the sheep, so to speak, but my survival for the next month was at stake. If I didn't want to end up out in the mud giving sheep liver shots, I'd have to make a stand now. “You won't need me if you have her.”
She nodded her head rapidly, peering out of the rain streaked window. “Yes, I'll be happy to help you however you like with the sheep, so Emily can stay here and work on the computer.”
Unfortunately, Alec also decided to take a stand. He frowned at me and said, “If you're not wantin' to help out here, Emily, I'm sure we can arrange your trip back to your parents.”
I was just going to make it absolutely clear that although I would be as helpful as I could, I drew the line at doing things to sheeps' livers, but then he walked in. Ruaraidh. The Scottish God of Everything Manly and Hot.
Suddenly Holly's desire to work out in the mud was made extremely clear. What a devious mind she has! I can't believe she tried to oust me from spending quality time with Ruaraidh! Meh!
“Morning,” Ruaraidh said, smiling at me (and, I have to admit, Holly). His eyes widened a little when he took in my baby doll nightie with the pink feathers, and of course I had to suck in my cheeks so he would think I had naturally high cheekbones, which meant I couldn't eat, but that was a small sacrifice to pay for True Love. “I've milked Mabel, Alec, and fed the dogs. Are we dosing today? I'm ready to go whenever you are.”
Alec looked at me. I looked back at him. He did an eyebrow waggle. I turned to smile at Ruaraidh (I'm not entirely sure the sucked-in-cheeks-to-give-me-cheekbones smile was a success—it felt kind of weird and Ruaraidh's eyes got even wider when I did it).
“Holly and I just love dosing Flukes,” I de-cheeked long enough to say. “That's all she could talk about on the way up here, and I, of course, love anything to do with sheep and Scotland and sweaters, including knitting them—sweaters, that is, not knitting sheep or Flukes; what size sweater do you wear, by the way?—so we're game for a full day of Sheep Fluking. Alec, pretty please, promise us we'll get to Fluke all day!”
Alec's lips twitched, and Aunt Tim walked really quickly into the pantry and started making odd snorting noises (she's old, you know), and Holly gave me a look that in anyone else I would say was pissed. Ruaraidh—who was the only person in the room who really mattered—looked pleased. He smiled at me (just me this time, which I think is worth five points). “Like sheep then, do you?”
“Love them,” I said, and gave him a sultry look over my feather-bedecked shoulder. Holly kicked me under the table, but I'm sure it was just because she was mad she didn't have the smarts to show up at the breffie table in a seductive baby doll.
So, long story short—we went out on the hill and played sheep cowboys. Um...I guess that would be sheepboys, wouldn't it? Or sheepgirls, since we're female and all. Sheepgirl Holly and I got all dressed up in our jeans and big rubber boots that Aunt Tim had Mom buy for me, called, for some reason, Wellingtons (or wellies for short). Why would they name rubber boots after some military guy? Did they even have rubber in those days? Honestly, these people can be so strange!
Anyhoodles, off we went in our wellies and coats (Holly called hers an “anorak” but I just refuse to let myself go like that), following Alec and Ruaraidh. Alec was saying something about how the sheep were laid out on the hills and how we were supposed to round them up, but I didn't pay much attention to that because I was watching the dogs.
OK, time out while I tell you about the dogs. Now, you know I love dogs, and I still cry whenever I think of Pot Pie dying of doggy cancer, but the dogs here are amazing! They're like super dogs! Alec and Aunt Tim have five dogs, all Border Collies (they're black and white and two of them have long coats, while the other three have short coats), named Rob, Roy, Biorsadh (I had to ask about that spelling, not abso-positively sure on it), Lass, and Brae.
Now, here's what's really cool—Ruaraidh also likes dogs! He's got two Border Collies, only his