Shadow on the Fells (10 page)

In fact, the man was a liability, she decided as she headed back to the farm with the dogs at her heels. She was confident enough now to leave the lamb with its mother. In a flash, she remembered how he'd helped her with the sheep the night before and how they'd talked after. For a little while they'd had a real connection, and she'd seen the man behind the lawyer with the silken tongue, the man who'd been sickened by his profession.

Of course, it hadn't lasted; when she'd turned on him over his holiday rentals he'd become defensive. And that kiss... What had that been all about? She touched her fingers to her lips, feeling them tingle at the memory. It was easy enough for him to make his fancy plans; all he cared about was the money he could make. For her, tourists running around up here would be a real hazard. There were bound to be more incidents of sheep being spooked or killed by dogs. Her flock might stray in panic and split up, mothers and their lambs could get separated... Not to mention having to worry about gates being left open, potentially dangerous litter and erosion of the land. There was just no place for tourists up here.

Chrissie was still pondering it when she walked into the kitchen at High Bracken. She'd go and do some training exercises with Floss; that should clear her head. “Come on,” she called to the little black-and-tan sheepdog, who was eager for company. “You and I have work to do.”

Attaching a long line to Floss's collar, Chrissie headed up to the paddock where the Runner ducks were. They waddled across the grass, heads held high, well used to the routine.

“Lie down,” she told Floss, and the pup wavered for a moment, torn between running off to investigate the strange-looking ducks and being obedient. She knew full well what she was supposed to do, but life was way too exciting to lie down. Chrissie repeated the command, rewarding the young dog when she did as she was bid, and soon she was sitting, lying and staying with total disregard for the ducks.

“Come way out,” called Chrissie, casting out her arm, and Floss stood, apparently confused. When Chrissie repeated the command and hand gesture, though, she headed toward the ducks, moving around them slowly with the natural instinct bred into a good sheepdog. When Chrissie let out a low whistle and called for her to lie down again, Floss dropped to the ground immediately, enjoying the game, her keen eyes focused on her trainer.

“That'll do,” Chrissie said with a pleased smile, confident that the training was going to be relatively easy. Some dogs just didn't get it, and then there were others, like Floss and Tess and Fly, who seemed to know what you wanted and actually enjoyed the work.

She walked over and gave the little dog a treat, scratching behind her ears. “Come on, girl,” she said. “Let's go home.”

Returning to the house, she could see way across the valley. Green shoots were pushing through the brown of winter and the wide sky was the clearest, palest blue, unlike yesterday when she'd been soaked to the skin most of the day and the sky had been a daunting shade of gray. The thought reminded her yet again of her new neighbor and she looked way over to her left and a little lower down to Craig Side. There were vehicles in the yard and tiny figures up on the roof yet again. Her heart sank. It couldn't wait. She'd have to go see Tom Farrah today and start a petition against Will Devlin's plans. She had to do something before it was too late.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“S
O
,
HAVE
YOU
sorted it?”

Jim Wentworth was standing in the yard at Craig Side watching Will yelling, yet again, for Max. The big cream-colored dog totally disregarded his master's angry cries, intent on following an enticing scent, and Will fell silent, feeling like a fool.

“Sorted what?” he asked, his bad humor turning on Jim.

“Whoa...” Jim raised his hand in objection. “It's not my fault you can't control your own dog. I told you what to do.”

“And I am,” snapped Will, making a split-second decision. “Today.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jim said, letting out a low whistle. Max stopped in his tracks, peering down at the two men in the yard below him. “The thing is,” he went on, as the dog returned in their direction. “I need to keep my men in work, so if you haven't obtained the necessary planning permission by the time we've finished the barn roof then I'll have to take on another job. It could be months, then, before I have the time to get started on your project. All you have to do is approve the plans Roger drew up.”

Will started to answer, but Max had reached them and he leaped up at Will, almost knocking him over. “Bad dog,” he cried.

“I'm not surprised you can't manage him,” Jim remarked. “He's just done what you wanted and come to call, so you should be rewarding him, not telling him off.”

“But I need to discipline him, don't I? Or he'll have won.”

Jim scratched his head in despair. “It seems to me that you need as much training as your dog. They don't think like us, you know...don't understand things in the same way we do. He needs to be rewarded for coming back to you and then maybe he'll want to. Anyway, about these plans.”

Will tentatively patted Max's broad head “I'm a bit new to this dog-owner stuff,” he admitted, and Jim rolled his eyes.

“So why buy one in the first place...especially one like Max?”

Will couldn't help smiling at his own ineptitude. “A stupid impulse, I'm afraid. I was changing my life around and it seemed like a country kind of thing to do.”

“A Labrador or a collie would be a country thing to do. But seriously, get the dog some training, and attend the classes if you can, too. You need to understand how he thinks. Dogs don't reason like us—they just react.”

“I'm beginning to realize that,” Will said. “I understand the way lawyers think and even the workings of the criminal mind, to a degree, but dogs—any animals, really—are way out of my comfort zone.”

“Sounds like you've had an introduction to sheep, though,” Jim said with an amused smile. “Thanks both to Max here and to Chrissie Marsh.”

“I've learned that they're nervous and wild, and I've also found out that caring for them is a dirty, tough and often smelly job, if that's what you mean.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “And satisfying, too?”

Remembering how the lamb Chrissie had helped to be born had struggled to its feet and suckled almost immediately brought a tight feeling into Will's chest. “Yes,” he admitted. “I suppose it is satisfying. They are so delicate and yet so tough, full of the will to survive. It's humbling, really.”

“Then get down to the vet's and find out if they know of any good dog trainers so that Max here doesn't start trying to kill them again. Oh, and when you get back, maybe you could attach some importance to those plans.”

“Will do,” promised Will.

* * *

W
ILL
PULLED
UP
outside the veterinary center later that day and climbed out of his four-by-four, leaving Max in the back. On the drive into Little Dale, his thoughts had wandered back to Roy's visit. Did he really want to go back to law to try and right some of the wrongs he'd inflicted? The idea held some appeal, but did he really want to become embroiled in all that again? Well, the only way to make sure he never needed to go back was to get his holiday rentals built and start making money.

While life in the country was harsh and tough, at least it was totally honest. He certainly couldn't say that about his career as a lawyer.

Trying to push the confusing thoughts from his mind, he went into the clinic. The pretty young receptionist smiled at him.

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” he responded. “I mean, I'm not here to see a vet or anything, I just wondered if you knew of any dog trainers in the area.”

“I think there's an advert on the wall over there,” she suggested, pointing to a notice board covered in dozens of brochures and slips of paper.

Will passed a row of waiting patients ranging from a rabbit that was sitting on a little girl's knee to a thin woman with an Afghan hound, and was intercepted by a tall fair-haired man.

“Hi,” he said, holding out a large hand. Will took it, confused, and the man pumped it firmly. “I'm Andy Montgomery, a vet both here and at Cravendale Animal Sanctuary. I couldn't help hearing you ask about a dog trainer.”

“Yes,” Will said. “I need someone really good.”

“Frankly, there is only one around here who I would confidently recommend. Chrissie Marsh from High Bracken—she's always very busy, but
it might be worth trying to persuade her.”

Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Why was it that every way he turned, she seemed to be there? “But doesn't she only train sheepdogs?” he asked.

“Mainly,” Andy said. “But she's done some work for us with all sorts of dogs that have come into Cravendale. She seems to have a way of communicating with even the most difficult ones. Some of them would quite probably have had to be put down if it wasn't for her. I suppose you're new in town?”

Will nodded, regaining some of his confidence. “That's right. Will Devlin. I've just bought Craig Side.”

“Ah...” Andy smiled knowingly. “And now I can see why you're wary of approaching Chrissie. I heard about the dog-chasing incident.”

“That's why I need to get Max trained properly,” Will said.

“Well, I can't see Chrissie holding grudges. She may be mad at you, of course, but if you just apologize—and maybe beg a little—then I'm sure you'll be able to persuade her to help you out.”

Will grimaced. “I'm not so sure about that.”

“Go and see her,” suggested Andy. “Offer her enough money so that she can't refuse. All the sheep farmers around here are strapped for cash.”

“Thanks,” said Will. “I might just do that.”

The idea formulated and grew as Will wandered through Little Dale and then suddenly, as if she had been plucked from his thoughts, there she was. Chrissie Marsh, dressed for town without her usual shepherdess apparel. She was striding along the pavement in much the same way that she walked across the fells, but now her long blond hair cascaded around her shoulders, almost reaching her waist, its golden streaks enhanced by the rusty autumn color of her jacket. Seizing the opportunity to approach her on neutral ground, Will hurried across the street, trying to position himself so that their meeting would appear accidental.

Peering into a shop window without even seeing the contents, he kept half an eye on her approach. She stopped a couple of times to chat to people and he felt like a nervous teenager as he pretended not to notice her. Her voice in his ear took him by surprise.

“And why would you be looking in a toy shop window?” she asked. “I saw you crossing the street—are you by any chance waiting for me?”

“No, no, I...I'm shopping. For a present.” His explanation sounded thin even to him.

Chrissie gave him an amused smile, raising her eyebrows, and he couldn't help but notice how the touch of makeup around her eyes made their clear blue more vivid. Like the Lake District sky, he thought, feeling stupid.

“Oh, well, in that case,” she said. “Good luck with your shopping.”

He tried to step in front of her as she turned away and accidentally knocked into a passerby. “Sorry,” he said to the elderly lady, who was scowling at him, then he grabbed Chrissie's sleeve before she could move on. The scent of her perfume flooded his senses. “Actually,” he admitted. “There is something.”

“Yes?”

“It's Max.”

“What about him? Has he been killing more sheep...or ducks, perhaps?”

A surge of irritation brought Will back down to earth. “That's not fair,” he insisted. “Max may be a bit wild, but he doesn't have a bad bone in his body.”

“Not yet,” she warned. “But every sheep killer has to start somewhere.”

“And that's why I want you to train him.” There, it was out. “Please?”

“I'm sorry,” she told him. “But I only train sheepdogs.”

He stood his ground. “That's not actually true, is it? Look...I know you're angry with me because of the holiday rentals, but can't we just put that on hold for a while? I haven't even finalized the plans yet. Andy, the vet, told me that you've trained all kinds of dogs for the animal center.”

“Cravendale hasn't put in a planning application for tourist accommodation,” she replied in a clipped tone.

“And neither have I...yet,” he told her, trying to keep his frustration at bay. “Please think about it at least. Max deserves a chance. I really don't want him to end up being shot by some farmer.”

“Then you'd better keep him under control.” Chrissie walked off without a backward glance. Will watched her go, fending off a rush of disappointment.
Never mind her
, he decided. He would just have to find someone else.

As Chrissie passed Will's vehicle, she paused. He'd left the window open wide enough for Max to push most of his head out, and he was whining at Chrissie, eager for attention. She let him lick her hand and said a few words in his ear.

Will waited until she gave Max a final scratch and continued on her way before he approached the Range Rover. She must actually like the daft dog, or she wouldn't have made such a fuss over him. Which meant
he
was the reason she refused to get involved.

Well, he could work on that. There had to be some way to persuade her that he wasn't all bad. Will remembered Andy's suggestion to offer her too much money to refuse. That was the approach he was going to have to take. He would just turn up at High Bracken with his checkbook, and she could name her price.

Max went crazy when Will climbed into the driver's seat, leaping around and overcome with excitement.

“Settle down,” Will said, doubts forming. What if the silly labradoodle was untrainable? Perhaps he was wasting his time.

As he pulled out into the road, his phone rang. Will answered it on the Range Rover's console and Roger's voice came over the Bluetooth.

“Hi, Roger Simmons here. About these plans...”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes,” replied Will. “If you're in, of course.”

“Yes, I'll be in all afternoon. I'd like to get them ready for next month's planning meeting.”

When they ended the call, Will found himself thinking about Chrissie again. It would probably be better for him and Max if he held back on the planning for a while, but Jim had told him that if they didn't move forward soon, he'd have to take on another job. Will needed to do this and it really had to be now.

He headed out of the village and up into the hills where Roger had renovated an old farmhouse into something really special, mixing the old and the new with both skill and good taste.

Maybe if Chrissie saw the tasteful authentic design he had in mind for Craig Side, she'd warm to the idea. But he knew he was kidding himself. It was the tourists who were the problem, not the houses themselves. She needed to accept that there would always be visitors to the Lake District—more and more, in fact—and that they were actually an asset to the community, bringing both money and jobs to the area.

Times were changing, and Chrissie Marsh needed to change with them. She had to learn to live in the present, not the past, and find a way to live with tourists around here. He wished he could talk to her and try to make her understand. She had such warmth behind her facade of anger and hostility. He'd seen it with the sheep and lambs... the way she cared for them. And with him, when he'd kissed her. He wanted more of that warmth. He wanted it to scald him.

Roger's car was parked on the immaculate gravel drive and Will pulled up beside it, stepping out into the serenity of the spring afternoon to hear birdsong all around him. The whole place seemed alive with excitement as another year began to flourish, heralded by the mass of purple crocuses that were spread in abundance across the lawn.

He walked around the side of the house to a large conservatory that looked out onto the vast, rugged fells, a place to sit and take in the surroundings no matter what the weather.

Roger waved at him from the front window, and by the time Will reached the back door it was already open. “About time,” Roger said, hand outstretched. “Come on in. Mary already has the kettle on.”

“Tea or coffee?” she called from beside a large cream AGA stove. At her feet, a toddler sat banging on a pan with a spoon, and toys were strewn all over the granite-tiled floor.

“Coffee, please,” Will responded. “Seems like you've got your hands full.”

Mary smiled. “First grandchild,” she said, laughing. “I know, don't tell me, I don't look old enough.”

“Well, you don't,” Will agreed.

“Come into my study and I'll show you these plans,” Roger said, ushering him down a wide hallway into a pleasant room filled with natural light. “Here, I'll show you the computer images first to give you an idea of where I'm at, and then we can look at the proper plans.”

Will focused on the screen as Roger flicked through images of small cottages made of Lakeland stone clustered together around a central area.