I clear my throat, pulling my hands away. “I need to check in on one of the lambs. Want to see the babies?”
“Um,yes!”
I laugh at her enthusiasm. “Right this way then.”
As per usual, as I step inside the barn, something tight unknots in my chest. I breathe in the scent of hay and wood, listening to the lowbaas of the sheep and the rustle of straw.
Being around animals has always settled me. I remember back when I first came to Lochview. I was six years old, my sister was sick, and my mum couldn’t handle a rowdy boy in the house anymore. Alec’s mum had offered to take care of me after school, and I was fuming at being passed over to some other family like an unwanted Christmas present. Alec used to sneak me in here when I got upset. I still remember his serious six-year-old face.
You can play with animals whenever you like. It’ll make you feel better about your sister. Just don’t tell my dad, okay?
The memory makes me smile. Even as a kid, Alec was looking after everyone.
I lead Summer through the barn, showing her the pens we set up every spring for the ewes and their babies. “This is Darcy,” I say, pointing to a ewe surrounded by grey lambs. “And that over there is Ophelia with her babies.”
Summer’s practically vibrating with excitement as she peers at all the sheep. “Oh my God, they’reso cute,” she whispers, and I have to fight not to laugh. We reach the last pen, and I open the gate. “And this is our newest mum, Viola. She gave birth last night. She has a wee girl I need to check on, if you don’t mind.”
Summer follows me inside as I bend down in the straw next to Viola. She’s a big ewe, her belly still swollen from pregnancy. “How are you doing, honey?” I whisper to her, rubbing her flank. “You feeling okay?”
Violabaas at me serenely, butting my palm. I rub under her chin. “Oh yes, you are a good girl, aren’t you,” I mumble. “You did such a good job, you know that? Are you gonna let me see your babies?” I give her bum a gentle shove. Behind her, two little black rams are piled on top of each other.
“Viola had two boys and a girl,” I tell Summer as the boys skip over to me, running around my legs. “This is Oliver and Dodger. And…” I look around for the girl, but she’s nowhere to be seen. “Crap. I lost her.”
Dread suddenly crunches me. I was up half the night bottle-feeding the runt, but she’s so small. It’s possible the poor thing didn’t make it to dawn.
God, that’ll be a nice intro to the farm for Summer, won’t it? Bringing her to see a dead lamb. “Er. Summer. Maybe you should step out?—”
“Is this her?” Summer asks behind me. I stare.
The little white lamb has appeared out of nowhere and is sitting on Summer’s foot. As I watch, shebaas up at Summer plaintively and headbutts her ankle.
“Wow, she’s so friendly,” Summer says, bending down. “Can I pet her?”
I’m too shocked to speak. A few hours ago, this lamb was a pile of warm wool. I didn’t even know she could walk.
Summer looks up at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say slowly. “Ah. Yeah, give her a clap.”
Summer squints, then looks at the lamb and starts clapping uncertainly.
I snort. “No, I mean—yes, you can pet her. Sit down.” Summer plops onto her butt, and I crouch next to her and take her soft hand in mine. “Try stroking her like this.” I guide her gently over the lamb’s flank. “They like ear rubs too.”
Summer does as I say and pets the lamb, who flops over happily in her lap. “She’s like a pet,” she says, amazed. When I don’t answer, she looks up at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I sit back on my haunches. “Summer, that lamb was half dead a few hours ago. She’s a runt. Born way too small. Her mum refuses to feed her, so we’ve been giving her bottles.” I laugh incredulously. “Shit. I’ll have to tell Cameron. He won’t believe this.”
As I watch, the lamb bounces off Summer’s lap and runs a little wobbly circle around her. Summer chases her with her hand. “What? But she’s so playful. What’s her name?”
“Doesn’t have one.”
“What?”
“We don’t normally name ’em until we know they’ll survive. They just get numbers.”
She looks horrified. “But that’s so morbid. You have to assume she’ll survive.” She scoops up the lamb and looks her in the face. “I think you should be called…Crumpet,” she decides.
I choke. “Crumpet?”
