Page 55 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
“Rubbish!” he called out to her.
He watched as the sheep withThickon its belly joined them. How did Sorcha do it?
He nudged them away. “Go on with you. Shoo!”
They scattered and he fixed his gaze on the Yanks beyond the fence. Ollie spotted him and waved. Angie lifted her head, her hand poised over the pad in her lap. He felt the grass give under his wellies, as if he were sinking into the very land, the closer he came.
A sheep with the wordSurrenderran in front of him before trotting over to the fence line. Angie’s brows shot up to her hairline.
Their eyes locked as the message hovered between them.
He could feel the pull of her, as if an invisible silken cord already bound them together. She didn’t seem to be faring much better from the way her hand crept up to her throat as if she had a fishbone stuck in it. Ach, they were a pair.
“Hi!” Ollie called out. “Do you remember me? I’m Ollie.”
Good. Let the boy be the distraction. “Of course I remember you. How could I not? Your family is the talk of the town.”
The boy stepped up onto the low rung of the fence as he neared. “I like your sheep. Their words are funny. LikeKiss. Yuck!”
Carrick chuckled. “Poets like that word, but when I was your age, I would have said ‘yuck’ too.”
“How many sheep do you have?”
He stopped and rested against the fence, nodding to Angie by way of greeting. “This week’s tally is five hundred and thirty-eight.”
“Wow! That’s a lot. There doesn’t seem to be that many.”
“I have a number of pastures for them. They all need space and a bit of grass. Soon I’ll have more sheep than anyone in this whole county. What do you think of that?”
Angie pursed her lips together like she was impressed, and he swore he stood a foot taller.
“Cool,” Ollie said, bobbing on the fence. “Do you put words on all the big sheep? The little ones only have dots of paint.”
“They’re not big enough for the words to fit, but yes, all the adults receive a word,” he said with a quick nod in their direction.
“Can I help you when you put a word on a sheep sometime?” Ollie asked. “I don’t know anything about sheep, but if we’re going to be here, I should learn something about them, shouldn’t I?”
The plea in Angie’s eyes told him everything. Yes, she’d been delayed because of her nephew. He wondered where Ollie’s mother had gotten to. That she hadn’t come to the pub last night wasn’t too surprising, he supposed, as she was grieving. Bets’ comment about Angie not dancing on the bar even with her sister absent had stayed with him.
He knew what a weight such gloom could be on others. He’d seen it on the faces of his friends and family when they’d come to his door for this or that or to ask him to go to the pub for a pint.
“I’ll be shearing the words off the big ones shortly,” Carrick said, “but if your mother’s on board, you can help me paint them in early fall.”
He looked down and kicked the fence board. “She treats me like a baby. I hate it. I told her that this morning, and now she’s locked herself in her room. Again. That’s why I’m out here with Aunt Angie. She’s cool.”
Did the boy not realize Angie could hear every word? “Mums are sometimes downright protective of their kids. Sheep are the same way, you know. When they have their lambs in the spring, and a stranger comes upon them, the ewe stomps her foot like a bull. I’ve seen her charge a person if pushed.”
“Do they bite?” Ollie asked, jumping down.
“No, they don’t bite. The lambs like to nibble, but it doesn’t hurt. Come here and pet one for yourself. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll lift you over the fence and introduce you to a few. Okay, Angie?”
“That would be great,” she said, setting her pad aside. “Actually, I’d like to pet one too. I’ve been drawing them, and it would help to know what their bodies feel like.”
He lifted Ollie into the field as she rose up from her stool and walked toward him. Her legs seemed longer this morning in her paint-splattered jeans with the flowers, and her curves had his mouth going dry. She tucked her shirt around her as if self-conscious, but that only emphasized her tantalizing bustline. God, she was a good-looking woman. Their eyes held. He could see the vulnerability in her gaze, along with the same desire he felt.
When she reached the fencing, the morning light touched her face, and he spied a scatter of fresh freckles on her nose.
“You’re getting some of our Irish sun. Watch out for yourself. I’ve seen visitors sunburn badly even at eight in the morning. Be a shame for your pretty face to fry and peel.”
