Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,34

in the mountains, tending the various flocks of sheep. My heart swelled at the memories.

Thomas let me into the bunkhouse. It hadn’t changed much. The same utilitarian bunk beds stacked on each side of the room with a random collection of dressers between them.

“I’ll just run up to the house and ask about some clothes,” Thomas said.

I glanced down. “There’s no need. It’s just my knees. A towel will do the trick.”

Thomas fetched one from a nearby cupboard and gestured to the bathroom. I went inside, hoping to repair the worst of the damage. I used the towel to scrub at the drying mud on my knees and washed my face and hands. I tossed the towel into a nearby hamper.

I wondered if I could hide in here until the exhibition was over. Probably not. Both Thomas and Colin knew where I was. They were sure to come looking for me if I didn’t turn up soon.

Leaving the bunkhouse behind, I walked back up the trail. I was huffing and puffing as I reached the deck. The crowd was applauding, so it was clear I had missed most of the demonstration. I was disappointed by that. I would have liked to have seen Colin with the dogs.

Colin was standing on the ground below. He grinned at the crowd’s applause and then turned to open the gate. The sheep pressed forward into the pen in a nervous mob. It was clearly a general admission situation here, and I was surprised none of them were trampled in their hurry to get away from the dogs.

“Have you ever had a dog kill one of the sheep?” a young boy asked. His eyes were huge and he looked concerned.

Colin latched the gate and turned back to the group. His bright-blue eyes moved over the crowd and rested on the boy with a friendly gaze.

“Not to date, but it could happen easily enough,” Colin said. His lilting accent curled around me like a soft, woolly blanket. “The hunter spirit of their ancestors, the wolves, is still in them, so if they killed one sheep, they’d kill them all. That’s why you never leave them alone with the sheep. It’d be a massacre, and it wouldn’t be the dog’s fault but the master’s.”

The boy nodded. There were a few more questions. Someone else asked about the red, blue, and black markings on the sheep’s coats, and Colin explained what I already knew, that the colors designated which farm the sheep belonged to, which ones had been dipped, meaning inoculated against disease, and which females had been serviced, so to speak.

I was riveted. How had I forgotten his killer dimples and the wicked twinkle in his eyes when he teased? The man was full-on Irish hottie, and I had come so far to see him. Could I really skulk away now? Not a chance.

How I was going to approach Colin, I had no idea, so instead, I watched him, indulging in the moment. I recognized the way he carried himself with his back straight, his broad shoulders strong, and his head tipped ever so slightly to the side, as if he was just looking for a bit of mischief to make the day fun. Oh, how I had missed him.

With a wave of his arm, he signaled for the crowd to start down the gravel path to the shearing shack. Colin was busy. He was working. I knew I should leave the man alone, but I didn’t. Adhering my courage to the sticking place, which at the moment felt more like a preschooler’s paste than the superstrength glue I used as an adult, I stepped forward into his line of sight.

“And don’t let Seamus bamboozle you into thinking he needs extra food now,” Colin instructed. He clapped Thomas on the shoulder. “He’s goin’ to get fat if everyone keeps believin’ those big sad eyes of his.”

“Aye, sir, I know better than to fall for his beggin’.” Thomas whistled, and the dogs jumped to their feet. They followed him, crowding his legs as they left the area.

“Sir?” I said. “You’ve certainly come up in the world, Colin Donovan.”

He turned to face me. His face was kindly polite. “Are you all right, miss? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

He didn’t recognize me. It shouldn’t have been the crushing blow that it was. It had been seven years. Clearly, I was not as memorable to Colin as he was to me. The mature thing to do would be to introduce myself