Page 56 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
A smile flickered across that very face. “I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s see. How shall I get over there? I suppose I can figure out how to open the gate.”
“No need to walk around.” He held out his hand. “If you put your foot on the second rung, I’ll haul you over.”
When their fingers touched, he felt a zap as surely as if he’d touched an electric fence. Her sharp intake suggested she felt it too, but she simply firmed her mouth and clasped his hand. He pulled her up and lifted her the rest of the way.
She was soft in all the right places, but he was aware of the boy standing nearby. Stepping back, he reminded himself that he and Angie weren’t meant for each other, even if their chemistry was undeniable.
“Come on and meet my sheep,” he said, leading the way to where the main herd was congregating, some tearing at the grass while others lay in the morning sun.
Ollie ran to keep up with his long strides. Angie stayed back, but he was sharply aware of her. A few of the lone sheep must have sensed something in the air because they came running to him. One marked withPleasurehurried toward him, and he nearly growled as he nudged it off. The boy was getting the romantic words. Good thing his response wasYuck. But when a sheep withEnjoyarrived, Carrick set aside his ire at Sorcha and held out his hand to the ewe.
“When you meet a sheep, it’s best to hold out your hand and let her smell you.”
“Are all of these girl sheep?” Ollie asked, slowly extending his little hand to mimic Carrick.
“No, we have some young rams.” Probably best not to point out the differences to the boy, but all the local kids could tell them apart. He’d soon learn.
Enjoycame up and nuzzled his hand before turning her head and sniffing him. “She’s really big, isn’t she? Oh, she licked me!”
“That means she likes you,” he told Ollie before turning to look at Angie. “Come on, Yank. Here’s your chance to experience a sheep up close.”
She took a few more steps, and suddenly she was beside him. Her head only came up to his shoulder, but he knew they’d fit together perfectly. She extended her hand and then gave a delighted laugh asEnjoylavished her skin with a few nibbles.
“Oh, she’s feisty!”
“Let me get her settled,” Carrick said, resisting the urge to put his hand to the small of her back. “Then you can pet her wool.”
He placed his hand on the ewe’s head. Her brown eyes rose to him with pure trust, then she nestled herself against his body almost as if hugging him.
Angie glanced over at him sharply. “Have you always been able to do that?”
He knew what she meant. “Yes, since I could walk. My mum said the first time I ran was to a pet lamb a neighbor gave us. Pinkie’s mother hadn’t taken to her, so Mum took her in. Jamie doesn’t like me saying it, but she was my best friend growing up and my first sheep. Usually sheep live about twelve years max, but she made it to fifteen.” He’d mourned that sheep when she’d passed. But she’d given them a lot of sheep in her time, which his father had gladly given to him to start his empire. His prize ram, Baron, was from Pinkie, and he knew the gift for what it was.
“I’ve never heard of anyone having a sheep for a pet,” Ollie said with a grin. “That sounds cool.”
“We’ll have to give you a pet lamb when spring comes back around if you’d like.”
He actually wasn’t sure when they were leaving. He only knew Bets had said it was temporary. That was for the best, he told himself. Nothing could come of anything.
The wind rolled across the land and the sheep marked withThickstreaked by again. Clearly Sorcha wasn’t worried about them leaving.
“Go ahead and pet her now.” He rubbed the sheep behind the ears. “She won’t move.”
Ollie and Angie’s hands were tentative, but they both stroked her wool.
“She’s so soft,” Ollie said with wonder.
Angie’s eyes were also wide. “I thought she’d be scratchy like a wool sweater.”
“Her wool still has lanolin in it,” he said, running a hand through her coat. “It’s a natural oil that keeps the rain out. I sell my wool to an Irish skincare company that extracts it and sells it. The wool is useless otherwise. We can’t get good money for it here in Ireland. Even our famous Irish woolen mills buy their thread from places like China and the like where it’s made cheaper.”
“You’re quite the entrepreneur,” she murmured.
He was proud of his expansion. “My next project is to start making cheese from sheep’s milk since I’m still figuring out how to make the wool work for us sheep farmers. But that’s boring talk.”
“Not to me,” Angie said. “I’ve always had an interest in weaving, but painting is my biggest passion.”
“How’s that going?”
