. “What do you mean ‘try’?’” she asked crossly.
“Ah, so we do have a deal?”
“No strings?”
“No strings,” he promised. “If Max turns out to be too stupid to train, then no hard feelings.”
“He isn’t stupid,” she insisted, jumping to the dog’s defense.
“See,” said Will. “You like him already.”
“Of course I like him. I’ve always liked him. It’s not his fault that his master doesn’t know a thing about dogs...or anything else about the country, if we’re being honest.”
“Okay, then...” Will leaned toward her, so close that she could feel his breath against her skin. His aftershave was clean and crisp, and his breath held a hint of mint. “Another five hundred to train me, too.”
This time she did manage to pull her hands away. “What!”
“Let me sit in on some of the training sessions so that I can learn, too, and I’ll give you another five hundred pounds.”
Every instinct told her to say no. Being in Will Devlin’s company more than was strictly necessary was way too dangerous. The way she felt when she was around him frightened her; her own reactions to him frightened her. She stared at him, heat flooding her face.
“You would be helping the countryside, as well,” he pleaded. “If you educate me, too, then all my ideas might change.”
Was he talking about the planning permission? Perhaps it did make a kind of sense. She could definitely educate him about the countryside. And when she’d finished then maybe he’d finally see what she saw and drop his grand, disastrous ideas.
“Okay, then,” she said firmly, feeling as if she was selling her soul. “But make it seven-fifty.”
“You drive a hard bargain!” he cried. Then he took her hand and shook it firmly, drawing her toward him. She wanted to pull away but he was already too close. She could feel his heat. And when his other hand came around her back, pulling her even closer, she surrendered.
Her lips met his and lingered there, and for an endless moment all Chrissie’s reservations melted away. Her whole body softened against him and she felt her lips part, unresisting, moving so naturally against the sweetness of his. And then suddenly the dogs barked, racing across the kitchen in a frenzy, and she pulled away. What was she doing?
“That,” she said, marching to the door, “was not a part of the deal.” Outside, all was quiet and still. Tess, Fly and Floss stared up at her, their faces bright. “Crazy dogs, there’s no one there.” But she was relieved at their interference—they’d brought her back to her senses. She was behaving like a naive teenager, and it wasn’t going to help her cause if Will thought she was unable to resist him.
When she turned back to him, he raised both his hands. “I’m sorry. It was a sudden impulse. You just looked so—”
“Forget it.” Chrissie cut him off.
When his eyes met hers, Chrissie felt a rush of regret at taking up his offer. She would have to make an extra effort to keep things professional. She couldn’t forget what Will wanted to do to her fells. He was determined to make a living out of holiday rentals, and she was determined to change his mind about it. He was paying her handsomely to do a job, and that was how she had to think of it...no getting too close, and no more impulsive kisses. No matter how much she might long for them.
And she would still fight his planning permission application if she had to. She just had to keep her feet on the ground and make him see how wrong he was.