Page 17 of The Holiday Cottage

She crossed the yard cautiously because it was icy underfoot. As she approached the paddock, the alpacas came to greet her and her mood lifted.

It was impossible to feel low when you were in the company of such beautiful, gentle creatures.

It hadn’t started with alpacas. It had started with a donkey, and a call from the local animal shelter. Then it was a litter of kittens someone had tried to drown. She’d had sheep, an old police horse who needed a quiet life in the country, a donkey, chickens and a couple of rabbits.

Never an alpaca.

As was so often the case with all her animals, it was Miles McEwan, her vet, who had called her. He’d visited a smallholding where a couple keeping alpacas had lost interest because of the work involved. The alpacas were in a bad state. They needed to rehome them. Could Dorothy help?

She’d heard the anger in his voice, which was unusual because Miles was always calm and levelheaded, particularly in a crisis. But something about the plight of these animals had touched him, and it had touched her, too, as he’d known it would.

He’d known she wouldn’t say no. Dorothy could never have said no to anything that was lost and needed her, and these alpacas seemed to need her. Miles had waited for her to agree before breaking the news that there were four of them.

Dorothy had known nothing about alpacas, so she’d quickly taken herself on a course, visited an alpaca breeder locally for advice and prepared the paddock closest to the house.

The alpacas had arrived on a bright, sunny spring day, and Miles and Dorothy had transferred them to their new home. They’d been in poor condition then, and Miles had visited regularly for those first weeks and months. Together they’d done what needed to be done, and before long the alpacas were thriving. A year later she’d taken in Benson, so now she had five of them.

Looking at them now, so healthy and alert, she found it hard to remember those early days.

She fed them, checked their hay, cleared the barn area where they sheltered overnight and gave them fresh water. While she was doing that she talked to them, checked their coats and general health. Miles visited frequently when he was passing on his way to visit farms, and anytime she was worried all she had to do was call.

But she didn’t call him often. She’d learned all she could about them. Studied what they needed. Spent time with them.

She was closing the gate to the field when she saw Miles’s car approaching down the drive.

It had been a few weeks since she’d seen him and she brightened at the prospect of his company. She felt more than a little maternal toward him, which was ridiculous really because he certainly wasn’t a man who needed mothering. But he was the son of her oldest friend and she’d always looked out for him. She felt a pang as she thought about Sybil. It had been five years since her friend had died, but she still missed her every day. Seeing Miles somehow kept a small piece of her in Dorothy’s life.

She smiled and waved as he parked and strode across to her, crossing the icy yard in long confident strides, not picking his way as she had done.

“Morning, Dorothy.” He was wearing a thick sweater and heavy boots, and there were mud splashes on his trousers.

“Good morning, Miles. It’s good to see you. Have you been up all night?”

“Most of it.”

She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Hot date?”

“She was a stunner. Legs like a racehorse.” He grinned and leaned on the gate. “Which could have been because she was, in fact, a racehorse. I’ve been at the Morton Stud. Horse with colic.”

“Oh dear. Is she going to be okay?”

“I think so, although I wasn’t so sure of that at 2:00 a.m. Long night.”

And now she could see how tired he was. His jaw was dark with stubble and his eyes were shadowed.

“You’re not part of the equine team anymore. Why you?”

“I used to be, as you know, and we had a busy night so I stepped in. I’ll be calling in the favor at some point.”

But she knew that wasn’t why he’d done it. He had a generous nature. He’d always been the same.

She put her hand on his arm. “You must be exhausted. And hungry, I’m sure. I was just about to put the kettle on and make some breakfast. Would you join me?”

“Why do you think I’m here? I was about to go home and put my own kettle on, but then I remembered that my cupboards are bare and so is the fridge, so I thought I’d drive here and look pathetic in the hope that you might take pity on me.”

“Why are your cupboards bare?” Maybe he did need mothering. “Aren’t you looking after yourself?”

“Barely.” He gave her a sad look. “It’s possible that I’m slowly starving. Look at me. Emaciated.”

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