Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,35

and tell him we’d met before, but I just couldn’t make myself do it.

The truth was, I’d built him up so much in my mind that I was bitterly disappointed that I was no more than a stranger to him. I gently tucked my pride and my dignity into my pocket and forced a smile.

“No, I’m fine,” I said. “After all, a little mud never hurt anyone.”

His smile slipped off the side of his face, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at me with an intensity that made me nervous. Was he worried I was going to sue the farm? I would never. I was about to reassure him of that when his frown faded into a look of pure astonishment.

“Chelsea Martin, as I live and breathe, is that you?” he asked.

He remembered! My heart swelled and I found I had no words, so I just nodded with a grin parting my lips. The next thing I knew, he was climbing up the front of the platform, not even bothering to go around to the stairs. He vaulted over the railing and landed in front of me.

“I can’t believe it. It’s been donkey’s years since I’ve seen you,” he said. He grabbed my arms to hold me in place while he studied my face. “Pinch me. Am I dreamin’?”

Obligingly, I pinched the tender skin between his glove and his sleeve.

“Ouch!” he cried.

“You said . . .”

“Aye, and you’re still a literal girl and a very fine thing,” he growled, which made me blush. Then he laughed and pulled me into a rib crusher of a hug, lifting me off my feet.

“And you’re still a charmer,” I said, hugging him back with all my strength. He smelled of fresh air and peat smoke, warm wool and sunshine, everything that was clean and good. When he set me back on my heels, I missed his warmth immediately.

“Colin, you’re still givin’ the tour, yeah?” a voice called from the barn down the hill.

“Blast, I have to go,” he said. He waved to the man to signal he was on his way, but then he turned back to me. “We need to visit. What are your plans? Where are you staying? How long are you here?”

The flurry of questions had me blinking.

“I don’t have any plans. I’m at the cottages. I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” I said. I didn’t add that it depended upon him. “Did you want to have dinner tonight?”

“Brilliant, let’s do that,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the Top of the Hill, say, at six?”

“I’d like that,” I said. Impulsively, I stood up on my toes and kissed his cheek.

Colin flushed a pale pink and grinned at me. “What was that for?”

“For remembering me,” I said.

“Oy, I could never forget you, Chelsea, love,” he said. He kissed my forehead and then turned and reached back to take my hand to pull me along behind him as if he didn’t want me to get away as he strode down the hill toward the barn. He didn’t let go until he stepped into the shed to give his demonstration. It was no exaggeration to say I was halfway to smitten.

* * *

• • • •

THE PARKS WERE exhausted by the end of the tour. I had no doubt it was because Jerry had volunteered to try his hand at shearing. Suffice to say, he’d gotten one of the wigglier young sheep, and much hilarity had ensued as the ewe had outmaneuvered him at every turn.

“Come here, you stubborn girl,” Jerry cried as she slipped through his hold. When he got a grip on her again, he looked to be in control of the situation, but then she slipped right through his legs. “I think I’d have better luck with a greased pig!”

“Bacon would be a bigger incentive for you—that’s for certain,” Mary teased her husband.

Colin stepped up and muscled the sheep into submission, managing to shear her in a matter of moments. I watched in fascination. He’d thrown off his coat, and his tight gray sweater hugged his muscular form. Gone was the slender young man I’d known before, and in his place was this burly man’s man. It was easy to see when he hefted the sheep, as if it weighed nothing, where those powerful shoulders of his had come from.

Despite the chill wind that greeted us outside, I was relieved by the bite in the air, as I felt a bit overheated by the whole