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“How unlucky we haven’t bumped into each other earlier.” Will’s gaze lingered on Bennet.
He flushed. Laughed. “There’s plenty of shearing season left. No doubt we’ll . . . bump into each other again.”
“I sure hope so.”
Lyon cleared his throat; he and Will rocked back on their heels. Will smiled broadly at Lyon and glanced once more at Bennet. “I’ll be teaching at the Bingley Farm Shear-A-Sheep Day. Maybe I’ll see you there?”
Yes. Maybe he would.
The conversation ended as Will’s friend Denny arrived, sloshed from the pub, and Will jumped to help the swaying man inside.
Bennet about swooned himself.
Bennet wove through stalls selling food and locally made gifts on the paddock outside Caroline Bingley’s gigantic barn—quaintly painted red with white trimming, of course—Lyon alongside him. Shear-A-Sheep Day was an annual event, and a magnet for the village, but they were fairly early. The crowd around the timber-floored pen outside the barn doors was still small.
“. . . and of course most important is the welfare of the animal.” Deftly and with the ease of many years’ experience, Wiremu demonstrated shearing a sheep, fleece peeling off its back as it lay trusting against his legs. He stopped at the last stretches of wool. “Anyone like to jump in here with me and have a wee go?”
“Bennet will,” Lyon yelled out.
Bennet winced. He’d already changed his outfit twice, first opting for sensible jeans and a shirt he didn’t much care about in case it got dirty, but he wanted to make the right impression when he saw Will today. A test, really—tight jeans and his favorite blossom-pink shirt over a matching pink muscle shirt—to see if Will would still be interested. He wanted to be at his most . . . him. Smears of muck didn’t factor into it. Plus, he’d cut himself shaving this morning. He could not be trusted with another creature’s welfare.
“Bennet absolutely will not.”
Lyon laughed. “Go on. I dare you.”
“This is not like taking care of a horse. There are deadly weapons involved. Not to mention my best clothes!”
“Do it for me. Show me how much you’d sacrifice for your darling brother.”
Bennet started undoing his buttons, muttering. “I’m making you get on a horse for this.”
He stripped to his muscle shirt and Wiremu welcomed him into the pen. “Hold him here, and your right foot in there.”
Bennet rested the sheep’s head between his thighs as instructed, its back along the inside of his leg. It wasn’t as heavy as he’d expected. It’s spine felt sharp against him, but the newly-shorn skin was soft and warm. The sheep bleated—possibly in harmony with Bennet’s racing heart. “Keep the handpiece close to his skin and push it along.”
The handpiece started to buzz again as Wiremu switched it on and all Bennet’s concentration honed in on not harming the sheep. “That’s it. Nice. A natural. Hold his skin taut there, and . . . yeah, excellent stuff. Down the back leg. There she goes.”
The buzzing blessedly ceased. Bennet let out a whoosh of relief, and laughed. He’d done it. Unbelievable.
Lyon was grinning.
“Oh my god, I did it. I didn’t even kill the sheep. Did you see that?”
He was giddy with relief as his gaze snagged on Darcy’s figure a few paces behind. He stood watching Bennet with quiet intensity, arms folded, making no move to look away. It had to be trick of the light, the angle they stood. Surely that wasn’t amusement twinkling in his eyes?
Bennet untangled himself from the sheep’s limbs, and it scrambled up and away; Wiremu called out once more. “Anyone else fancy a go?”
No one volunteered, and Bennet heard himself speak. “Darcy? Ever done this before?”
“I don’t believe I have.”
“Come on and try. It was amazing!” Riding on an adrenalin high, he couldn’t stop himself grinning. He arched a brow. “Will you step outside your comfort zone?”
Darcy’s gaze sharpened on him and then lowered to his white button down, open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He laughed, drily. “I don’t believe I’ll be comfortable.”
He stepped forward—fingers popping the buttons of that crisp, white shirt—then halted mid step. Bennet followed his attention across the pen. Will was approaching from the other side, looking dashing in a black muscle shirt and wide smile, the dark silver in his hair glinting in the light.
Will’s smile vanished; both men’s postures tightened. They knew each other, clearly—and they weren’t happy about the fact. Bennet didn’t take his eyes off them as he clambered back out into the crowd.
Will finally nodded his head in acknowledgment and Darcy, with a fleeting glance toward Bennet, turned his back and strode off.
Bennet frowned.
A pink shirt was waved in front of his face. “Take it. I need to go. Like, now.”
“What?”
“That guy, I . . . I gotta . . .” Lyon was off.
Will was once again all smiles when Bennet reached him. He eyed Bennet up appreciatively. “Very nice.”
