Page 10 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
“Remember how that ended,” she said, not taking her gaze off the sheep.“Stop!”
They froze at her yell.
“Way to go,” Angie said, lowering her club like a rookie.
Betsy glared at the sheep. “It’s only their first foray. Wait for it.”
Like always, the most hungry and intrepid sheep lurched forward, and that’s all it took for the others to follow. Herd mentality sucked.
The sweet-faced one in front started nibbling on the first blooms of her cream and coral Gemini hybrid tea roses, while a dark-faced monster ripped off the yellow head of her Julia Child floribunda.Sorry, Julia. She heard the revving of trucks thundering up her driveway and looked over. More sheep were scattering as the two vehicles circled them.
Carrick jumped out. “Sorry for this, Bets!”
“Don’t be sorry. Just get them in the trailer.”
Jamie exited and started to rustle a bag of lamb nuts, but roses were better than sheep food apparently because none of the beasts gave him the time of day.
“Okay, that’s enough!”Carrick’s yell could have been heard in the next county. “Girls, get in the trailer. I’m not chasing you around. I’m vexed, and I mean business. If you don’t want to end up as a lamb roast tomorrow, you will heed me.”
The wind rose up, twisting Bets’ hair, and then died down. The sheep turned around and stared at Carrick and then started walking toward him. More importantly, they were walking away from her roses.
“Savage,” Liam whispered, impressed.
Yes, very cool, Bets had to agree. Their response to himwasincredible. She lowered her club slowly and gestured for Angie to do the same.
They watched as Carrick and Jamie opened the two trailers and herded the escapees inside. None bleated or tried to make a break for it like the troublesome monsters they were. No, the sheep were almost docile now, and when Carrick slammed both doors shut, a gentle breeze crested across the yard, this time carrying the scent of oranges. Gooseflesh rose on her arms.
“It’s like the fairies are at play,” Liam whispered.
Betsy had lived long enough in Ireland to believe in just about anything. She’d seen and felt things that had no logical explanation but were real all the same. There was something at work, all right, and as she watched Carrick walk toward her, she couldn’t help but notice her cousin’s shallow breathing. Angie wasn’t that out of shape. And Carrick wasn’t looking at Betsy, she realized. He was looking straight at her cousin, almost defiant.
“Heck of a day for you Yanks,” he said, stopping on the other side of the roses. “Twice in one day. I apologize.”
“What can you do?” Angie said, clearing her throat. “Sheep don’t go to obedience school like dogs.”
Liam laughed. “They’ve clearly learned something. Carrick, how in the hell did you do that?”
Jamie came over, ruffling Carrick’s dark hair in bemusement. “Yes, brother. Do enlighten us. I’ve seen you formidable, but that made me think of a pishogue.”
“What are those?” Angie asked.
“Pishogues are superstitions,” Betsy said, tracking her gaze between her cousin and Carrick.
She felt something tap her shoulder and jumped. Even before she looked back, she knew she wouldn’t see anything, and sure enough there was nothing but waving grass. When she turned back around, Carrick was frowning.
Hadheseen something? Carrick had always seen spirits, like his mother. It was something her husband and her first-born son had in common with him. She smelled oranges again, and then she remembered. Sorcha used to smell of oranges from the special rinse she used in her hair. Gooseflesh prickled again on her arms, and she felt another tap on her shoulder.
Carrick growled deep in his throat. “Maybe the fairies are cross with me. Sorry, Bets.”
“But if the fairies were cross, why would they help you get the sheep back in?” Jamie asked. “Ah, I’m talking like our mum. I need a pint. Anyone up for one?”
“It’s barely ten in the morning, brother,” Carrick said, casting him a dark glance.
“Isn’t this Ireland?” Jamie bandied back. “Gavin will open his pub early to hear this tale.”
Gavin would indeed, but she rather expected her friends, Gavin included, would show up later to welcome her cousins, which was the Irish way.
Bets waited for Angie’s reaction. If her cousin wanted to go, they would go. Something other than the sheep had orchestrated this meeting, and if it was the ghost of Carrick’s wife, she wasn’t going to interfere. There were Irish tales of dead spouses helping their living mates find love again. It didn’t defy belief that it might be happening now.
