Authors: Bonnie
Gregory Tobin.”
The accent assured Bennet that Tobin was definitely a stranger in these parts.
What reason might an upper-class twit, likely from London, have in traveling so far to the back of nowhere? Nothing good.
Bennet stared at the man’s hand, then walked past him. “I’ve work to do. No time
for salesmen.”
Tobin hurried alongside him. “I’m not a salesman. I’m… I’m traveling on
business.”
“Then I suggest you get back to it and leave me be.” Bennet had introduced two
ewes and their week-old lambs to the flock and had come to make sure they would find their way to the shelter. It was a job he considered giving to Dickon, but the young man was a bit lackadaisical about his work as shepherd.
He’d noticed some of the younger sheep were grazing too far away and decided to
push them back toward their older, wiser companions who kept to their heft, their area, without straying far. The younger ones had surged forward, probably to get a good look at this stranger.
“I apologize again for bothering you.” The stranger huffed along at his side,
trying to keep up with Bennet’s long stride and actually doing a fair job of it. “But I can see from the sky a storm is coming. I’m stranded without a horse, and yours appears to be the only house in miles. Might I prevail on you to take pity on a traveler and give shelter…and perhaps a bit of lunch…and maybe later a ride to town? If it’s not too much trouble?”
Bennet shot a sideways glance at the man with the charming smile and the long
list of requests. A rogue.
He’s used to getting his way with that smile and the cheeky
patter. The ladies must fawn all over him.
“I have work to do,” he repeated gruffly, walking even faster toward the tail end
of several sheep straggling away from the group, heading toward a boggy patch. Last thing he wanted was to have to haul sheep out of the mud, especially if it started raining.
“I can’t help you.”
“You’re honestly going to leave me on foot and helpless in the rain?” The too—
charming man clasped his hands together in an attitude of prayer. “Please, take pity on a wandering stranger, sir,” he teased with a glint of laughter in those wide blue eyes.
“The sky is often cloudy around here. It’s not going to rain. You can start walking back the way you came. You should reach Faircliffe before nightfall if you hurry.”
Bennet hurried toward several of the flock that were wandering off, reached out with his crook and tapped the side of the leader, driving it away from the swampy ground. The sheep turned in the direction he wanted it to go, and the others followed.
“Well done.” Tobin sounded quite breathless now as he continued to chug along
behind Bennet as closely as a lamb following a ewe. “But don’t shepherds generally have collies to do this sort of thing?”
“Mind your shoes,” Bennet snapped gruffly.
But it was too late. The pair of shiny Oxfords splashed into a puddle and pulled
out of sucking mud. Their owner gazed at them in dismay. “Oh dear. Ruined.”
Bennet fought a smile that suddenly sprang to his lips. The rueful expression on
the ginger-haired man’s face was too comical, and his mournful tone suggested the death of a loved one rather than of a pair of shoes that clearly didn’t belong in this country.