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Alessia smiles at the young farmhand, who is now trying to get both lambs to feed. “Colostrum. Very good for new lambs.” He grins.
Alessia heads to the workstation, spreads the disinfectant over her palms—paying particular attention to between her fingers—then slips on some disposable gloves. Jenkins joins her. “It’s all hands on deck. It’s just observing. Checking they’re not in distress.”
Alessia nods. “I have done this. But with goats. And not with this many.”
Jenkins gives her a broad smile. “You’re going to fit right in, m’lady.”
* * *
I pull up at the Home Farm barn and, grabbing my camera, leap out of the car. I’ve stowed Kit’s journal in the glove box and locked it. It should be safe there. Inside the barn, I scan the interior for my wife, but I can’t see her. There are about thirty ewes in the birthing pens. I spot Jenkins, who’s in the nearest pen attending a ewe. I squat down to talk to him.
“My lord.”
“All at once? What did we do to deserve this?”
“Maybe it’s the moon,” he says as he pulls a lamb into the world. Its mother is very keen to get it cleaned up. Jenkins sits back.
I laugh. “What can I do? And where’s my wife?”
“She’s in the thick of it, somewhere in here. She wants to help.”
I frown. Does she know what she’s doing? But I keep that thought to myself.
“Okay, I’ll get ready.” I head to the workstation, disinfect my hands, and pull on some blue gloves. From there, I spot Alessia, her hair snaking down her back in a long braid. She’s in a pen, clearing the nose of a newborn lamb and placing it in front of its mother. As I approach her, I hear her cooing in her own language. “Hej, mama. Hej, mami, ja ku është qengji yt. Hej, mami, ja qengji yt.” Gently, she strokes the ewe’s nose and repeats whatever she’s just said in her soothing tone, then sits back to see if the ewe will produce another.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with a swell of emotion that mushrooms in my chest and stops me in my tracks. My heart is full. Full to bursting—just watching my sweet wife interact with a sheep. A Trevethick sheep.
One of ours.
I have never seen Caro, or my mother, help like this on the estate.
And in that moment, I know Alessia is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
To us.
All of us. Here. Now.
I clear my crowded throat as I kneel beside the pen. “Hi,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
“Hello.” She grins, and it’s obvious she’s pleased to see me, and she’s in her element. She’s thoroughly filthy, with blood, mucus, and heaven knows what all over her gloves, jeans, and sweater, but she’s radiant.
“You okay?”
She nods. “And so is this little one.” She rubs the lamb’s head. “The mama did good. She may have another.”
“This is not your first rodeo?” I ask.
She frowns.
“Not the first time,” I clarify.
“No. Our neighbours. They came to our wedding. They have goats. I have helped when they are in kid. Often.”
“Alessia, you never fail to amaze me. We’re lucky to have you.”
She waves off the compliment with a dismissive flutter of her hand. “You do this too?”
I laugh. “It’s not my first rodeo either. I’ll go see where I’m needed. But first…” I raise my camera and peer at my beautiful, disheveled wife through the lens as she smiles back at me, and I press the shutter. “I’m going to take more if I can. I don’t have enough of you. And right now, you’re absolutely fucking beautiful. I’d better go.”
She grins, a dazzling smile just for me, and I’m reluctant to leave her, but needs must.
It’s three o’clock in the morning when I guide Alessia into the shower to clean her up from the evening’s exertions. We’re exhausted and squalid from a full shift in the sheep shed. But we have seventy-two new lambs. I don’t think I’ve ever, ever worked as hard in my life, but I’m thrilled. Only one stillborn, no rejections, and all the ewes are in good condition. That’s an epic start to lambing. And I am so glad that we were here to help.
Now, I need to get my wife clean and into bed.
Alessia leans against me under the welcome warm water, her eyes closed.
My love.
She’s nothing short of amazing.
She’s scooped her braid into a gravity-defying knot and manages to keep it out of the cascade of water. I grab a cloth and soap and gently start to wash her hands, her arms, and her face. Then hold her up, while I wash myself.
* * *
Maxim towel-dries Alessia. She can barely keep her eyes open and thinks even her hair is exhausted. But she’s exhilarated too. Finally, she feels that she’s helped and given back to Maxim, and to the estate workers who have welcomed her so warmly.
