Shadow On The Fells. Eleanor Jones

upside down with her black legs in the air. Panic hit like a sledgehammer; there was no way Chrissie could get it out unaided.

      She didn’t want to ask the man to help, but there was no other way. In desperation, she turned to see him heading off down the hillside, hobbling slightly and still hanging grimly to the dog’s collar.

      “Excuse me,” she called. “Please...I need help here.”

      * * *

      WILL STOPPED WHEN he heard the woman’s cry. She was standing in the spot where the sheep had disappeared over the ledge. He gritted his teeth; he could really do without this. Her braid had come loose, and her long fair hair was streaming around her shoulders. She caught it up impatiently.

      “Please,” she repeated, her desperate voice carrying across the distance. “It’s the least you can do.”

      With a heavy sigh he retraced his steps. His knee smarted and throbbed, and his calf muscles ached relentlessly. Max pulled at him and he gave his collar a yank. “And what am I supposed to do with the dog while I help you with whatever it is you want?”

      In response, Chrissie pulled a long piece of orange baler twine from her pocket. “First lesson,” she said. “Always carry some of this with you—you never know when it might come in handy. My sheep is stuck down here and I need you to help me get it out.”

      Shaking his head, Will tied the twine to Max’s collar and fastened the end around a stubby, windblown bush before peering over the drop. She was right; he was duty bound to help her, even though the thought of wrangling a sheep was definitely not at the top of his to-do list.

      Chrissie climbed down next to the sheep and began hauling at it.

      “We need to call for help,” he suggested.

      “You are the help,” she snapped. “What I need is for you to get down here and undo some of the damage you and your stupid dog have caused.”

      Reluctantly, Will did as he was told, scrambling awkwardly down the rocky outcrop to grab hold of the oily wool on the ewe’s back. It was thicker than he expected, and kind of sticky.

      “Just pull,” she said.

      They tugged with all their strength, shoulder to shoulder, and suddenly the ewe came free. She leaped up, knocking them both over before heading off across the fell to find her companions. Will lay winded for a second with Chrissie sprawled over him. She wriggled to free herself, pushing against his chest, her face a fiery red.

      “Well, at least the sheep seems okay,” he remarked, lips twitching.

      “She’ll probably lose her lambs, though,” she remarked coldly, sitting up and struggling onto her feet. He stayed on the ground, contemplating.

      “You are very pessimistic,” he said. “It’s not a good trait, you know. Positive thinking can move mountains.”

      Chrissie brushed herself down. “You need more than positive thinking to survive up here. I’m telling you the ewe will probably lamb too soon—and you’ll have to pay for it. Plus probably others that I haven’t even found yet.”

      Will sat up. “Ah, but how are you going to catch all these ailing and injured sheep that you haven’t even found yet? And if you can’t find them, how will you prove their problems were mine and Max’s doing?”

      “Well I can’t, can I? Not right now, at least. But I’ll be keeping a closer eye on the ones that got loose because of you. Tomorrow I have to do the gather all over again, and they will come in with the rest of the flock...as long as there isn’t a tourist with a crazy dog around.”

      Clambering to his feet, Will gave a short, sharp salute. “Well, you don’t need to worry on that score...ma’am. Max will definitely be locked away tomorrow, and as I’m not a tourist, there will probably be none of those around to bother you, either.”

      Chrissie bristled, obviously displeased with his mocking tone. Without another word, she whistled for her collies and the dogs leaped up at once, happy to be doing something. Max yipped after them as they moved off down the steep slope.

      Now Will was the one to bristle. He did have rights to this land. He didn’t have to suffer her disrespect. She was fifty yards away from him, but he called out anyway, his voice cutting easily through the clear, thin air.

      “For your information, I’m a property owner. I live here, too. For now, at least.”

      Chrissie stopped in surprise, looking back to where he still stood on the rocky outcrop, hanging on to his dog as it leaped against the restraint of the orange baler twine. Her curiosity was so obvious that it made him feel a bit better about the way she seemed determined to make him feel out of place and unwelcome here. Who was she to judge him, anyway? He had as much right on this fell as she did. If she thought he was going to fill her in on the details of the property he had bought, she was about to be disappointed.

      For a moment she just stared at him, an unspoken question in her eyes. He returned her gaze with a half smile on his lips, refusing to be drawn in, and eventually, with a curt nod, Chrissie turned abruptly away.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      WILL STEPPED THROUGH the back door of the shabby white farmhouse at Craig Side with a heavy sigh of relief and, to his surprise, a sense of homecoming. The walk up the fell with Max had been meant to clear his head, invigorate his senses and push back the dark thoughts that the builders’ presence had brought on. Great idea that had been; his clothes and shoes were ruined, his whole body felt battered and bruised, and he ached all over.

      “It’s all your fault, Max,” he complained to the muddy dog, who had sprawled in front of the stove the second they got in.

      Max half raised his head in response, thumping his bedraggled tail on the floor.

      “And you need a bath,” added Will, wishing the farmhouse boasted a shower. The thought of standing under a hot shower was so appealing, and a bath just wasn’t the same. His upmarket bachelor apartment in Manchester had a power shower, so the pressure was always good, and the first thing he did when he came home from work in the evening was to strip off his clothes and stand underneath it for at least fifteen minutes, allowing the force of the scalding-hot water to wash away the trials of the day.

      Perhaps he should get a shower fitted here right away. He had big plans for the place eventually, but it would be some time before they were put into action and he didn’t think he could stand only having a bath to wash in for the next year or so. The holiday rentals were his first priority, of course...which reminded him about the builder wanting him to look at the plans his architect had drawn up.

      Just as the thought came into his head, the banging that had made him go out in the first place started up again. So the builders were still here. He groaned. Well, might as well get it over with.

      Will stepped outside again and waved at Jim, calling him over.

      “Hi, Jim, come in,” he said brightly, opening the door wider. The tall gray-haired man he’d met earlier stepped inside, looking around intently.

      “So, I guess you’ll be wanting to do this place up next, when the holiday cottages are done,” he remarked. “Will you be living here, then?”

      Will nodded. “That’s the plan. I could probably do with putting in a shower right away, though.”

      Jim took in his muddy shins and tattered clothes and seemed to be suppressing a smirk. “There’s no water pressure, that’s the problem. Having your own supply is great, but it can be a bit unpredictable. I’ll get the plumber to have a look, if you like.”

      “Great,” said Will, part of him wishing he’d never said anything in the first place, as much as he craved a shower right now. He already regretted starting on his building plans so soon.

      After the gruesome child-murder trial that