Hooked on Ewe (4 page)

“I hear the post office has mobile phone top-ups noo,” the inspector said to him, then to me, “So ye know where tae go fer credits.”

I nodded, having finally broken down last month and
purchased an inexpensive mobile phone. Top-ups, I assumed, were additional minutes.

“Ye should carry pet supplies,” Dr. Keen said to Denoon in a teasing tone, looking dapper for his age in his tweed driving cap and patchwork sweater. His patients, I’ve been told, are mostly the elderly.

“That’s getting’ a bit doolally,” the postmaster replied, shaking his head. “Pet supplies? Hunh!”

Doolally?

“Crazy,” the inspector translated for me as the two old friends rose and ambled off.

After his customary puttering over tea, the inspector spoke. “It appears that Sean Stevens has managed tae make it through the selection process and become a probationer,” he said. Then added after seeing my confusion, “He’s been accepted intae the Scottish Police College.”

“That’s wonderful news!” I exclaimed. I was excited for Sean in spite of the inspector’s gloomy delivery. “Why didn’t he mention it when he arrived?”

“The only thing wonderful aboot it is that he’ll be gone fer ten weeks tae Kincardine in Fife fer the operational phase o’ his training,” the inspector grumbled. “He just found out. Mebbe he wanted tae tell Vicki first.”

“And what happens after those ten weeks of training?”

“He’ll be assigned tae a home station fer the next part o’ the process.”

“You don’t seem nearly as pleased as I thought you’d be,” I said. “Let me guess . . . What could possibly be the cause of your dismay? Perhaps because Glenkillen will be Officer Stevens’s home station?”

“Astute as ever, ye are. If he makes it through the first ten weeks, I have the misfortune o’ becoming his tutor constable, even worse than having him on as a special constable.” His eyes pierced mine, searing as two hot coals. “Tell me, Eden Elliott, how did such a bloke as our Sean make it through the fitness test and all the rest tae actually gain admission tae the police college?”

“There’s more to Sean than we ever guessed?” I had to look away. I certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that Vicki and Sean had worked hard together to prepare for the physical training part of his testing. She’d acted as his coach, firmly guiding him through a rigorous fitness routine, making him stick to it. I’d played a small part, too, prepping him for some of the more scholarly aspects of the process, like the writing portion that tested his knowledge of police procedure and law enforcement. The biggest challenge for Sean had been overcoming his dyslexia, which involved constant repetition and the tenacity to never give up.

“And even worse,” the inspector went on, “he’ll be trained in unarmed combat and baton and handcuff techniques, and Lord help us all, CS spray, which until now I’ve managed tae keep outta his reach.”

While helping Sean with his studies, I’d learned that pepper spray and CS spray, commonly referred to as tear gas, are classed as firearms in Scotland. It’s illegal to
own
pepper spray, let alone use it. Possession carries a steep penalty, unless you’re a cop. It was a good thing my key ring pepper spray had been seized by the TSA in Chicago when I’d forgotten I had it in my purse on the way over
here. In Scotland, that offense would have carried a much stiffer penalty than simply having it confiscated.

“I’m sure Sean will be trained to use weapons properly before allowed to carry them,” I said with confidence. “But you aren’t really worried about whether or not he passes his training. What else is bothering you?”

“I’m tae be assigned another special constable tae replace him while he’s away,” the inspector said with a groan.

This was one of Inspector Jamieson’s worst nightmares. I felt for him, but he was a shrewd man who would survive the next volunteer as well as he had this one, and I told him so.

“I’ve never been much o’ a team player,” he admitted. “Preferring tae go it alone. I can’t stand cleaning up after somebody else. When it’s only me tae manage, I have nobody but myself tae blame if things go rotten. See how ye have me pegged?”

He was resorting to flattery? And why was he being candid? This was a side of him I hadn’t seen before.

“I’ve come up with a bit o’ an idea,” he said a moment later. I took a sip of my tea, sensing that we were coming to the real purpose of his visit. “What d’ye think aboot taking that position yerself?”

I almost spewed tea. What? Me? A volunteer cop? I wasn’t even much of a volunteer welcoming committee member, and there wasn’t even any required training for that.

“It’s the perfect solution tae a thorny problem,” he went on. “We get on, fer one thing. Sometimes I’m amazed at how much we think alike.”

I gave him a sideways look and said, “You’re full of compliments today.”

“It’s the honest truth. Besides, ye already have a remarkable working understanding regarding our legal system.”

At this, I glanced up, meeting his eyes.

“Aye,” he said, “I know ye’ve been helping Sean prepare fer the exam. I’m not blind, ye know. And I have a knack fer the process o’ deduction. It comes with the job.”

So he’d known all along! Why hadn’t he said a word or tried to stop us?

“So what do ye say?” he prompted.

“I’m flattered.”

“So, will ye do it?”

“Let me think about it.” I was a writer of romance novels, not an investigator. Accepting his offer, as intriguing as it was, would interfere with my real job, with the work I was being paid to do.

“It wouldn’t have tae be many hours,” he added, as though reading my mind. “A few each week, four being the official minimum, but we can negotiate that down if ye prefer. As few as ye want. As ye know, nothing much happens of the criminal sort in Glenkillen. I wouldn’t put too much on yer shoulders.”

“What about training requirements?”

“There’s that tae deal with. And residency. Yer supposed tae be in the country fer three years beforehand, not three months as ye’ve been.”

“Oh. Well, that’s it then.” Was that a sense of disappointment I was feeling?

“But I do the vetting personally, and there are ways
around these sort o’ things. I can waive the residency requirements, and ye’ve already done yer own homework by helpin’ Sean.”

He’d certainly given this a lot of thought.

Suddenly the dim bulb in my brain snapped on with the intensity of a floodlight, and I knew exactly what he was up to. “You want me to officially accept the position, but you’re really giving me the job in name only.”

His expression told me I’d discovered his scheme, and he shook his head in wonderment. “Ye’re on tae me as usual. It would be a big favor, and would entail no effort on yer part.”

I still felt oddly disappointed, but wasn’t sure why. Before we sat down, I hadn’t even known about the job, and one minute ago I wasn’t sure I wanted it. Maybe it was because he’d inflated my ego with the offer, then went on to poke holes in it. Still, doing him this favor wasn’t totally out of the question.

“Would I have to wear a uniform?” I asked.

“Not unless ye be wanting one.”

I grinned, knowing I was about to say yes. What did I have to lose? And I had much to gain. An IOU from a friend in law enforcement, for one thing. Helping out a friend in need, for another. This could be a win-win situation for both of us.

“Okay,” I told him, “I’ll agree. But I want that CS spray.”

I should have something for my troubles, right? And in the States, I always carried pepper spray. As a single woman traveling alone, there was something reassuring about having protection.

“You’re a hard case, Eden Elliott. Can I convince ye
tae carry pepper spray instead? It’s just as effective, maybe more so.”

“That would be fine,” I said with a satisfied grin.

I’d remember much later how the inspector had reassured me that after all, nothing much happened of the criminal sort in Glenkillen.

At the time, I’d actually believed him.

After having successfully enlisted me in his ploy to stave off an unfamiliar new volunteer special constable, the inspector was on his way. I walked over for the cupcake Senga had put aside for me.

“Delicious,” I declared after taking a bite out of the back end of the little sheep cupcake. “Almost too cute to eat!”

Senga smiled knowingly. “Not hardly. I made two hundred o’ them and look at what’s left.” She had been right about the popularity of her cupcakes. They weren’t going to last much longer.

After offering to assist in the refreshment tent and having my offer gratefully accepted, I poured beverages, happy to help out with less abused volunteers than the ones led by Isla Lindsey. Vicki waved from the driver’s seat of the tractor every time she drove by, the wagon filled with
weekenders enjoying the weather and making a day of it at the farm.

“I fancy you’ll be rooting for Leith,” Vicki called to me on her next pass, with a pointed glance toward the trial field, where I spotted Leith Cameron walking with his border collie, Kelly, beside him.

Kelly was competing in the upcoming event!

I ducked out of the tent and hurried to my seat near the field so I could watch her in action, returning the wave Leith gave when he spotted me. Leith’s farm is much smaller than the MacBride farm, but has been passed down through his family the same way. He raises barley, the most important ingredient in Scotch whisky, and sells his harvest to one of the local distilleries, though his main source of income is through his work as a professional fishing guide.

He’s also handsome, with those mesmerizing Scottish blue eyes, single, and seems unattached, although between devoting himself to his career and to his young daughter, I question how available he really is. The older dog division was new this year, added to showcase retired sheep dogs. Kelly, now in her advanced years, had been a constant award winner in her prime, and many of the border collies in the surrounding hills were from her litters. Today, she had a reputation to uphold.

When her turn came, she was in her element—streaking down the field as Leith whistled the occasional command. Kelly barely seemed to need his advice, lying down at the perimeter of the watchful sheep before crouching and coming in low, driving them through one obstacle after another and ending with a flourish after the final corralling.

I applauded enthusiastically. In my opinion, Kelly won hands down, but we’d have to wait until the very end of the trials to see if the judges agreed with me.

After they were done, Leith and Kelly came over. Leith snapped a lead on Kelly; not that she needed restraint, but rules were rules. Even for a canine as well behaved as she was. Leith slid into the chair the inspector had vacated. Once again, I couldn’t help admiring the fine cut of this man—tall, lean, his sandy blond hair a bit long, red highlights in a short-trimmed beard that was a new and welcome addition since last I’d seen him.

“I should have bet all my savings on Kelly,” I told him.

Leith had a twinkle in his eye. “And what about me? Would ye have bet yer last pence on me as well?”

“In a heartbeat,” I told him, feeling a blush threatening.

“Any word from yer famous friend Ami Pederson regarding yer book?”

I shook my head, pleased that he remembered I’d shared my concern with him several days ago. “Not yet. But I’m going into Glenkillen tomorrow to check my e-mail.”

“Vicki needs tae install Wi-Fi out here. Her da was old fashioned when it came tae modern technology, but now he’s gone and she should go ahead with it.”

“She’s been talking about adding it, but even if she does, I’ll still do most of my work in the village. It isn’t healthy for my head to work where I live. I need changes of scenery.”

“I don’t know how ye spend so much time alone inside yer head as it is. Me, I need tae be around people.”

In some ways Leith reminded me of my ex-husband’s better qualities (of which I concede there were a few). Both
are go-getters, people pleasers, and party lovers, active individuals who draw their energy from social interaction. Neither one of them needs the amount of personal space that I seem to require. There, though, the two men’s similarities ended.

“Yer American friend is going to love it,” Leith went on. “So is yer publisher. I have a feeling, and my feelings are never wrong.”

I really hoped that was true.

“How’s Fia been?” I asked, watching the lights in his eyes dance at the mention of his daughter’s name. “I haven’t seen her for a while.”

“She’s happy and bonny as ever, and excited about the start-up o’ primary school.”

I smiled at the joy that resonated from him whenever he spoke of his six-year-old daughter. Fia was the apple of his eye. He and Fia’s mother shared custody; they’d never married, parting ways shortly after the birth of their daughter. I gave him a lot of credit for taking on the responsibility of fatherhood the way he has. Some men would be perfectly happy writing a monthly check and seeing their child every other weekend. But Leith had chosen to become more involved, playing a very active role in her life.

I paused to consider how wonderful that would have been, to have a participating father, but it was beyond my comprehension. I felt the old familiar stirring of loss and betrayal when I compared my own father to Leith and found mine deficient. More than deficient—he’d been totally absent. He had abandoned me and my mother when I was around Fia’s age, disappearing after my mother had
been diagnosed with MS. Poor timing on his part, and very telling as to his character. Or rather, lack thereof.

Conversely, Leith’s decision to stay active as a parent and be an ongoing part of his daughter’s life elevated him to the highest possible “good dad” ranking in my book. And I had to admit that that, plus the fact that he was so good looking, was an incredibly sexy mix. He was like a romance hero come to life—not only beautiful on the outside, he had everything going for him on the inside, too.

But in real life, his sense of familial devotion meant he didn’t have much time for romance, either.

He’d explained not long ago. “Fia’s mum has had a string o’ boyfriends since we split up. I decided early on that my girl needed at least some continuity in her life, and I couldn’t have a revolving door o’ temporary women parading through her life, like her mum has men. And I’ve held tae that commitment.”

“But what if you met the right woman?” I’d asked.

Leith had grinned. “Are ye applying for the position?” he’d teased.

I’m pretty sure I had blushed. “Just curious. I’m sorry, that was presumptuous of me. It’s none of my business. Forget I asked.”

“The hard part,” he’d said gently, “is how do ye know who’s the right one, unless ye spend time together? Maybe it would be perfect. But if it dinnae work out, there she goes on her way, possibly breaking my daughter’s heart. Do ye see my concern?”

I had understood perfectly.

Now, as we sat next to each other, I thought of Ami’s last e-mail, her constant refrain.

“Did you get lucky yet? You better say yes, because you’ve been there long enough! With all those beautiful Scottish men and their sexy kilts, and without the bother of knickers, you better be exploring underneath. Forget about all that serious overthinking stuff, about making commitments, blah, blah and just enjoy. And I want details ASAP!!!!”

While I’d realized from the very beginning that she wanted the best for me, I wasn’t there yet. I was still newly single, relatively speaking, and had spent most of the preceding months adjusting to a new country. Even without a language barrier (though Scottish English takes some getting used to, that’s for sure), it took time to settle in and establish a new routine, to make friends here.

Not to mention that I’d thrown myself into my work, writing seven days a week if I could, preferring to live vicariously through my characters Gillian Fraser and Jack Ross, thank you very much. But when I wrote back to Ami with these reasons, she’d accused me of making excuses for avoiding any sort of romantic involvement.

Which wasn’t entirely untrue.

When my six-month tourist visa was up, I’d have to leave the country, whether I wanted to or not.

And it wasn’t going to be with a broken heart.

“Ye seem deep in thought,” I heard Leith say, bringing me out of my head and back into the present.

“It’s been an interesting day,” I muttered, standing up and stretching.

Leith rose beside me and dug his mobile phone out of a pocket to check the time. “It’s half past one right now, and we have some time before the judges will be announcing
the winners. John is aboot tae begin a sheep dog demonstration, and I told him I’d assist.”

“And I promised Charlotte I’d watch her shearing demo, which is starting right now, too.”

“Promise me ye’ll come back after the shearing.”

I grinned. “Sure.”

“I’ll be close by.”

With that, I gave Kelly a pat and went to watch Charlotte Penn, Glenkillen’s sheep shearer, demonstrate her special skill in the barn.

Charlotte was young, energetic, strong, and lightning fast, able to finish shearing a whole sheep with the electric shears in a matter of minutes. The ewes weren’t exactly happy with the arrangement, bleating their disapproval, but each of them in turn exited the demonstration area unscathed and significantly lighter and cooler.

“In times gone past,” Charlotte informed the crowd, “when electricity wasn’t found in our outbuildings, we used hand shears, which are slower but less stressful fer the animals.” She went on to prove she could also get the job done without the whizz of electric shears.

Afterward, when her spectators had scattered, she greeted me holding a wicker basket she’d passed during the demo. It was filled with donations to the charity. “Guid day tae ye, Eden!”

“Hi, Charlotte. That was impressive. You’re really good at fleecing customers . . . I mean . . . sheep!”

We grinned at each other. “Here,” she said, handing over the basket, “I’m entrusting it tae yer care.”

Charlotte had recently graduated from vet school with
a specialty in large animal veterinary services, and was assisting an experienced local vet, but still managed to shear most of the hill farmers’ sheep, which was the way she had funded her education. Since those in the sheep shearing profession were few and far between, she had more work than she knew what to do with. She was a regular visitor to the MacBride farm and had quickly become a good friend.

“That looks like it takes a lot of practice,” I said, referring to the hand shears she still held.

“Aye, it does,” she replied while packing up her supplies. “The important point in hand shearing is tae make sure ye don’t leave cuts on the sheep, while also making sure the wool is in decent lengths fer the spinner.”

“In that case, you were perfect,” I said as she grabbed a broom and swept bits of fleece into a pile off to the side, then plucked a piece of straw from the thick braid that ran down her back.

Charlotte beamed. “I best be off. I’ve a lambing to assist with at a farm between here and Inverness. No use cleaning things up yet. I’m going tae leave most of my shearing equipment here since I’ll be shearing more MacBride sheep in a few days. John has a lot on his mind today, so I’ll remind him later to make sure the sheep are penned and ready first thing Monday morning.”

“Do you want help?”

“No, but thank ye fer the offer. I’m used tae working alone.”

We walked down the lane together. John’s sheep dog demonstration was still going on in the field. Vicki drove
past, transporting a few elderly couples and a family with small children. Charlotte called out, “Where can I pick up my yarn kit?”

“At the welcome table!” Vicki called back.

“I didn’t know you were a knitter,” I said to Charlotte.

“I’m not,” she replied. “It’s fer my granny. Her legs don’t work like they used tae but ye should see her knitting needles fly!”

As we approached Sheepish Expressions, I spotted Sean sitting alone under the blue-and-white tent.

“You’ve been deserted by the rest of the welcome committee?” I asked.

“It appears that way,” Sean said. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair o’ the lot o’ them in ages. Other than the big boss lady, that is, who went off tae mind more blokes’ businesses. She could be back any minute, heaven help us.”

I mentally applauded Oliver, Lily, and Andrea for escaping from the slave driver. I pictured Isla stomping across the field, intent on hunting them down and dragging them back with a firm grip on an ear.

I deposited the donation basket of cash on the table. “More money to add to the kitty.” I explained how Charlotte had passed the hat during her demonstration.

“Or rather, I passed the basket,” Charlotte said.

Sean placed it under the table out of sight and said to her, “Our battle-axe . . . I mean . . . herself will appreciate yer efforts, and so do we all.”

“Thanks, Sean. I’d also like tae pick up my granny’s yarn kit.”

Sean riffled around under the table, producing a kit and
a short list, where he crossed off Charlotte’s name. I noticed a few other names had been crossed out, too.