Page 72 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
“Nah,” Kade said, rubbing his shoulder companionably. “You’d do it with all the rest because you know we love you. And you love us, my friend.”
His heart throbbed in his chest as that truth grew inside him. He did have them. They were still here, even if Sorcha wasn’t.
Sorcha.
He laid his head on one of his sheep and released the remains of his grief, pushing the darkness away from him at last.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The words were gone.
Angie studied the sheep in the pasture. God, they almost looked naked without their wool. She almost wanted to throw a blanket over them to preserve their modesty, which was silly.
Her thoughts ran to Carrick. What must he feel when his deceased wife’s words were gone?
“The sheep look so funny,” Ollie said, running up beside her, his new horse-riding helmet swinging in his hand. “I miss the words.”
She put her arm around him. “I do too.”
The messages had been uplifting. When Carrick was around, they’d seemed pointed, almost magically so. The sheep withPleasureon her wool came to mind. Now that had been a subconscious nudge if she’d ever seen one.
The sound of a horse riding their way made her turn around. Kade was on Majestic, holding the reins of Winston, who trotted beside him. Duke ruffed, running alongside them.
Ollie raced over to him. “Hi, Kade! I’m ready to go riding. Do you like my new helmet?”
“It’s a grand one,” the man said, dismounting from Majestic with practiced ease and leading the ponies toward them.
Duke reached Ollie first, licking his face madly when he picked the dog up. Angie looked over to the house. Megan was standing in the open doorway to the kitchen.
Kade lifted his hand and signaled for her to join them before turning his gaze to her. “They’re a sight without their coats normally, but Carrick’s sheep look even more bereft without the words. Usually he sprays words on the larger lambs who’ve put on good spring weight. But not this year. If you understand me, Angie…”
She looked at him, sensing a message, and then she smelled it again. Oranges. Jeez, maybe she was crazy, but the scent had been following her, and no one else seemed to smell it. She’d even mentioned it to Megan, who’d said she smelled nothing. Angie liked to think her art had so absorbed her she was experiencing the harmless side effect of seeing—and smelling—beauty everywhere. Still, she wondered about it. She shouldn’t ask Kade, but…
The scent saturated her senses suddenly, as if she’d peeled all the oranges in the universe. Okay, surely he smelledthat.
“Kade, you might think I’m crazy, but do you smell oranges?”
Ollie sniffed the air, lowering Duke back to the ground. “I do, Aunt Angie.”
She stared at her nephew in shock. “You do?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t realize what it was. The grass smells really sweet sometimes.”
“That’s why it’s called sweetgrass,” Kade said, holding out Winston’s reins to him. “How about you take Winston over to say hello to your mother?”
“You’ll let me lead him?” Ollie asked, his face alight with wonder. “How do I get him to my mom?”
“Walk over to her.” Kade ruffled her nephew’s hair. “Winston will come. Duke won’t need any encouragement to follow. He loves your mother. Go on, Duke.”
The Jack Russell gave aruffand raced off to join Megan. Ollie tugged on the reins, and he and Winston were off.
“The orange scent isn’t one everyone can smell,” Kade said, “in case you were wondering.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why ever not?”
“Because it’s from a special realm only a few can connect with.” He laughed when the gray pony nudged him in the shoulder. “The orange scent is from Carrick’s deceased wife, Sorcha. It’s her way of telling you that she approves of you and is trying to help you.”
Her hand flew to her throat. A ghost? Carrick’s dead wife? Over the past weeks, she’d heard plenty of stories of the supernatural, and of ghosts, but holy Toledo, this was too much. “Help me? Why would she want to help me?” She left her other thought unspoken:She should help Carrick, shouldn’t she?
