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Don't go there, Zara, I tell myself. There is no point
for many reasons, but now I look at Lewis properly, I find that I can't remember a single one.

‘So it wouldn't be any good me asking you out for a walk along the river for a drink at the pub,' he says, ‘or a wander along the beach?'

‘I'm all right on the beach in summer when dogs are banned.'

‘I won't be here in the summer,' he says lightly. ‘Have you had any support to overcome your fear of dogs?'

‘I had some counselling afterwards, but it didn't help.'

How would you feel if I brought Mick over here on a lead right now?'

‘Panicky. A little sick.'

‘I don't want to put you under any pressure, but Mick's a good boy. He'd never hurt you, I promise. I don't have to bring him right up to you, just as close as you can bear.'

‘Are you planning to desensitise me? I'm not sure how that works. You're a shepherd, not a psychiatrist.'

‘I know, but I was just thinking it might help, and just maybe we could go for a walk on the beach together before I move on to my next job, wherever that will be.'

I gaze at him. His expression is serious, and I think he's trying to be helpful, not angling for a date, because if it was a date, why not go somewhere dog-free – to the pub or to see a film?

‘I don't feel as if I'm missing out, you know,' I say, trying to put him off in his quest to prove to me that a dog can really be both man and woman's best friend, but then as he shrugs his shoulders, I change my
mind. If he's right and Mick can help me overcome my wariness of dogs, it would be worth having a go. I'd love to be able to walk down the road without crossing over to the other side to avoid Mrs Dyer or Wendy, the dog-fosterer, or Aurora from the boutique, and their dogs. I'd like to be able to spend time on the Green, not necessarily walking, but sitting in the sunshine watching the world go by, or reading a book, without worrying that a dog will approach.

‘Oh go on then, I'll do it. Let's see what happens. Go and get him and I'll see how I feel.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘I'm sure.'

‘All right, but don't scream or Mick will be more scared of you than you are of him.' Lewis grins. ‘I'm joking, Zara. I'll bring him on a lead and stand in the doorway over there. I promise I won't go any further than you want me to . . .'

Is he talking about the dog, or do his words have an entirely different meaning? Or am I attaching too much significance to everything he says because on some level I want him to find me irresistible?

‘You wait there. I'll go and get him.' Lewis disappears before I have a chance to change my mind.

I move to the corner of the pen nearest the door, figuring that I'll have at least one hurdle and a bale of straw as a barrier between me and the dog. A small pulse of apprehension begins to throb at my temple. What am I doing? Why have I agreed to put myself through this? I wipe my palms on Emily's coat as I listen for Lewis's footsteps. All too soon he's back with
the black and white collie with the brown eyes, which is now on a rope lead. He stops in the doorway to the barn, at which some of the sheep look up and start off on another round of bleating and shifting around in the pens.

‘Mick, sit,' Lewis says. The dog obeys, his gaze fixed on his master's face. ‘How are you feeling, Zara?'

‘Okay,' I say hesitantly. The dog yawns, revealing his tongue and teeth. ‘That's close enough.' The dog stands up. I take a step back.

‘He can't do anything. I've got him.' Lewis shows me the end of the rope in his hand to prove it. ‘His overwhelming instinct is to round up sheep, but I can stop him in his tracks with a single whistle. Trust me.'

‘Believe me, I'm trying to.'

‘He'd lick you to death.' Lewis bends down and ruffles the dog's hair. ‘Maybe that wasn't the best way to put it.' When he straightens, he moves a little closer with the dog at his side. ‘How does that feel?'

‘Not so bad,' I say, forcing myself to stand my ground. Mick can't get me. He's the other side of the hurdle and there's something in the way his master stands so tall and calm that inspires confidence. ‘Thanks, Lewis.'

‘We haven't finished yet.' He chuckles as he takes another short step closer. ‘I know what you're doing, but I'm. not going to put him away yet. Mick is the best dog in the world – apologies to Miley – and I'd like you to see how wonderful he is.' Keeping on my side of the dog, he brings Mick right up to the hurdle. I take another step back, but there's a sheep in my way.

‘That's making my heart beat faster,' I say, touching
my throat as I try to make light of the fact that I'm really scared now.

‘That's what all the girls say,' Lewis teases.

‘Not you, the dog,' I point out.

‘Oh? I guess I'll just have to try harder.' Lewis kneels down in the straw to face me, hugging the dog who sits between his thighs. ‘See if you can walk across to us.' I shuffle one step forwards. Mick cocks his head to one side. ‘When you approach a dog, use their name and speak to them.'

‘How?'

‘Nicely.'

‘What do I say?'

‘You can say what you like, as long as you say something.'

‘Mick, it's great to meet you.' I suppress a sudden urge to giggle because it seems so ridiculous trying to make conversation with a dog, especially when I'm trying to be cool and completely amazing in front of Lewis. ‘What do I do now? Ask him what he thinks about the weather?'

‘That's better. You're beginning to relax. Come in a bit closer.'

Before I know it, I'm within arm's reach of the hurdle, with Lewis and the dog on the other side.

‘You see, it's easy.'

‘It is for you.' I feel rather silly talking to the top of Lewis's head, so I perch on the corner of the bale of straw.

‘Would you like to stroke him?' Lewis asks eventually.

‘I don't think so.' I gaze at Mick. I thought stroking
a dog was supposed to lower your blood pressure, but the very idea sends mine rocketing. ‘I'm not that brave.'

Lewis rubs the dog's ears and sighs. ‘She doesn't like you, Mick.'

‘It isn't personal. I don't like dogs and that's all there is to it.'

‘He isn't just a dog though, is he? He's an individual. He's his own person.' Lewis pauses. ‘That's what I really want to show you. Dogs are all different, like people and sheep, and some of them are more lovable than others.' He looks at me, his eyes twinkling with humour, as if he's trying to tell me he's one of the more lovable people in the world, and I'm so absorbed in him that I don't notice until afterwards that he's slid the hurdle along with one hand so there's nothing between me and the dog. Lewis curves his arm around the dog's chest, keeping him back. ‘Are you sure you wouldn't like to stroke him? He's like a teddy bear, aren't you?' Lewis plants a kiss on the top of Mick's head. Yes, he actually kisses his dog.

‘Uncle Nobby didn't kiss his dog,' I observe. ‘He reeked of fags and rotten teeth, for a start.'

‘Poor dog. Mick doesn't smell much, just vaguely doggy. He wants to say “hi” to you.'

‘Hi, Mick.' To my amazement the dog draws back his lips and pricks his ears. ‘He's smiling at me. Is he smiling?'

‘Here, hold out your hand.'

Slowly, I reach out until my fingers are within inches of Mick's nostrils. Suddenly, his tongue darts out and
touches my skin. I pull back. Lewis laughs. I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks as the dog looks at me with a quizzical expression, as if he's both surprised and a little offended by my reaction.

‘You can stroke him now, Zara.'

‘I can't,' is my immediate reaction, but I realise he's right. This is a different situation, a different dog, and I'm apprehensive maybe, but not scared. I reach out my hand again and touch the top of Mick's head. Breathe, I tell myself as my body tenses. It's fine. His coat is soft and silky and his skin warm as he leans into my hand, apparently enjoying the contact.

‘You're such a lucky boy, Mick,' Lewis says as I withdraw my hand. ‘That was better than you were expecting, wasn't it?'

‘I can't believe I just did that.'

‘You should be proud of yourself. Mick likes you – look, he's wagging his tail.'

I smile with relief, wondering how Lewis feels about me exactly.

‘Let me know when you want to see your therapist again. We're available for appointments any time.'

‘I'd better go,' I say, reluctant to leave. ‘Gran will be waiting for her lift home.'

‘And I'd better do another round of the lambing pens.' Lewis stands up, brushes the straw from his jeans and holds the dog to one side so I can walk past. ‘Keep in touch,' he calls after me as I stumble across the cobbles in the dusk.

‘What are you smiling at?' Emily asks when I return to the farmhouse, where Gran is sitting in the living
room with Daisy in her arms, while Poppy pretends to feed her toy cat Fluffy with sweets that Gran brought from the shop.

‘Yes, what took you and the shepherd so long?' Gran joins in. ‘You've missed out on the washing up and your mum and dad left ages ago.'

‘I didn't realise it was so late. I helped with one of the ewes, saw a lamb being bom and I actually stroked Lewis's dog. Can you believe that?'

‘Are you sure it was just the dog?' Emily teases.

‘Leave her alone. Look at the poor girl blushing.' Gran gives Daisy a big squeeze. ‘Come on, you'd better have your beautiful baby back. We should be going home, Zara. It's time to leave your sister in peace.'

As we go, I notice Lewis watching, his figure silhouetted in the doorway to the lambing shed.

CHAPTER FIVE

For the Love of Dogs

That image of Lewis stays with me throughout a busy week. I hardly know him, yet I find myself wondering what he's up to and remembering the intimacy of the lambing shed, every word and gesture, his heartstopping smile, his broad shoulders and the flash of his loins.

‘You're late!' Claire says, joining me as I get out of my car in a car park in Talymouth on Thursday evening.

‘I've just finished a handover. I've been at a house in Talysands all day, waiting to catch a baby. I like to stay if I can, but I think it's going to be a while yet.' I look down at my uniform. ‘I'll get changed inside.' I grab my bag, with the sound of Justin Bieber's ‘Baby' coming from inside it, as we walk across to the entrance of the leisure centre where the lights are blazing.

‘Are you really going to answer that?' Claire asks.

‘It's one of my ladies,' I say, taking out my mobile and squinting at it to check the caller ID.

‘I don't understand why they think they can contact you at any time, day or night, even when you aren't on call.'

‘I have to take this. I'll catch up with you in a sec.'

‘I hope this isn't another excuse to avoid the scales,' Claire says, shaking her head.

I gesture to her to move on and return to my call.

‘Hello, Celine. How are you?' I saw her this morning. She's a week past her due date and there was no sign of labour being imminent, but that isn't to say it mightn't have begun since. This is her third baby and she's desperate to ‘pop it out', as she describes it, in time to fly out to Benidorm for her sister's wedding. ‘How can I help?'

‘I've been thinking about what you said and I've decided I'd like to be seduced tomorrow.'

‘Seduced?' I can't help it. I try to stifle a laugh, but it sneaks out as a loud snort.

‘Did I say seduced?' Celine giggles.

‘You did.'

‘Oh-mi-god. My baby brain . . . I mean induced. I'd like you to come and give me a brush to start things off. I've tried the curry and raspberry leaf.'

‘I'll come over tomorrow at eleven and we'll decide what to do then.' I don't have the heart to tell her that it's a sweep, not a brush, to break the membranes and get labour started.

‘Thank you so much. I'll get Scott to set up the pool. You're a star.'

‘Come on, Zara,' Claire cuts in impatiently from beside me.

‘I told you you didn't have to wait.'

‘I'm not going to give you the option of getting out of it this time. We said we'd do fat club together. I have to fit into the dress – I'll be gutted if I'm not a size ten by September.' Claire slips her arm through mine. ‘You might want to hurry – there's a dog over there and it's coming our way.'

I follow Claire's gaze towards the car park entrance, where an elderly man is pushing a terrier in a pram. I feel the familiar rush of panic and urge to take evasive action, but I recall Lewis and Mick. All dogs are different. I take a breath, force a smile, and walk without deviating from my path.

‘What's happened to you?' Claire asks.

‘Didn't Emily tell you about Lewis's treatment for my fear of dogs when you went to visit the baby?' Claire's been twice now.

‘Well, she mentioned you were an awfully long time in the lambing shed, having some kind of therapy.' Claire grins, making me realise that Emily has done a lot more than mention it.

‘It was perfectly innocent. Lewis offered to help me, that's all, and it was great because I did actually manage to stroke one of his collies.'

‘Is that a ewe-phemism? E-W-E, get it? I've never heard that one before.'

‘Stop giggling. It isn't funny. What he did has really helped. Mick – that's Lewis's dog – is very sweet.'

‘So is Lewis. I met him and he seems lovely. Emily
and I have plans for him to be your plus one for the wedding.'

‘That's ridiculous and you know it.'

‘I suppose it is rather far-fetched, seeing he'll have moved on by then,' she admits with a sigh of regret.