“Perfect. Go take her to get her snack.”
I hop to my feet and lead the sheep over to the feed bucket. She sticks her nose inside and starts chewing happily. I look up at Fraser. “Did I do it?”
“You’re perfect,” he declares, beaming down at me. “We’ll have you on the payroll in no time.”
“Summer.” Cameron appears on the other side of the fence. He hands me a bottle of water. “Stay hydrated.”
“Thank you!”
His eyes flicker down to my chest for a millisecond. He harrumphs and wanders off again. Fraser winks at me and goes to join Alec as another shorn sheep comes trundling towards me.
The rest of the morning passes quickly. We work methodically, making our way through a conveyor belt of sheep. I soon fall into the rhythm of it. It’s relaxing working in the fresh air, and the shorn sheep are adorable, with their skinny bodies and massive heads. They nudge me as I top up the feed and water.
While I work, I sneakily watch the men. As the sun rises overhead, all three of them lose their shirts, stripping down to their jeans and boots. It’s quite a sight. They’re all so strong, easily tossing around animals that must weigh two or threehundred pounds. I try not to drool as I watch their sweaty muscles move.
We take a quick break for lunch, eating sandwiches on the grass, then carry on right through the afternoon. By the end of the day, my body is aching. My hands are covered with lanolin, my leggings are stained with mud, and I’m pretty sure my bralette has been chewed. I don’t care. I feel amazing.
It’s not until the last sheep of the day that I mess up.
She’s a fat brown ewe. Alec sends her over to me as usual, but as I open the gate to the pen, she dodges, feinting left. I swear as she skirts around the fence and runs, full pelt, across the field.
“Shit,” Fraser curses.
“Scout,” Alec shouts. “Find!”
But I’m already moving. Without thinking, I jump over the fence and sprint after the sheep, stumbling over the grass. When I catch up with her, I try to grab her, but she justbaas happily and dodges away. I throw myself at her, grabbing her around the belly. She bucks, and we’re both knocked to the grass.
For a few seconds, I lie there, my eyes squeezed shut. Then I feel a rough tongue licking my cheek. The sheep is placidly standing in my arms. I hear distant applause.
“That’s right, lass! Gie it laldy!” Fraser shouts.
I stand triumphantly and lead her back to the pen.
“Very impressive, London,” Fraser praises me as he lets us both inside the gate. “You want Scout’s job? He gets paid in sausage rolls, not sure if that’s of interest.”
“Sorry I let her go,” I say breathlessly. “She’s so fast.”
“Did you get hurt?” Cameron demands.
I shake my head, pushing my hair back. As I do, I notice my cracked thumbnail. “Oh no! I broke a nail.” I try not to cringe as the words leave my mouth. I’m such a stereotype.
“Youdid?” Cameron snatches at my hand. “Is it bleeding? Here.” He tugs me to the trestle table and fumbles with a first aid kit.
“Um, so breaking a nail isn’t a medical issue?—”
He ignores me, wiping my broken nail with an antiseptic wipe. “And the wee gem has fallen off,” he mutters, scowling.
Alec pens in the sheep and whistles Scout to heel. “You’re a mess,” he tells me, amused. I look down at the mud smeared across my front. “Go home and shower. We’ll finish here.”
“Sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t mean to let her go?—”
He shakes his head. “Happens every season.” He wipes a smudge of dirt off my cheek, and my belly quivers. “You did a great job today,” he says softly. “Thank you. Go get clean. I have a surprise for you tonight.”
FORTY-THREE
SUMMER
An hour later, I’m warm and cosy in bed, my damp hair wrapped in a towel. I can hear the men moving around the farmhouse—Cameron clattering dishes, and Alec moving furniture. My mind is unusually clear after hours working outside. Today is the best day I’ve had in a long, long time.
