Page 18 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

Evan let out a big yawn and stretched his arms above his head. His shirt lifted, exposing a smattering of dark hair and taut stomach. I pretended not to notice.

When he yawned again, this time making a louder noise, I shoved my finger to my lips. ‘Sssh! You’ll frighten it!’

Evan looked at me, confused. ‘What?’

But I knew I didn’t have time to explain as another car was glinting over the hill on its way towards us.

I scrambled out of Marlene and left my driver side door open. I straightened my T-shirt and started to edge my way towards the lamb, who was eyeing me with a mixture of fear and suspicion.

Evan was staring across from the passenger side, as though I’d lost all leave of my senses.

‘Here, cutie. It’s ok,’ I soothed.

‘I bet you’re not talking to me.’

I snapped my head round and rammed my finger to my lips again. The baby sheep was like a blob of cotton wool with a black patch over one eye and a curly-wurley tail. The furball took a couple of faltering steps backwards.

Behind me, more cars zipped past on the country road. Darkness was beginning to close down now, giving the trees an eerie, long-shadowed silhouette.

I crouched down a few feet away, the grass brushing against the knees of my jeans. ‘Come on, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you.’

The lamb made a couple of nervous bleats.

‘Daisy!’ hissed Evan from the car. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

I looked back. ‘Shush! You’ll see in a minute,’ I whispered. If the poor thing got spooked, it could take off into the road.

Very gently, I outstretched one hand.

The lamb eyed me and my extended hand with an element of caution. I noticed as he moved that he had what looked like either the letter S or a figure eight on his right flank in light blue spray.

After a few moments of inspecting my hand, he moved closer and closer, until I was able to reach out and stroke him.

I glided my hand down his small, white, downy back. ‘It’s ok. I won’t hurt you.’ Giving him another few strokes, I managed to then pick him up, cradled him in my arms and carried him back to my car.

The warm, marmalade glow of the day seemed like a distant memory now. The Lake District darkness was inky black, and the stars were peppered across the sky like scattered seeds.

Evan’s mouth dropped open as I juggled the lamb and me into the driver’s side. I handed the lamb over to him and closed the door.

Evan stared in horror down at the lamb, who was peering back up at him. He gawped across at me. ‘What the hell?!’

I let out a bark of laughter at the sight of Evan holding the little animal, as though it were some alien life force. ‘Well, I can’t take care of him while I’m driving, can I?’

I negotiated our way back out onto the road, and we set off again.

I nodded over. ‘There’s a smudged blue marking not far from his tail on his right side. That must be which farm he belongs to, so we should be able to find out which one.’

Evan’s gaze was incredulous. His eyes glinted with disbelief out of the darkness. Only the lights from my dashboard were lighting up the angles of his features. ‘Are you serious? It’s after nine o’clock on a Saturday night, and you want to play detective and locate Farmer Barley mow?’ The lamb wobbled as he sat on Evan’s lap and seemed fascinated by him, giving him prolonged gazes. ‘We’re in the middle of the bloody lakes, Daisy! There must be dozens upon dozens of farms around here.’

I focused on the taillights of the car in front. ‘Yes, but they all won’t be using that colour of paint on their flock, will they?’

Evan shook his head. ‘I don’t believe this.’

The surrounding hills were rising and falling like dark, slumbering giants.

‘Oh, look! A pub!’ I erupted, pointing over to the right‑hand side, to where a lit-up, cosy-looking public house with lattice-style windows was crouched further back from the road.

Frothing spring flowers were bursting out of hanging baskets either side of the glowing entrance. A couple of cars in the parking area shone under the spray of stars.