Page 54 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
Her husband hadn’t thought she could do anything useful, really, and she knew he’d stayed away because she disappointed him. Sometimes she wondered what he’d ever seen in her. The day they’d met, at a restaurant along the Chesapeake, he’d said she looked like the kind of girl a man settled down with. Only he hadn’t settled down.
And now he was gone.
“Come on, Megan.” Kade started to walk off in the direction Winston had disappeared. “You can bring Duke. Maybe he can convince you to take a ride with us.”
The dog looked at her with big brown eyes. She really should put him down. He was getting dirt on her favorite jacket. But she couldn’t make herself. Didn’t want to, in fact, and her little spurt of rebellion cleared her head more.
His affection was uncomplicated.Hedidn’t know that her world had fallen apart.
Ollie’s words came back to her mind.I just want to be like other boys.
He wanted to be normal. In the moment, she’d only felt the pain of his words, like a raw wound, but now she understood.
“Kade?” she asked.
He was leading a larger pony out of the shed. “Yes.”
“Do you rent out your dog? Maybe for a few hours a week? I think Ollie would love him.”
His thoughtful gaze rested on her again. “I think we could arrange something.”
“Good.”
She hugged the dog to her.
Chapter Sixteen
Angie was finally sitting in her usual spot.
She hadn’t been there earlier, when he’d started his rounds, and truth be told, he’d tarried in his work. He’d been worried about her, dammit.
Perhaps she was late because of her nephew. Ollie was racing back and forth in front of the fencing, making his sheep bleat. A blue bike rested against the fence line.
A sheep raced toward him with the wordUrgentsprayed on her body, and he nearly cursed.
“Original, Sorcha,” he muttered, and the wind rose up around him strong enough to blow open his jacket. “I bet you wouldn’t bully Kade like this.”
He couldn’t shear his sheep fast enough this year. He’d been waiting for the weather to steady out a little. One year he’d jumped the gun and sheared them in late May, only for a cold and wet spell to hover over the land for weeks. He’d lost some lambs. He now waited until mid-June unless the weather was scorching during the day, which rarely happened. Truth be told, he usually delayed the shearing to keep Sorcha’s words around him.
This year, he was eager to stop her interfering messages.
A sheep sportingThickran in front of him.
He heard her laughter and looked around. She was standing beside the gate, her white dress billowing as it always did. She gestured toward the Yanks with an impatient hand before touching the metal slates. He understood the implication. He could go willingly. Or she would take matters into her own hand and let his sheep out again.
There was no choice.
Or at least that’s what he told himself as he headed across the pasture. When they saw him, his sheep made a beeline for him, bleating for food. “Oh, you’re a greedy lot.”
The sheep closest to him annoyed him to no end with their messages. The words they sported were all of a romantic nature. Clearly from one of Sorcha’s more passionate poems.
Kiss.
Embrace.
Beauty.
Desire.
