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‘If she sold the shop,' Mum continues, ‘she'd have more than enough money to live by the sea, with some left over.'

‘It's a dying business,' Dad adds. ‘The Village News is losing money and that can't continue for much longer.'

‘Because you can see Sarah's inheritance disappearing,' Gran interrupts as she walks back into the kitchen. ‘Jim's always wanted to get his hands on my money.'

‘You know that isn't true.' My father is genuinely upset.

‘What are you doing, creeping up on us like that?' says Mum crossly.

‘I thought I heard my name being mentioned in vain, so I listened behind the door – it's a bad habit of mine. I know you're talking about me. If you have something to say, you can say it in front of me to my face. I'm not stupid. I'm perfectly compost mentis.' Gran pauses. ‘I will not leave the shop until I'm carried out in a box. I promised your granddad I'd look after it for him.'

‘Nobody's interfering,' I say. ‘Mum's only trying to help. She's right in a way. You should be enjoying a slower pace of life, not sorting newspapers at six o'clock in the morning.'

‘Why?' Gran frowns. ‘I enjoy it.'

‘You could take it easier, though. You could take up a new hobby – gardening, for instance.'

‘What on earth would I want to do that for? I don't need to grow tomatoes when there's a greengrocer just down the road. And why on earth would I go and live anywhere else when all my old friends are in Talyton St George . . . or dead?' she adds, matter-of-factly.

‘Gran,' I say, ‘I wish you wouldn't talk about dying like that.'

‘Death is part of life. Birth is the capital letter at the beginning of a sentence, death is the full stop. That's how I see it.' Her tone hardens. ‘I'm not going into a home by the sea. I won't go and live in a home anywhere. They're for old people.'

‘Sarah and I went to have a look around the one in Talymouth a couple of weeks ago,' my father says tactlessly.

‘It was so different from what we expected,' Mum says,'wasn't it, Jim?'

I'm not sure which of us is most upset, me or Gran, at this discussion of her future.

‘I don't think this is any of your business – it's up to Gran what she does.' I give my mother a look which means ‘shut up and not in front of Lewis', but she's on a mission. I glance towards Emily who shakes her head. Nothing is going to stop her.

‘It was light and modern and it didn't smell. Every room had en-suite facilities and the food options included pasta and Thai curry.'

‘Curry? I've never had a curry in my life and I don't intend to start now,' Gran says.

‘You'd have access to Wi-fi and multichannel TV.'

‘Why on earth would Gran want Wi-fi?' Emily exclaims. ‘She hasn't got a computer.'

‘I might want to get myself on the Interweb one day but not in an old people's home, thank you very much,' Gran cuts in.'I have a smartphone.'

‘You haven't learned to drive it yet,' I say.

‘I can make a phone call and text. That's all I need.' Gran turns from me to my parents. ‘I don't want to hear any more about it. If you like this home so much, then go and live there yourselves. Zara, I'd like you to give me a lift back to the shop this afternoon, please.' Gran might have had the final word on the matter for now, but I'm afraid this is probably just the beginning.

‘That's no problem.' I smile to break the tension, adding lightly, ‘I'm going that way myself.'

‘Daddy, I bored,' Poppy says, and Murray jumps at an excuse to leave the table. He looks towards Lewis.

‘Why don't you take Zara up to the lambing shed?'

‘You two really know how to show a girl a good time,' Emily says with a mock sigh.

‘Can I come?' Poppy asks, and I'm just about to say ‘why not?' when Emily interrupts.

‘You and Daddy are going to change Daisy's nappy and then you can play.'

‘How about a game of hide and seek?' Murray says lightly.

‘Without the seek part,' Emily says.

‘What are you saying, Mummy?' Poppy asks, kneeling up on her chair.

‘Oh, nothing,' Emily giggles. ‘This is Mummy and Daddy stuff. Don't worry about it.'

‘Zara, I'd be happy to show you around,' Lewis says shyly. ‘I've left the dogs in the annexe.'

‘Thank you.' Any excuse to get away from my parents and grandmother, find out more about him, and – a tiny shiver of anticipation runs down my spine – enjoy some more light-hearted flirting, if I'm lucky.

CHAPTER FOUR

Shepherd's Delight

‘I'm sorry about my family,' I say to Lewis as I tramp across to the lambing shed in one of Emily's old coats and a pair of her boots. ‘That was really cringeworthy.'

‘Isn't that what families are for – to embarrass each other?' He grins. ‘Come on. I could use the skills of a country midwife.' As soon as he pushes the barn door open, the sheep start bleating.

‘They think I'm going to feed them.' He closes the door behind us. ‘Oh, there's someone in trouble.' He steps over one of the hurdles that keep the sheep confined in small groups and approaches the ewe which is standing panting in the corner.

‘I should have come out here between courses.' Swearing, Lewis gets down with the ewe, then turns back to me. ‘Would you mind hanging on to this one?'

I clamber into the pen and cross the straw, kneeling
down beside the ewe, rather gingerly because the straw isn't completely clean.

‘I'm sorry, I should have asked you if you'd mind. I just assumed . . .'

‘I've seen Emily lamb a ewe before, but I haven't a clue what I'm doing here. They're so woolly I can hardly tell which end is which.'

‘If you push her into the corner and keep your knee pressed against her shoulder, she can't run away. Put her in a headlock if that's easier.'

I gaze at the ewe. From the look in her eyes, I'd say she was in agony.

‘The poor lamb,' I say gently.

‘This is the ewe. The lamb's in there,' Lewis says, smiling and pointing to the ewe's belly. ‘I can usually lamb them myself, but this one's a really twitchy character.'

‘It seems odd to describe sheep as having character. I always thought they were pretty much the same, a bit dense. That's what Murray always tells me, anyway.' I struggle to keep the ewe still – she's much stronger than I imagined – and I find that I have to get up close and personal with my arm around her neck and my weight pushing her against the hurdle.

‘They're all different. You get to know them individually when you're with them all day. They're quite bright too – they recognise the members of their own flock. Some are bold; others shy and retiring, like me.' Lewis's tone is teasing as he squirts some lubricant from a bottle onto his gloved hands and starts examining the ewe. ‘The lamb's breech. I need
to push it back in and catch the back legs so they come out before the tail, but there isn't much room in here.' The ewe groans and strains as if in agreement and, a few minutes later, Lewis delivers a wet lamb onto the straw.

‘Is it breathing?' I ask anxiously, caught up in the drama.

Lewis picks it up by the hind legs and swings it back and forth to drain any fluid from its lungs before he lays it down again and rubs its chest vigorously with a handful of straw. He pauses and, seconds later, the lamb lifts its head and looks around, trembling as if it's just woken from a deep sleep.

‘You can let her go now, Zara.'

I release the ewe, which turns and bleats at her baby, nudging it and licking its face. Lewis squats to check the umbilical stump and spray it with purple spray, and I find my eyes drawn to a lightly tanned band of muscular loin.

He looks up and raises one eyebrow. Blushing at being caught out, I try to cover it up.

‘Don't you get cold?' I stammer. ‘I mean, you're out here and it's freezing and you aren't wearing a coat and . . .' I stop abruptly, feeling like a complete idiot.

‘And I'm wearing low-rise jeans,' he finishes for me. ‘I'm used to working outdoors. I don't feel the cold.' Chuckling, he stands up and pulls his sweater down.

‘What next?' I ask.

‘What would you do?' he says.

‘Weigh and measure the baby, check mum's comfortable and make sure breastfeeding is established.' I smile. ‘Sometimes I have to pick dad off the floor too.'

‘We don't normally weigh and measure, but I do need to make sure the lamb feeds before I leave them to it.' Lewis reaches for my hand and pulls me up, holding onto my hand a few seconds longer than necessary.

‘You'd make a good shepherdess, like your sister. You have small hands.'

‘It's good to know I have that option, but I'm not planning to change careers any time soon,' I say.

‘What made you go into midwifery?' he asks as we watch the lamb struggle to its feet.

‘I wanted to do something practical and make a difference to people's lives. Emily went into nursing and I didn't want to do exactly the same as my twin, so I chose midwifery. I did a degree and qualified –' I pause – ‘rather a long time ago.'

‘I finished my degree two summers ago.'

‘I didn't think you needed a degree to be a shepherd.'

Lewis smiles again. ‘You don't. I did a degree in Agriculture in general. I'm a townie really, but I've always wanted to be a farmer. We used to go on holiday to a farm in north Devon every summer and all I wanted to do was work with the animals. At first, I was allowed to collect the eggs from the chickens and muck out the horse, and later I graduated to milking the cows. I loved it. I couldn't get enough of it, so in the end I went to work there most holidays before I went to college to do my degree. My parents didn't approve. They wanted me to go and do something
more conventional in their eyes, engineering or law. My dad's an electrical engineer and Mum's a solicitor.'

‘Where do they live?'

‘Just outside Birmingham.'

‘You haven't got a Brummie accent.'

‘My parents haven't either. I speak proper-like,' he says, faking a Devon accent.

‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?'

‘A younger brother, Connor. He's doing a degree in Media Studies. I'm not sure my parents approve of that, either, but he keeps telling them they'll change their minds when he's directing films in Hollywood. It's good to have dreams.' Lewis fiddles with a piece of straw as the lamb wobbles up to his mother and nudges up between her front legs. ‘You won't find what you're looking for there, matey.' He moves across to give the lamb a helping hand, lowering him onto the straw close to the ewe's udder where he latches on to drink, wagging his tail.

‘What's your dream?' I ask.

He thinks for a moment. ‘To have a flock of my own and maybe some land. And my dogs. Oh, and a wife and kids, although I haven't got a girlfriend at the moment and don't anticipate getting married until I'm at least thirty, because I want to have a lot more fun before I settle down. Not much to ask,' he adds ironically.

‘I shouldn't hurry into marriage if I were you,' I say ruefully. ‘I did and it was a mistake.'

‘Emily told me you were divorced. I'm sorry.'

‘It's all right.' I change the subject. ‘How long have you had your dogs?'

‘Since they were pups. Mick and Miley are working collies.'

‘Miley?' I interrupt. ‘Is that after Miley Cyrus?'

‘No, it's because she can run for miles. I trained them both from scratch. They work with the sheep and compete at trials. I love my dogs. I wouldn't be without them. What happened to put you off them? You seem genuinely frightened.' He smiles again. ‘You really did seem to prefer the idea of suicide to getting into the pick-up with the dogs the other night.'

‘Uncle Nobby's terrier used to lie in front of the fire with its ears going pink and stinky, and farting with as much gusto as my uncle does – not endearing traits – and then one day, when I was ten, he bit me.' I shudder as I recall the small bundle of teeth and muscle and wiry coat turning on me and grabbing me by the ankle, hanging on while I screamed for help. ‘The pain! I've never felt anything like it. Uncle Nobby hit him with a poker, making him let go for just long enough for me to shut myself in the bathroom where I fainted, banged my head on the side of the bath and knocked myself out.'

‘Why did he go for you?' Lewis asks.

‘You aren't one of those people who always blames the victim, not the dog, are you?' I say suspiciously.

‘There's usually a reason for a dog to turn.'

‘This one growled and barked at everyone apart from Uncle Nobby, but I don't know why he suddenly
turned on me. Maybe I took him by surprise or got a bit too close, I don't know,' I shrug. ‘Anyway, he made me wary of dogs. I still have the scars.

‘Even now, if I see someone walking their dog, I'll cross the road to avoid them.' I smile ruefully. ‘I don't know what it is about me and animals. My gran's cat wants to kill me.'

‘What happened to your uncle's dog?'

‘He couldn't bring himself to have him put down. The rest of the family weren't happy: they cut him off for a few years until the dog died a natural death. I'm glad, though, because I would have felt guilty somehow. I wasn't looking for revenge.'

‘It must be hard for you. You must come up against dogs when you're doing house calls.'

‘I let everyone know so they can keep them away. There was an issue when one of my mums-to-be wanted their pet present at the birth, but she saw sense in the end.'

‘What do you do when you go out for a walk? There are hundreds of dogs around here – I've never seen so many.'

‘I don't do much walking.' I glance down at my figure. ‘Can't you tell?' I say lightly, trying to make a joke of it. Inside, though, I'm cringing. What a stupid thing to say. Emily's right – men love women who love themselves, and it isn't attractive to tell everyone how you feel too fat, even if it's true. Why does it matter, anyway? I gaze at Lewis – he's hot. Oh, yes, seriously hot.