by Jill Mansell
“Well, it doesn’t. You live and learn.”
Helpful. Mimi tried again. “OK, could you point me in the direction of the bus stop?”
The woman looked at her as if she’d landed from Mars. “There isn’t a bus stop. Because there aren’t any buses.”
What?
“But that’s just crazy. How am I supposed to get to where I want to go?”
Mrs. Tartan Kilt took out her car keys and said impatiently, “Where are you headed?”
Oh thank goodness. Mimi beamed with relief. “Goosebrook.”
“Well, in that case, you need to turn left at the end of the lane, then just keep on going. Follow the signposts.”
Unbelievably, she was turning away, marching over to a filthy dark-blue Volvo rakishly parked half on and half off the dandelion-studded verge. Having climbed behind the wheel and buzzed down the windows, she performed a nifty five-point turn and gestured for Mimi to move out of the way so she could drive off.
In desperation, Mimi said, “Look, I don’t suppose you could give me a lift, could you? I’d be so grateful—”
“Sorry, I’m going in the opposite direction.” She didn’t sound sorry at all.
“But how am I going to get to Goosebrook?”
The woman gave a pitying shake of the head. “You have legs, don’t you? A couple of fully functioning feet? I know it’s a radical idea, but I suggest you try using them.”
And she roared off down the narrow lane, just as the sun disappeared behind a cloud and the first fat drops of rain began to fall.
So much for friendly locals and the magic of the countryside.
An hour later, Mimi was making good, if sodden, progress. On the upside, at least she wasn’t wearing high heels. But her ballet flats, with their wafer-thin soles, weren’t the most comfortable either; she could feel every bump in the rough tarmac. And her overnight bag was making her shoulder ache; if only she’d brought along her red case with the wheels.
Oh well, she’d covered four miles and there was only one more to go. It had stopped raining too. The sky was blue once more, birds were singing, the hedgerows were starred with primroses, and there were sheep in the meadow to her right, some with newborn lambs gamboling in the sunshine—
Mimi stopped dead in her tracks, horrified by what she was seeing and realizing at once what was going on. Just the other night she’d seen a report on TV about the recent spate of vicious attacks on horses in fields, and now it was happening right in front of her, but this time, the victim of the attack was a sheep.
Shock and adrenalin surged through her body. She dropped her heavy bag, vaulted the low wall, and charged down the slope toward the figure half-hidden behind a clump of bushes, but not half-hidden enough to disguise the fact that he was wrestling furiously with a sheep on the ground.
“Oh my God, stop it!” She gathered speed as she ran through taller clumps of grass that whipped around her bare legs. “What are you doing? Get away from that sheep!”
The man was wearing jeans and a polo shirt. Glancing up, he ignored her and carried on battling with the sheep, which was lying on its back, its little legs waggling furiously in the air as it struggled to escape.
“Stop it, just stop it!” Skidding to a halt a few meters away in case he was a lunatic with a knife, Mimi yelled, “You leave him alone right now or I’m calling the police!”
The man abruptly released his hold on the sheep and rose to his feet, prompting Mimi to take a few more steps backward. OK, she hadn’t thought this through. What if he really was a lunatic?
“Let me take a wild guess.” As he spoke, he shook his wet hair out of his eyes and surveyed her, taking in the pink-and-white-striped jacket, the short, flippy white skirt, and the silver ballet flats. “You don’t live around here.”
OK, the good news was that he wasn’t wielding a weapon. He also had a nice voice, kind of drawly and amused. Still panting from her unexpected exertions, Mimi said, “Just because I’m wearing silver shoes, you’re assuming I’m some kind of…townie.”
“Partly true.” He nodded, conceding that she’d been right. “Although one other clue was the way you called the sheep him.”
“Now you’re just being pedantic. I was trying to stop you attacking it,” Mimi pointed out. “There wasn’t time to get out my binoculars and have a look at its private parts.”
This was evidently hilarious. The man was biting his lip, doing his best not to laugh. He said, “With this breed of sheep, if it were a male, it would have horns. And it would be a ram.”
“Well, you weren’t treating it very gently.” Sensing that she was fighting a losing battle, Mimi jumped as the sheep let out a long, baleful baaa. “There’s no need to be cruel to animals, you know.”
“OK, let me explain. She’s pregnant.” He nodded patiently. “By the look of her, with twins.”
Mimi was appalled. “All the more reason to be kind!”
He smiled. “Her fleece is sodden with rain. She has a huge belly. When she lay down, she rolled onto her back and now she’s stuck there, can’t get up again. If she’s left like that, she’ll die. So if you want to help, come over here and give me a hand getting her back on her feet.”
The grass was wet and slippery, and the pregnant ewe was bottom-heavy and wriggly, but after a couple of minutes of tussling, heaving, and baa-ing, they finally managed to get her upright once more.
The man who wasn’t a knife-wielding maniac held the animal’s bulky body against his legs, giving her time to regain her bearings. Then he released her and they both watched as she trotted off, without so much as a backward glance, to rejoin the rest of the flock.
“Not even a thank-you,” Mimi remarked.
“I know. She won’t write, she won’t phone.” As they began to make their way back up the sloping field, he said, “Still, you did a good job there, helped to save her life. Not bad, for a townie.”
“Thanks. And I’m sorry I shouted at you.”
“No problem. You meant well. Where are you visiting, anyway?”
“Goosebrook.” Wondering just how shiny her face was, but not wanting to get caught trying to make herself look better, Mimi surreptitiously gave her forehead a wipe with the sleeve of her jacket.
“Well, that’s where I live.” They’d reached the gate that led out onto the road, and Mimi saw a dark-brown terrier waiting there for him. As he unhooked the leash, which had been looped over the gatepost, the man said, “This is Otto. I’m Cal.”
“And is this your flock?” She belatedly realized he must be a farmer.
“No, they aren’t mine.” He grinned. “I just stopped to help out a young lady sheep in distress.”
Otto was up on his hind legs, nudging Mimi’s hand with his nose, eager for attention. Rubbing his lopsided ears, she said, “Hello, aren’t you gorgeous?” then looked up at Cal. “I’m Mimi. Well, Emylia. But mainly Mimi.”
Now that she wasn’t distracted by the sheep, she noted that his hair was straight and shiny, streaked white blond by the sun. His brows and lashes were dark, the whites of his brown eyes very white. He had olive skin, an outdoorsy tan, and an athletic physique.
“Mimi. Nice to meet you. So how long are you down here for?”
She couldn’t help perking up a bit. While she’d been checking him out, had he been doing the same to her? Damn, though, she definitely wasn’t looking her best. Aloud, Mimi said, “Just a couple of days.”
“Staying in one of the holiday cottages?”
Her heart was doing that uncomfortable speeding-up thing it always did, even after so many years. She really should be used to it by now. She straightened her shoulders. “No, I’m visiting my dad. He lives in Goosebrook.”
Cal looked surprised. “He does? Who’s your dad, then?”
“Hang on a sec, I left my bag…” Turning before he could see the flush coloring her ch
eeks, Mimi ran back along the lane to where she’d flung her bag down in the dip where the grass verge met the drystone wall. She loved her dad to bits and she wasn’t embarrassed by him, but there was always that tricky moment when other people discovered she was his daughter and she had to deal with whatever they might have to say about it.
The thing was, sometimes she wasn’t bothered about those people’s reactions because they weren’t important to her anyway. But at other times, when she met someone and instinctively liked them, it meant the pressure was on because she really didn’t want them to come out with some response that was either rude or downright offensive.
Please don’t let him do that.
Mentally preparing herself, Mimi hurried back to where Cal and Otto were waiting for her. She held up her bag—like an idiot—and said, “Got it! Never a good idea to leave your overnight stuff in a ditch!”
Otto, eyeing her with bright-eyed interest, wagged his tail. And Cal, also eyeing her with interest, said, “Can I guess?”
“Um, if you like.” Did he really want to know what she’d brought down with her? OK, if he managed to tell her that her bag contained gray-and-white elephant-print pajamas, a Fortnum and Mason fruit cake, and half a dozen hardback thrillers, that would be seriously impressive and—
“Are you Dan Huish’s daughter?”
Mimi stared at him. “Yes! How on earth did you know that?” Because her father had told her only last night that no one in the village knew of her existence.
Cal shrugged and said simply, “You look like him.”
“Oh. Really? I mean, I think I do a bit, but people don’t usually notice. I’m more like my mum.”
“I’m observant.” He smiled. “You have the same eyes. Green, deep-set. Similar face shape too. You have quite a bit more hair, though.”
“I definitely win that competition.” Mimi ruffled her mass of tortoiseshell hair, which always exploded out of control the moment it was exposed to rain.
“We didn’t know he had a daughter. Is this your first time down here?” Cal hesitated, looked wary. “Is he expecting to see you today?”
Touched by his concern, Mimi said, “Are you worried I might be about to get a massive surprise? It’s OK, don’t panic. I do know Dad’s gay.”
Maybe This Time
Available June 2019
About the Author
With over eleven million copies sold, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jill Mansell writes irresistible and funny, poignant and romantic tales for women in the tradition of Marian Keyes, Sophie Kinsella, and Jojo Moyes. She lives with her partner and their children in Bristol, England.
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