Chapter 42 Summer
FORTY-TWO
SUMMER
After we’re done with breakfast, the guys all head outside to set up, and I go to my room to call Lulu. She is, as expected, absolutely horrified.
“No. No. This is a terrible idea. Give me some time, I promise I can turn this story around, I’m already working on it—”
“I need to go dark,” I say firmly. “My mum’s job is being affected.”
“Who cares about your mum? I hate her. And YOUR career is going to be affected if you stop posting. This could hurt you, Summer.”
I fiddle with my nails. “You only hate her because she said your shoes were impractical at my birthday dinner.”
“No, see, I actually hate her because she’s a massive judgemental bi—”
I cut her off. “Lulu. Her job is so important. Way more important than mine. I can’t mess with it.
” I flop down on my bed. “I think I need the break anyway,” I admit.
“I’m tired of it all. And now that the Icons Only collab has fallen through, it’s not like I need to push for five million followers. ”
She sighs. “Yeah. I saw that. I’ll talk to them—”
“It’s fine, Lu. Really. It was a pipe dream. I just need a break.”
There’s a long pause. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.” I can practically hear her brain whirring as she mentally switches gears.
“So you’re staying longer? I miss you. All my other clients are boring.
None of them call me to help fix horrific nail glue incidents, or talk my ear off about out-of-production Chanel lip shades. I hope you’re doing okay up there.”
I glance out of the window. The sun is out, and Lochview’s rolling paddocks look almost impossibly green.
Below, I can see the men in a nearby field.
Cameron is building a pen from fences, and Fraser is hauling an upturned sheep to his feet.
Alec is holding court over it all, arms crossed as he scans the animals milling about.
His sleeves are rolled up, and I try not to ogle his tanned forearms like a horny spy.
“I am doing good, actually,” I say honestly.
“Lulu, you would not believe what happened last night—”
There’s a beep in the background. “Ugh, hold that thought, I need to take this call. It’s an influencer I’m looping in to save your image. I’ll call you later, yeah?”
“Um, I mean, I’ll probably be off my phone—”
“Love you.” She hangs up.
Well, that’s that, I guess. Now to the next order of business. I need an appropriate farm-girl outfit.
After a quick shower, I flip open the lid of my suitcase, and scan the pile of Lycra, mesh, and bodycon dresses.
It’s all cute, but I’m starting to wish I’d brought just one hoodie.
I suppose I could steal a shirt from the guys, but they’re massive on me, and I want to be able to move.
After a few minutes of rummaging, the best I can come up with is my leggings and a white lacy bralette.
Okay. Maybe it’s a bra. It’s open to interpretation.
But it’s my best option, so I wriggle it on, tug my hair into a high ponytail, and go to the front door where Cameron left the boots he bought for me.
They’re more rustic than I’d usually go for, made of buttery brown leather, but they hug my feet like a dream when I lace them up.
By the time I get to the paddock, shearing is already well underway. The men have divided the area into three pens—one for the woolly sheep, one for the sheep currently being sheared, and one for the naked ones.
It’s chaos. Sheep are everywhere, baaing, running at the fences, trying to escape. Scout is running circles around the pen, keeping them hemmed in.
Fraser is the first to see me. He’s wrangling a spherical ewe into the shearing pen, his auburn hair messy and falling out of its bun.
“Sunshine!” he calls, waving me down. “Over here.” He passes the sheep onto Alec, and I watch in fascination as Alec grasps hold of her, cups her chin, and starts shearing her in calm, efficient strokes.
The sheep lets him flip her over onto her back to do her belly.
In less than a minute, she’s half the size she was before.
“There we go. You’re being so good,” I hear Alec tell her quietly as I approach. “You’ll feel much better now. You won’t get so hot, eh?” He lets the sheep go.
Fraser herds her towards the rest of the shorn sheep. “Off you go, ya big spud,” he says, patting her on the bum. “Go show your new haircut to the other ladies.” He starts gathering the wool and shoving it into a bag as Cameron hauls out the next sheep to be shorn.
It’s an impressive operation. The men work together smoothly, with the speed and precision of an F1 pit crew.
“Wow,” I can’t help saying. “You guys are so good at this.”
Alec looks up, and his face immediately hardens. His eyes linger on my chest. I look down.
Ah. Turns out, in daylight, you can totally see my nips through this bralette.
Well…Oops.
“Don’t you think you might get cold?” Alec asks politely.
I give him my best smile. “Not if I work hard enough.”
“Christ.” Alec wipes off his hands. “Fraser,” he calls. “Show Summer to pen three, please.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Fraser appears at my side and leads me towards the pen of shorn sheep. “I have to say, sweetheart, you are the bonniest farmer I ever laid eyes on.”
“Um, yes.” I can still feel Alec’s eyes on me as we walk away. “Maybe I should have worn a top.”
He gasps. “Baby, no! It’s your body. Never let a man make you feel like you have to wear a top. All right, you’re going to be working with the baldies today.” He pushes open the gate to the pen for me, and we pick our way through the already-shorn sheep. Several come up to me, snuffling curiously.
“Once we’re done with ’em, you need to check for any nicks or scrapes,” he explains.
“If they need it, they get a wee dab of antiseptic”—he shows me a spray bottle on a rickety trestle table—“and then they need a drink and a snack. Water trough’s back in the corner, you can refill it from the hose.
The feed goes in these big buckets. Most of the ladies like being shorn, but some can be a bit nervy, so just be nice and calm with ’em, okay? ”
I nod determinedly. “I’m the post-shearing spa.”
He laughs. “Aye, I thought you’d get a kick out of that. I reckon it’ll make you feel better about everything.” He tugs on the end of my ponytail fondly. “Can’t dwell when you have these cuties climbing all over you.”
I smile up at him, my chest warming.
“One for you, Summer,” Alec calls. Fraser steps back, and I try not to panic as Cameron herds a freshly shorn sheep towards me. I open the gate and corral her inside awkwardly. She looks vaguely annoyed as I crouch down at her side and run my hands over her wrinkly pink skin, looking for scrapes.
“Like this?” I check.
Fraser kneels next to me, his chest pressed against my back.
“Aye,” he says in my ear, making me shiver.
“Check her wee legs too.” I do, stroking her twiggy legs.
The sheep glares at me. Fraser presses closer, his mouth grazing the side of my throat.
“Look at that. You’re a natural.” His lips trail down the curve of my neck and across my shoulder.
“Do you have to give me feedback while nuzzling me?” I mumble, my cheeks heating.
“Oh, aye, it’s great for morale. I do it for Cameron and Alec too.”
I sit back on my haunches, satisfied. “No scrapes.”
“Perfect. Go take her to get her snack.”
I hop to my feet and lead the sheep over to the feed bucket. She sticks her nose inside and starts chewing happily. I look up at Fraser. “Did I do it?”
“You’re perfect,” he declares, beaming down at me. “We’ll have you on the payroll in no time.”
“Summer.” Cameron appears on the other side of the fence. He hands me a bottle of water. “Stay hydrated.”
“Thank you!”
His eyes flicker down to my chest for a millisecond. He harrumphs and wanders off again. Fraser winks at me and goes to join Alec as another shorn sheep comes trundling towards me.
The rest of the morning passes quickly. We work methodically, making our way through a conveyor belt of sheep.
I soon fall into the rhythm of it. It’s relaxing working in the fresh air, and the shorn sheep are adorable, with their skinny bodies and massive heads.
They nudge me as I top up the feed and water.
While I work, I sneakily watch the men. As the sun rises overhead, all three of them lose their shirts, stripping down to their jeans and boots.
It’s quite a sight. They’re all so strong, easily tossing around animals that must weigh two or three hundred pounds.
I try not to drool as I watch their sweaty muscles move.
We take a quick break for lunch, eating sandwiches on the grass, then carry on right through the afternoon. By the end of the day, my body is aching. My hands are covered with lanolin, my leggings are stained with mud, and I’m pretty sure my bralette has been chewed. I don’t care. I feel amazing.
It’s not until the last sheep of the day that I mess up.
She’s a fat brown ewe. Alec sends her over to me as usual, but as I open the gate to the pen, she dodges, feinting left. I swear as she skirts around the fence and runs, full pelt, across the field.
“Shit,” Fraser curses.
“Scout,” Alec shouts. “Find!”
But I’m already moving. Without thinking, I jump over the fence and sprint after the sheep, stumbling over the grass.
When I catch up with her, I try to grab her, but she just baas happily and dodges away.
I throw myself at her, grabbing her around the belly.
She bucks, and we’re both knocked to the grass.
For a few seconds, I lie there, my eyes squeezed shut. Then I feel a rough tongue licking my cheek. The sheep is placidly standing in my arms. I hear distant applause.
“That’s right, lass! Gie it laldy!” Fraser shouts.
I stand triumphantly and lead her back to the pen.
“Very impressive, London,” Fraser praises me as he lets us both inside the gate. “You want Scout’s job? He gets paid in sausage rolls, not sure if that’s of interest.”
“Sorry I let her go,” I say breathlessly. “She’s so fast.”
“Did you get hurt?” Cameron demands.
I shake my head, pushing my hair back. As I do, I notice my cracked thumbnail. “Oh no! I broke a nail.” I try not to cringe as the words leave my mouth. I’m such a stereotype.
“You did?” Cameron snatches at my hand. “Is it bleeding? Here.” He tugs me to the trestle table and fumbles with a first aid kit.
“Um, so breaking a nail isn’t a medical issue—”
He ignores me, wiping my broken nail with an antiseptic wipe. “And the wee gem has fallen off,” he mutters, scowling.
Alec pens in the sheep and whistles Scout to heel. “You’re a mess,” he tells me, amused. I look down at the mud smeared across my front. “Go home and shower. We’ll finish here.”
“Sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t mean to let her go—”
He shakes his head. “Happens every season.” He wipes a smudge of dirt off my cheek, and my belly quivers. “You did a great job today,” he says softly. “Thank you. Go get clean. I have a surprise for you tonight.”