Shadow on the Fells (6 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

F
LOSS
GAZED
UP
at Chrissie, eyes alight with interest, and she gave the little collie the command to sit and stay.

“Clever girl,” Chrissie said as Floss obeyed. “Perhaps we should do the duck test.”

When she went around the back of the house to the small, walled paddock just beyond the barn, Floss followed, padding quietly along behind her like a dog twice her age. She was eager to learn and keen to please, Chrissie noted—all the attributes of a promising sheepdog. The duck test would show how much natural ability she had. Collies were bred with an inherent instinct to herd, but it came easier to some than to others.

The Runner ducks were already out, moving around the paddock like a group of slope-backed soldiers with their heads held high. When they saw Chrissie and the dog, they huddled closer together, moving as one with the weird gait that gave them their name.

“Time to earn your keep, boys,” Chrissie called, firmly holding the baler twine that was attached to Floss's collar. The pup whined with excitement, and Chrissie pulled sharply on the twine. “Lie down, Floss.”

Floss faltered, agitated by the strange creatures and impatient to run to them.

“Lie down,” Chrissie repeated, lowering her arm with her palm outstretched.

When Floss sank down obediently, still quivering, Chrissie smiled. “Good girl.” She stroked the backs of the dog's ears.

After fifteen minutes of making Floss lie and wait, watching the strange little group of drakes and generally beginning to get used to them, Chrissie took the plunge and turned the dog loose to see what she would do.

“Lie down,” she called, and Floss did so immediately, eyes bright as she glanced across at her trainer before turning her attention back to the flock of Runner ducks.

“Come by,” Chrissie ordered and the dog reacted at once, skirting the flock slowly and cautiously and soon moving them around the paddock with an inherent skill.

“Good girl!” Chrissie let out a sharp, two-tone whistle and patted her knee. “Come here.”

Floss ran toward her, and when she reached Chrissie she rolled onto her back to get her tummy scratched. Chrissie laughed, sinking down onto her knees to do just that.

“Good, good girl,” she cried. “Your owner has certainly made a good start with you.”

The Runner ducks, well used to the routine of being herded around by young sheepdogs, began quacking in alarm.
That's odd
, thought Chrissie, and she looked up to see them running to the corner of the paddock. Suddenly, she became aware of a figure peering over the wall.

“What are you doing?” Will asked, and her heart sank. She really didn't have time for his stupid questions right now.

* * *

W
ILL
SET
OFF
up the steep slope behind Craig Side with Max, as always now on a long leash. He had considered leaving the unruly labradoodle at home, but responsibility won out. He may have chosen the wrong dog for sheep country, but he was stuck with him now...and very fond of him.

Not having owned a dog before, Will had never really appreciated their innocent and unquestioning company. He needed that right now; it gave him comfort to know that there was always someone to listen to his woes without judgment, someone who was always there to welcome him home with no ulterior motives.

Besides, if Will didn't take Max for a walk, who knew what kind of havoc he'd wreak in the house or the yard? At least Will could keep an eye on him this way, and maybe exercise would mellow him out.

Will walked in silence, listening to the world around him as he and the big dog climbed up the slope. For Max, every rabbit hole was exciting, every fluttering bird and moving creature something to chase.

“No!” Will shouted when Max pulled at his leash, trying to race off after yet another litter of baby rabbits. When the tiny creatures ran in panic toward their burrow, Will felt a strange and slightly alien lump form in his chest. The tiny rabbits were so scared and vulnerable. How were they going to survive until adulthood?

You, Will Devlin
, he told himself,
are getting soft
.

High Bracken was not very far across the fell from Craig Side, but it took almost half an hour for Will to negotiate the harsh terrain. Max didn't help, pulling and barking, but eventually they reached the meadow near the farm where she'd handed him the bill for the dead sheep. He could see the flock she'd brought down from the fell to lamb; they seemed calmer now, but they tensed up immediately when they saw Max. Will made a detour along the wall, not wanting to spook them again.

The gray stone house came into view beyond the barn, tucked into the hillside. Would she be in there? Or maybe he'd better check in the barn or the outbuildings—she had mentioned the vet coming.

Deciding he'd try the barn first, Will strode toward it, but he saw her before he even got there. That is, he heard her somewhere near the small paddock that ran alongside the looming structure. He heard another sound, too—a strange one. Did she keep ducks?

Taking a firm hold of Max's collar and silently pleading with him to stay quiet, Will approached cautiously; the last thing he wanted was to cause any more problems for Chrissie.

For once, overcome by the unfamiliar sound, the labradoodle obliged and Will was able to peer over the drystone wall that surrounded the paddock.

Chrissie stood with her back to him. She was dressed, as usual, in blue jeans, a thick quilted jacket and brown boots; her thick, blond braid hung down almost to her waist.

Will knew he should get her attention to avoid startling her, but he paused, intrigued to hear her giving commands to the pretty little brown-and-white collie that seemed to be taking in her every sound and gesture. Slowly, it approached a flock of funny-looking waddling ducks then started to herd them across the grass. Chrissie gave a sharp whistle and the dog returned to her, flopping onto the ground for a belly rub.

“Good girl,” she cried, and then she noticed him standing there. Her piercing gaze made him feel guilty and self-conscious. How did she manage that? Well, at least she couldn't laugh at what he was wearing; the country boots, moleskin trousers and tweed jacket had been highly recommended by the men's outfitters in Kendal.

“What are you doing?” he called, breaking the silence that stretched between them.

“What does it look like I'm doing?” she snapped.

He shrugged. “Well, I don't really know. I thought you trained dogs to herd sheep, not ducks.”

The hint of a smile flitted across her face. “They have to start somewhere, and it gives the ducks a purpose.”

“Shouldn't they be laying eggs and getting fat enough for dinner?”

“Not these ducks. They're a bit small to eat and they're drakes, so they don't lay eggs. Getting them to help with the dog training means I can justify keeping them.”

“They could just be pets,” Will suggested. “Odd pets, to be sure. What are they, anyway?”

The wind rose, freeing wisps of hair from Chrissie's braid to frame her face, softening its contours. She pushed it back impatiently, shaking her head. “There is no room for pets on a farm, and all the birds and animals here have to earn their keep. These ducks would have no purpose if they didn't help with training the young sheepdogs, and in return they are fed and cared for. What can I do for you, anyway? Or is this just a social visit?”

“No... Yes... I mean, I brought your check,” he said, pulling it from his pocket.

As she raised her eyebrows, her hair escaped again. He liked that look. It made her seem softer, though he knew full well that she was as hard as nails.

“I'm surprised you had enough money left after you've forked out for that outfit,” she said, looking him up and down. The smile in her eyes belied her stern expression.

Will gazed down in consternation, placing his palms on his chest. Was she just trying to wind him up?

“What's wrong with it? The store manager said it was about as country as you can get.”

“And it is,” she agreed, walking toward him. “If you're going to the races, that is. You'd fit right in in the owners' enclosure. Why don't you just wear something comfortable? Jeans, boots and a warm jacket is all you need to walk these fells.”

They stood quite close, facing each other with the wall between them. He handed over the check and she inspected it carefully before pushing it into her pocket.

“There's nothing wrong with it. It certainly won't bounce.”

“I'd come looking for you if it did,” she said in a tone of voice that made him believe it.

Will turned to head back home without replying, not knowing how to react to her hostility. Three times he'd met her now, and each time had been the same. As soon as he thought she'd softened to him just a little, she had become sarcastic and biting. It was as if she was trying to make him feel like a fool.

And it had worked.

Perhaps she was trying to keep him at bay. But why? Well, she needn't have bothered. He didn't want friendship, and he didn't need a shepherd's help for his tourism venture, so what was the point?

“Come on, Max,” he said, and the big dog bucked against his collar, taking Will by surprise.

The leash slipped out of his hand, and he tried to catch it but lost his footing and stumbled, struggling back to his feet to see Max racing for the gate into the paddock. He yelled, but the dog ran on, alight with excitement.

At first, the ducks ignored the dog barreling toward them...until Max leaped into their midst, scattering the tightly huddled group. They fled in all directions as he bounded this way and that, not knowing which fluttering bundle of feathers to chase next.

Will shouted at him, but it was Chrissie who managed to grab hold of the trailing leash. She handed it to Will, a bright spot of color on both cheeks and her blue eyes dark with anger.

“Get your dog off my land, now, and don't bring it back here again. And you'd better get it some training before it does even more damage. If any of these ducks are harmed—”

“I know,” Will cut in with a weary sigh. “You'll be sending me a bill for the damage.”

“Too right, I will,” she responded. “To be honest, I think it's time you went back to the city. That's so obviously where you belong.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” He didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. How dare she use that high-handed manner with him? “You hate all tourists and outsiders and you seem to think you have the right to decide who walks these fells—which are, if I remember correctly, common land. And I have grazing rights.”

She glared at him. “So what if you do? You've just proved why I want to keep
townies
off these hills. Just like the rest of your kind, you are totally ignorant of life around here, and it's the land and the animals that suffer from your mistakes.”

“My kind!” Will exploded. “Who do you think you are? I have as much right here as anyone, I've put money into this place and I intend to make it work for me whether you approve or not.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What
place
have you put money into?”

His anger deflated. “Craig Side, of course. Surely you must have realized that I'm your nearest neighbor.”

Chrissie seemed at a loss for words. She opened her mouth then closed it abruptly.

“Look...” He attempted a smile. “I really want to fit in here, and any plans I may have are in the very early stages. Life will be much easier if we try and get along...”

Chrissie spun on her heel, tossing her head back. “We'll see about that.”

Will simmered with anger the whole way home. What right had Chrissie Marsh to talk to him like that? Okay, so Max had gotten loose and chased the stupid ducks, but it was an accident and the ducks were fine. At least he'd put her straight about his right to be here; he couldn't believe she hadn't already figured out where he was from. The best thing he could do from now on, he decided, was to stay away.

By the time he reached Craig Side, however, he had changed his tune a little. He would get some training for Max, he decided. He would prove to Chrissie Marsh that he could fit in here, no matter what she thought of him. And he wasn't about to let her spoil his plans, either. He needed the income. He was prepared to compromise a bit with the locals if necessary, but that was all.

CHAPTER EIGHT

W
HEN
C
HRISSIE
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.

* * *

F
OR
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.

* * *

I
T
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?