Shadow On The Fells. Eleanor Jones
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crumpled piece of paper in his hand. “That much?”
“That much,” she repeated decisively.
He stared at her a moment longer then sighed. “I presume this is where you live,” he said. “High Bracken, you called it? I’ll bring you a check. You do take checks, I suppose?”
Chrissie glared at him. “Yes, can you believe it? I actually have a bank, in fact.” Suddenly she smiled again, a tiny smile that just turned up the corners of her mouth. “I even have the internet...and I can work it.”
It was his turn to appear uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean...”
“Yes, you did,” she said. “You think I’m some kind of country bumpkin with no brains. Well, I am a country girl and I’m proud of it, but I do have brains. It was either sheep farming or training to be a vet, and I chose sheep farming. I’ve never regretted it. I’ll be around the farm tomorrow if you want to drop the check off. The vet’s coming.”
She turned away with her dogs at her heels, but spun back to face him a second later. “Oh, and you certainly look a bit more in keeping with your surroundings today, but a coat is always a good idea around here.”
She strode off without another word. There was something so arrogant about the man, with his high-handed manner and his posh accent, and yet, standing there in his wet sweater, he also seemed kind of vulnerable. Bottom line: he was just another tourist and the sooner he headed back to his city life, the better.
She remembered what he’d said about owning property, but it had to be a just vacation home. Men like Will Devlin didn’t live around here; they just arrived with their families and interfered with the way of things before scuttling back to the city.
Did he have a family? she wondered. Did she really care? The answer that jumped into her head was not the one she wanted. For some bizarre reason, she was interested in the man who kept appearing on the fell as if from nowhere. Perhaps he was a ghost, she mused sardonically as she made her way down to the farm. Well, I’ll find out tomorrow, she thought. Because ghosts can’t write checks.
* * *
WHEN CHRISSIE REACHED High Bracken, the sheep safely enclosed in the low meadows, she made straight for the new arrival, Floss. The nervous little dog was excited to see her, and Chrissie played with her for a few minutes before leading her to the house.
The way Floss stayed close behind her told her that perhaps she would be one of the easier ones to train. That belief was strengthened when Chrissie stopped to gaze across the valley toward Craig Side and Floss sat obediently down beside her.
There were workmen in the yard again, she noted, tiny figures in the distance. Perhaps they were just repairing the roof. Andy had been pretty sure about the holiday rentals, though.
She imagined clusters of bright-coated tourists wandering across her land, letting their pet dogs chase the sheep and leaving gates open. They seemed to think they owned the Lake District just because it was a national park.
She’d go to the council offices in Kendal this week, she decided, to find out what was going on. One thing was for sure: if there was a planning application going in, then she’d be fighting it. She’d write a letter of protest and get signatures, and she could have a meeting with the local council to state her objections.
With a fresh boost of determination she pulled herself away from the view of Craig Side. What were her objections, though? I don’t like having tourists too close to my farm? The shops, hotels and holiday cottages around here—her neighbors—depended on tourists. But encouraging them to stay as far up the fell as Craig Side could cause all sorts of problems—as she’d witnessed firsthand with Will Devlin’s crazy dog. She could form her objection around that: tourists needed to be based closer to town, or in other nearby villages.
Smiling, she remembered that when tourists used to come tramping through Billy Parker’s yard at High Ridge, he would turn the garden hose on them. True, that was probably taking it a bit too far, but the thought still amused her. She’d been half in love with Billy when she was sixteen, and his impetuous behavior had drawn her to him even then. He was happily married now with two young children, but they had always remained friends...
“Come on, girl,” she said to Floss, heading back toward the house. She was eager for a late lunch and a cup of tea. “One thing is for sure. Whoever has bought Craig Side is in for a fight if they’re hoping to bring tourists all the way up here.”
AS WILL MADE his way home with Max still straining on the leash, he felt a flicker of irritation at the way Chrissie made him feel so small.
Even when he’d walked away from his career he had felt principled, never awkward or uncomfortable. He’d become totally sickened by the way the law worked, the way that clever words could help guilty men and women walk free when the whole world knew they didn’t deserve to. And the worst part was that very often they were his words. That was what had truly finished him. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done as a lawyer, and he’d made the right decision by walking away.
Chrissie’s face slid into his mind, a strong face that didn’t need makeup to enhance it. There was something about her whole demeanor that drew him in, something starkly beautiful about the proud way she held her head and the spark in her blue eyes.
He had come to the fells for peace and quiet, a chance to take stock and sort out the good from the bad, but already he was inviting chaos into his life at every turn. What he needed to do, he decided, was avoid Chrissie at all costs. He didn’t want any more antagonism in his life, and sparks seemed to fly whenever they met, sparks that emphasized his confusion.
He realized that Autumn was too warm and mellow a name for the fierce, independent shepherdess. Winter, he decided, smiling at the thought.
Back at Craig Side there were men up on the roof. He could see them clearly from the fell, little ants busily working. He’d come here for solitude, but solitude seemed to be evading him—even when he sought it out on the wild slopes. Part of it was his own fault, of course; he had called the workmen in and he had let Max chase the stupid sheep. Still, he needed to talk to Jim and Roger Simmons soon. Though, right now, getting out of his soggy sweater and warming up were his first priorities.
Will had just managed to pull the demon sweater over his head and stuff it in the laundry basket when he heard a knock on the kitchen door. He ignored it, hoping that whoever it was would think he’d gone out. No such luck.
“Sorry to intrude, but we really do need you to look at these plans again.” Jim Wentworth poked his gray head around the corner just as Will ducked out of sight. “But if you’re busy...”
“No, it’s fine,” Will said awkwardly, emerging from the laundry room. “I got a bit wet, that’s all.”
“I saw you coming down the fell.” Jim smiled. “You did look a bit sodden. To be honest, it’s always a good idea—”
“To wear a coat when you live around here,” Will finished for him. “Autumn—I mean, Chrissie Marsh—said just the same thing.”
Jim raised his bushy eyebrows. “You’ve seen her again already, then?”
“Only by accident. You’d think you could never accidentally bump into someone way up here, but I’ve managed to do it twice.”
“With better results than yesterday, I hope.”
Will laughed. “Well, Max didn’t chase her sheep, but she presented me with a bill for one that fell down a cliff yesterday...and she let me know I was wearing the wrong clothes yet again.”
“As I said, Chrissie doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”
“So you think I’m a fool, now?”
When Jim looked at him in dismay, Will placed a reassuring hand