Not sure my nerves could take any more, I took a step forward and, horrified, I looked at the burglar before me, taking in her big brown eyes. Clarabelle’s mouth made a chewing motion and mid-munch she coughed. “But that’s a cow?” I said, not for the first time wishing I’d thrown myself off Fotherghyll Fell when I’d had the chance.
Barrowboy looked at me like I was an idiot. “Of course, she’s a cow. With a name like Clarabelle, what else would she be?”
I glared in response, questioning why, out of all the people in Little Leatherington, Oliver had to call him for assistance. “I’m a city girl,” I replied, wondering what the man’s problem was. “What people do and don’t call their animals isn’t something I’m an expert in.”
Barrowboy shrugged, turned, and began leading Clarabelle down the garden, towards the workshop. “Cheers, Oliver,” he called back. “I owe you a pint.” As he disappeared through the gate and off into the night, the clippity-clop of cow hooves faded the further away Clarabelle and Barrowboy got.
“Merry blooming Christmas to you, too,” I said.
Oliver burst out laughing, not even trying to hide his amusement. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you.”
“Yes,” I replied. “You should.” Wondering what was wrong with me, I couldn’t believe I’d managed to embarrass myself in such a dramatic way yet again.
“If it helps, you’re not the first person she’s put the bejeebies into. Clarabelle’s forever being mistaken for a prowler of some sort.”
I flashed Oliver a look, letting him know that I didn’t believe that for one second.
He laughed. “Honestly. No one knows how she does it, but she’s forever escaping. And when she does, she heads straight for the newcomers. Every single time.”
“Another of Little Leatherington’s characters?”
“That’s exactly what she is.”
Still not quite believing him, I shivered, as the cold air suddenly permeated my dressing gown.
“I should go,” Oliver said. “Let you get back into the warmth.”
“No.” I took a step back. “Please, come in,” I said. “After that rather pointless SOS, the least I can do is offer you a hot drink before you go. It’s freezing out there.”
“I’d better not,” Oliver replied. “It’s late and I have work tomorrow.”
I supposed he was right. Then again, no matter the time, would he really want to fraternise with a woman who’d mistaken a cow for a burglar? “No problem,” I said.
“Rain check?”
I nodded. “Fine by me.”
Despite arriving via the front door, he began making his way to the rear garden gate. He turned to face me, walking backwards for a moment. “Sleep well,” he said.
