looking back.
“Come and see my new ewes if you like,” he said. “They’re in the fell meadow.”
As they headed, side by side, toward the imposing mass of the Lakeland Hills, the pup raced ahead, glancing back every now and then to make sure his master was following. Ellie studied his black face with its white stripe between two of the friendliest brown eyes she had ever seen. He appeared to be smiling, Ellie thought, her head already whirling with ideas for a new painting.
The black-headed ewes were as nervous as wild deer, rushing to the corner of the paddock when they saw the dog. Shadow slunk down, belly on the ground, his eyes firmly fixed on the sheep.
Now that would make a great painting—the keen expression on the young dog’s face and the startled eyes of the cautious sheep.
“You’ve started training him already, I see,” she exclaimed.
Her dad shook his head. “No, that’s just natural. It seems to be bred into him to know how quiet you have to be with these Fell sheep. They’re as wild as the hills. I’ve had to put wire all around the tops of the walls to keep them in.”
With a low whistle to Shadow, he turned back toward the stable yard, beckoning her.
“You haven’t met Dennis yet.”
GRAND DESIGN WAS probably the most beautiful horse Ellie had ever seen. Not as noble as Blue, who would always hold a very special place in her heart, but classically perfect in his conformation. His gleaming, rich bay coat rippled beneath her fingers as she stroked his arched neck. She reached up to trace the outline of the large white star in the middle of his broad forehead. He tossed his head, moving to nip her arm, and she drew back.
“You’ve been spoiled by Blue, I’m afraid,” her dad said, smiling. “Not many stallions are as friendly as him. Dennis is a different ball game altogether. He’s pure Thoroughbred, for a start, and they’re often a bit feisty. You have to treat him with respect—if you don’t want to get bitten, that is. Fortunately, though, he’s very gentle with his mares.”
Ellie took hold of the stallion’s nose as she rubbed the backs of his ears, determined not to be daunted by his behavior.
“You know, I’ve already had two brilliant ideas for paintings since I’ve been home,” she said reflectively. “Shadow with the sheep, and the arrogant expression on Dennis’s face just now. I think maybe I could get lots of new ideas around here,”
“Best get some sketches done, then. Is that how it works?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. Or I just paint from memory. I thought I might do a painting of Blue for you, too. Not in my usual style, but more of a classic painting. I might take some pictures of him before I go, so that I can really get his likeness.”
“Your mother would have liked that,” he said.
Were those tears in his eyes? Ellie had never seen her dad cry, not even at the funeral. Anger had driven him then. Now, though, he seemed different—softer and more approachable. Perhaps he saw in her something of her mother. She liked that idea.
“So you don’t mind if I stay over?” she asked tentatively.
“Plenty of room,” he muttered. “Bedding will want airing, though.”
Ellie felt a warm wave of happiness wash over her. Her timing had been right; she was home at last.
* * *
AFTER A FEW HOURS of cleaning up the house, Ellie felt totally drained, having relived a million memories both happy and sad. Her dad had kept himself busy in the yard all afternoon. He came back into the house around supper time, preceded by Shadow, who burst into the kitchen and rolled onto his back for her to scratch his belly, legs raised ecstatically.
“Daft as a brush,” declared her dad.
“Can we take those pictures of Dennis and Blue after supper?” she asked. “It’s such a lovey evening, and I’d like to start on them as soon as I get back.”
“You’re going in the morning, then?”
Was that disappointment she could hear in his voice?
“I could stay until after lunch, I guess.”
“Please yourself,” he said.
Ellie felt a glow of happiness. Her dad could try to pretend he didn’t care, but his disappointment at her leaving the next day was obvious.
“I’ll be back soon, though,” she told him. “If you’ll have me.”
His silence spoke volumes.
* * *
AS ELLIE STARTED her car the next afternoon, to go back to her city life, she felt an acute sense of loss. She had been at Hope Farm for just one night, but already it felt like home again. Her dad was over by Blue’s stable, pretending not to care, but last night they had talked about her mum, finally, and about the stud and Bob’s hopes for the future. The two of them both had a long way to go, she was well aware of that, but at least they were getting back on track.
On impulse, Ellie switched off the engine and ran across the yard to give her dad a hug. He stood stock-still, awkwardly accepting her embrace.
“You’ll be back before too long, lass?”
“Yes...” The flicker of an idea formed inside her head. “I’ll be back before you know it, and I’ll stay for a few days, if you like.” She didn’t miss the indecision on his face, but she knew how to convince him. “I’ll finish the painting of Blue first and bring it with me.”
He nodded, returning her smile.
“I’ll look forward to seeing that,” he said. Ellie got back in her car and set off for Manchester. Her phone rang just as she hit the highway. She glanced at it and declined the call. Now wasn’t the right time to talk to Matt; she had way too much going on inside her head.
Her phone rang again as she opened the door to her apartment, and she heard a ping telling her she had a new message. Dumping her bags onto the floor, she listened to what he had to say.
“Hi, Ellie, are you back yet? We need to talk...about us. Call me when you get this.”
She stared at the phone. What was there to say? Plenty, she realized. They needed to figure out where their relationship was going, for a start—if anywhere. Perhaps it was just a convenient arrangement for both of them, nothing more meaningful.
Ellie had driven back in a euphoric cloud, a sense of well-being in her veins, but now she felt strangely empty and a little lost.
Everything she’d thought she wanted, her relationship with Matt, her job, her life in the city, seemed somehow less appealing. A vague longing lodged itself in her chest. A longing for what, though? she asked herself. What did she want? The longing to paint remained, to lose herself in her work, but what about Matt... What about love?
An
