“What about the arable farm?”
He flicked a look at Bobby before glancing over his shoulder to check on Shadow. “It’s all just the same except no animals. The hoop houses over there are for keeping hay and the barns for holding grain and barley.”
Shadow stood in the shelter of the farmhouse door. “Come.” Roane gestured to the house. “I’ll show you inside. My great-grandfather built this place.”
With a wave to Bobby, I followed Roane to the house. The farmhouse was rectangular with the door jutting out, built into a porch that looked like a mini house with its sharp triangular roof. There were two windows downstairs to either side of the door, and upstairs there were four windows. The windows were made of white wooden frames with six small glass panels in each.
As soon as Roane let us into the porch, I smiled. The porch had two windows on either side, allowing light into the small space. There was a bench under each window, covered in tartan blankets and cushions. An old-fashioned coat and umbrella stand stood in the corner beside a row of men’s shoes. It was fairly cool in the porch, a nice reprieve from the heat outside, and Shadow seemed to agree, sprawling across the cool slate tile floor.
Roane sat down on one of the benches and began to remove his Wellingtons. I followed suit, ridiculously relieved to get out of the hot boots. I pulled my sunglasses off my head, useless as they were up there, and set them beside me.
Our eyes met as we sat across the bench from each other, and something in Roane’s expression made my breath catch. “What?” I whispered.
He shook his head with a mysterious smile and stood up to hold out his hand. “Want to see the rest?”
Of course I did. I took his hand and let him lead me through the inner porch door and into the farmhouse. A wall of heat hit me, and not for the first time since summer came to Northumberland, I cursed the British and their lack of air-conditioning.
As if he’d read my thoughts, Roane chuckled. “Old houses weren’t built with insulation like nowadays where it keeps the house warm during the winter and cool during the summer.”
“How do you cope?” I murmured, flapping a hand at my face as I took in the dark space. A spindled staircase sat in the center of the hallway, while there were doors to either side of us. The dark wood of the staircase and sideboard didn’t help this windowless room from looking cheerless, and the floral wallpaper was extremely dated.
It surprised me that his parents hadn’t updated the place.
Shadow led us to our right, and we stepped into a large, lovely farm kitchen. The ceilings were low for two tall people but just high enough to stop Roane from smacking his head. It appeared as if the kitchen had been updated sometime in the last twenty years. The cabinetry was of the farmhouse style and painted a pale green with bronze handles. An island with a sink sat in the center of the room, while a countertop ran along the back wall, where one large wood-framed window let light in. On the opposite side of the island was a six-seater table situated between the two small wood-framed windows on the front of the house.
But the most eye-catching aspect of the room was the end wall. A huge brick chimney opening took up the entire length of it to accommodate a stunning ceramic farmhouse stove.
It was a cook’s kitchen and I loved it. Even though I wasn’t much of a chef. The scent of freshly brewed coffee still clung to the air, and I sighed happily. “This kitchen is amazing.”
“Aye, it’s a good family kitchen. Great place to cook. Caro comes out to bake here sometimes.”
On the left side of the house was a large family sitting room. Again, I was bemused by the old-fashioned wallpaper and dark wood. The only sign of Roane’s influence in the room was the seventy-inch flat-screen television and the dark leather sofa and armchairs.
Overall, I’d say the house needed a little lightening, a little touch of femininity perhaps.
The smell, however, I would not change. There was no denying this was Roane’s home. His woodsy, citrusy, ocean-layered scent was in every room we walked through. I wanted to rub myself against that scent so that I would take it with me.
Aware of Roane’s eyes on me as I took in his surroundings, I turned to him, crossing my arms over my chest. Embarrassment flooded me at the idea of his knowing my thoughts, and I asked a little snappishly, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
He just smiled. Softly. Tenderly. “I like you here.”
At his sweet confession, I felt my cheeks heat.
I liked me here too.
Too much for my own good.
The temptation to give in to my attraction to Roane was great, and my willpower was weakening by the second.
“It’s, uh . . . it is a tad warm in here. Isn’t there something I could help you do today . . . outside?”
He studied me a moment, expression unreadable, then he nodded. “Aye. We need to bring the rest of the sheep in out of this heat and into the hoop house. It needs to be done in shifts. You can help Shadow and me herd them.”
In all the time I’d known Roane and Shadow, it had never occurred to me that Shadow was a working dog. “Wait, Shadow herds sheep? I thought border collies were the best for sheep farming.”
“They are.” Roane rubbed Shadow’s head affectionately as we wandered out of the sitting room to the porch to put our boots back on. “And Danes aren’t the go-to for it. But I trained Shadow. He’s a big gentle giant and knows when to stop being playful and get down to business.”
And that was how I spent my afternoon. I wasn’t particularly helpful as we drove out to the fields in a high-bed, high-sided truck with Bobby. The truth was, all I really did was stand there and enjoy watching Roane as he and Bobby unlatched the ramp on the truck so the sheep could climb up into it. Shadow and Roane herded a flock up the ramp onto the truck, while I kept an eye out for any strays.
We then drove back to the second hoop house and unloaded the sheep, only to drive back to the fields to load up more.
It was slow work, and I could feel rivulets of sweat trickling down between my breasts. Roane’s T-shirt was soon soaked through like Bobby’s, with damp patches across his back and under his arms.
Perhaps it was the heat, or perhaps it was weeks of denying myself, but my body was tingling and throbbing with need as I watched Roane at work. I found myself mesmerized by the beads of sweat that trickled down the back of his neck, and the way the muscles in his biceps flexed as he helped Bobby fix the ramp to the truck.
The veins in his forearms held particular appeal.
I was in a state.
Slick with sweat and need, throbbing deep in my core.
When we got back to the hoop house and unloaded the last of the sheep, my thighs were damp, and my limbs were trembling. After counting the sheep, they realized there were three not accounted for, so Bobby took off to find the strays that had wandered away from the larger flocks.