The Shepherd and the Solicitor

by Bonnie Dee

  “Suit yourself,” Jacob growled and started to stalk away under the pretense of checking on another laboring ewe.

  Chapter Five

  Tobin watched that retreating back with the slightly stooped shoulders and scrambled in his mind for words that would stop Bennet from disappearing yet again. Yes, he could jump up and follow the man around the shed, but he wanted to halt Bennet’s restless feet in their tracks. He needed to say just the right thing to make the man turn around and face him, look at him, listen to him. Tobin was self-aware enough to know that this wasn’t only about his assignment, engaging with the reclusive farmer in order to find out if he was Daniel Pierce or not. Something inside him demanded Jacob Bennet’s attention. He wanted to look into those grass-green eyes and connect with the man hidden there.

  “I heard lambs often come in pairs. Is that true?”

  Bennet’s steps slowed, stopped, and he half turned toward Tobin. “Aye.”

  “So where’s this baby’s twin?”

  Those wide shoulders shrugged. “Sometimes t’other is stillborn, but this time there was just the one. Who knows why?” He started to move again.

  Tobin cast another line, trying to snag his reluctant host. “Must be hard for the little one to be all alone if the common thing is to have a mate.” He used a metaphor so obvious it would be hard to ignore, desperate to sink a hook that would force any sort of reaction from Bennet. Gregory didn’t know exactly what it was that would have caused the heir to flee his old life, but he wagered it was something to do with love lost and hopes dashed—that was usually the case.

  Bennet slid him a sideways glance. “They’re sheep. Barely bright enough to keep from plunging over a cliff if the flock is headed that way. This one won’t be mourning the lack of a sibling.”

  “I had a sister who died,” Tobin blurted. “Darling little thing with hair like golden spun sugar. She only lived till age four. I’d barely recall her face now but for the fact I have a photographic likeness taken before she died.”

  Bennet rested a hand on the topmost bar of the sheep pen and stared at the suckling lamb. “Sorry to hear that. What was her name?”

  “Grace. Younger than I. She would’ve been seventeen now. She died from a sudden fever. The doctor never named the disease. I suspect he didn’t know quite what it was.”

  What in the world possessed him? It was one thing to try to get Bennet talking in order to ascertain his true identity—if there was anything to uncover—but to abruptly share such an intimate detail of his life with a perfect stranger was ludicrous. Maybe it was because he was so sore and tired from his strenuous day. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, making him feel he could curl up in that soft pile of hay and sleep for hours.

  “It’s a hard thing when someone dies too young.” Bennet’s quiet voice floated between the bleats that made exclamation points in the silence.

  He’s thinking of someone. There is a reason he’s hiding here. Tobin was more certain than ever that his host was the man he sought, particularly because Bennet’s North Country accent had slipped and a bit of Eton showed through.

  “Yes, it is. Seems such a waste,” Tobin agreed. “An entire life unlived, stolen away like that.” He snapped his fingers, and Bennet seemed to flinch. Oh yes, there was a story here, and Tobin needed to uncover it, not only because it was his job, but because he was utterly intrigued by this hermit-like character.

  When he was a lad, he’d once been running his hoop down a path in the park near his house when he’d spotted a glint of sunlight on metal that stopped him in his tracks. The hoop had rolled on and eventually fallen with a clatter, while Gregory dropped to his knees to uncover the bit of silver half-hidden in a pile of dead leaves. A key with a beautifully wrought handle and teeth made to open one special thing in all the world. It might’ve been a treasure chest, or a door to a fairyland—Gregory was still young enough to imagine such things were possible—but it was obviously something special. He spit on the key, rubbed it clean and tucked it in his jacket pocket. For many weeks after, which were like years in child time, he had tried that key in every keyhole he saw, but eventually he’d forgotten his quest and the key had been lost, perhaps plucked from the pocket by a maid before his jacket was laundered. When Gregory later remembered the key and looked for it, he’d liked to think it disappeared in a magical way just as it had arrived.

  A remnant of that boyish need to know was what made Tobin quite good at his job, dogged and determined to uncover truth, and tonight it filled him with curiosity about Jacob Bennet. Whether the man really was Daniel Pierce didn’t interest him nearly as much as getting to the bottom of what made this man hide from the world. For it was quite clear he was hiding.

  “Makes one wonder what game God is playing at, doesn’t it?” Tobin continued. “To bring a loved one into our lives and then snatch her away like that. Does he really need another angel to sing in the choir? That’s what my nanny used to say. God, needed little Grace to sing in His choir. What a thing to tell a child! I used to be terrified to sing after that, lest God like my voice too much and try to steal me away.”

  He laughed, and then, glory be, a miracle occurred: Bennet snorted. That made Tobin laugh harder, and then they were both openly chortling. Bennet’s chuckle was a deep sumptuous sound that rolled through the sheep barn. Out of nowhere, two complete strangers had found enough common ground to share a bit of humor.

  Attracted by the sound, Bets came padding over, her bulging sides making her look like a swollen tick. She flopped down in the hay beside Tobin and rested her head on his thigh, looking up at him with soulful brown eyes that begged to be let in on the joke.

  He scratched her head and idly pulled one silky brown ear between his fingers.

  “Bets has taken a shine to you.” Bennet’s laughter had died, but a ripple of amusement remained. “You’ve a way with animals. The sheep were attracted to you today.”

  “I think I was just in their way.” Tobin smiled and ruffled the dog’s luxuriant fur. “Looks as if this lady is due any time.”

  Bennet nodded. “She seems comfortable with you. If you insist on spending the night there, you may wake in the morning with a lap full of pups.”

  And now, Bennet’s accent had completely shifted to reflect Tobin’s own. The man didn’t appear to notice that he’d revealed himself as a gentleman. Tobin must keep him talking so he didn’t recollect his deception.

  “How many, do you suppose? Can you tell just by looking at her?”

  Bennet moved closer at last, dropping down to his knees to rest a hand on the dog’s side as if feeling each bump and counting. “Impossible to say. She’s delivered anywhere from four to as many as eight pups in past litters.”

  “Good Lord, what do you do with all the puppies?”

  “Sell them. Collies go for a pretty price in these parts, and Bets is known to be a good herder.”

  Known by whom? Apparently Bennet had some interaction with the local farmers if they knew the reputation of his dog. Yet in town, it was as if he was a complete stranger to most of them. They’d said he kept to himself, but what was Jacob Bennet’s standing in this community, and how much did the locals actually know about him?

  “That sheep herding boy.” Tobin changed the subject. “Why isn’t he here tonight to help you with the lambing?”

  “Dickon’s moving the herd and minding them,” Jacob answered tersely, returning to his Yorkshire burr. “Sheep spend most of spring and summer grazing on t’er own. But they can run amok if they become too frightened, so I asked Dickon to stay with them until this passes.”

  As if on cue, thunder rumbled, low and ominous. The sound made the dark warmth of the barn cozier. The sweet scent of the crushed hay beneath him enfolded Tobin in a cocoon of comfort.

  “Poor boy, out there in the pouring rain in the dark,” he said.

  “There’s a shelter. Di
ckon’ll be all right,” Bennet assured him. He rose from his knees, unfolding to his full height.

  The sight of the man towering over him, and himself in a vulnerable position at Bennet’s feet, sent a brief spasm of lust darting through Tobin. If he were to get onto his knees just now, he’d be facing the man’s baggy trousers at about at crotch height. He could reach for the piece of frayed rope Bennet apparently used in place of a belt and loosen the ridiculous knot that held it in place. He would unbutton the fly and reach inside the rough homespun to find… His fingers itched to feel the thick rod of flesh.

  Tobin stared at the spot where the ends of the rope dangled and swore he could actually see a bulge there, as if Bennet was aroused. He shot his gaze up to the farmer’s face, and the man’s eyes were widened, his lips parted slightly. For just a moment, that granite face cracked and was laid wide open for Tobin to read. Bennet appeared younger, more vulnerable…and more like the man in the lost photos than ever.

  The barn was nearly dark, but Bennet lifted the lamp to make his way across the floor, and the dim glow touched his face. That nose. The one unruly lock among all the shaggy hair.

  Tobin forgot his rising desire and stared.

  He licked his lips to stop himself from asking the questions he knew Bennet wouldn’t answer.

  Why are you hiding? Who are you?

  That second wasn’t worth asking, because Tobin was almost certain he knew the answer. The books, the accent that came and went—Tobin could see who this farmer was. Despite the beard and moustache that hid the lower half of his face, this was the man whose visage he’d memorized. The reclusive Yorkshire farmer was Daniel Pierce. But it wouldn’t do for Tobin to reveal what he knew yet. That wouldn’t help him get the recalcitrant heir back to London and the bosom of his loving family. No, he had no immediate family. The distant relations he’d interviewed seemed to know very little about the heir. So he’d return the heir to the bosom of his loving company then. First, he must gain Pierce’s trust—which might be easier than expected. It seemed he’d uncovered a secret he and Bennet/Pierce had in common. It appeared fairly obvious from the expression on Pierce’s face that they shared a desire for men. That could work in Tobin’s favor.

  But he’d no sooner begun to stir from his seated position on the hay than the granite mask slammed back into place. Pierce’s vulnerable face was hidden, and Bennet’s expression returned to its customary glare. “Best check on t’other ewes. Get you some sleep,” he ordered before turning smartly on the heel of his big clomping boots and heading toward the plaintive bleating coming from another of the enclosures.

  Bennet’s heart pounded so he could scarcely breathe. There was no mistaking the brief moment of attraction that had passed between himself and his unwelcome visitor. It had been years since Jacob had indulged in any vice with another man. Not since before the real Jacob had been so casually and cruelly destroyed by an angry mob, a memory he’d worked very hard to bury deeply over the past four years and which this intruder had awakened.

  Prior to his special friendship with Jacob, he’d had only occasional encounters with random strangers. Necessary to relieve his base needs was how he’d considered those back when he’d been Daniel Pierce, heir to the Pierce fortune and expected to marry well and produce progeny. Daniel had been well schooled in what was expected of him. He’d fully anticipated marrying a Barrington or a Weller or one of the Haynes sisters and settling into his proper position in life. He would’ve curtailed his lust, relieving it only on very rare occasions.

  But then he’d met Jacob Phillips, and his entire world had turned upside down.

  Bennet squeezed his eyes shut against a barrage of images and sucked a hissing breath between his teeth. No more. He would not indulge in that pain again, or allow a flash of attraction to some stranger to destroy everything he’d built here.

  Opening his eyes, he hung his paraffin lamp on the peg by the pen and let himself into the enclosure, where he knelt by the ewe’s side. “Hullo, Old Lady. How are you coming along?”

  The old sheep had lived more winters on the moors than he had. She was one of the original flock he’d purchased along with the farmstead holding and was a competent, calm leader of the flock. She’d dropped more lambs than could be expected at her advanced age. This year he’d tried to keep her from being covered, but the ram had somehow had his way with her anyway.

  Sheep rarely needed help giving birth, but Bennet was a bit worried about the old girl. He pressed a hand to her side and felt the movement of the lamb working its way into the birth canal. He prayed the pair would drop easily, and that it was only a pair and not three. He could live without having his arm up a sheep twice in one night. Lifting her tail to an annoyed baa, he took a look at the situation.

  “How do you know what to do?” Tobin’s voice startled him, and he dropped the ewe’s tail. “Did you grow up on a farm? Was your father a shepherd? Is this your family home?”

  Bennet narrowed his eyes and glared up at the man he was fairly certain knew exactly where he’d been born and bred.

  “How do you know when to leave her be and when to help?” Tobin pressed on.

  “Experience.” Bennet started to rise, then realized he was trapped in the enclosure. First, because the ewe might indeed end up needing his help, but also because Tobin stood right in front of the stall. He’d have to squeeze past him or ask him to move in order to get out. Likely just what the man wanted so he could continue hounding him with questions, the damned lawyer.

  And yet, for a little while as he’d talked about his sister’s death, Tobin had seemed utterly sincere. Why would he share such an intimate detail with a stranger? Was it merely his way of putting his quarry at ease before he pounced? Was little Grace an invented character used for precisely that purpose? When exactly was the man going to finally admit why he’d come here? Would he politely request Daniel accompany him to London or would he demand it?

  “You seem puzzled.” Tobin leaned on the top bar of the gate, lounging as comfortably as if he stood at a bar in a pub. “Are you uncertain what to do?”

  Bennet shot him another glare. “No. I’m simply confounded as to why you insist on pestering me when I’ve made it quite clear I wish to be left alone to tend my sheep. I was kind enough to invite you into my home rather than force you to brave the elements and walk all the way back to town. The least you could do would be to respect my privacy and my desire for peace and quiet.”

  Damn! He heard the words coming out of his mouth in the perfectly enunciated vowels of his youth but seemed helpless to stop them. If Tobin wasn’t sure already that he was Daniel Pierce, he would be now.

  But Tobin merely nodded. “Point taken.” He made the motion of buttoning his mouth closed and proceeded to watch Bennet with an intensity that made his skin burn all over. Rain beat steadily on the roof now, drowning out the ongoing bleating and rustling of the sheep in their beds of straw. But it couldn’t drown the rush of blood in Bennet’s ears or the steady thunder of his heart. Nor could it erase the tormenting images and sensations of naked flesh, bone and muscle struggling together, skin sliding over skin, and bodies tangled in a harsh embrace.

  At last he couldn’t take it any longer. “Would you please stop doing that?”

  “What?” Tobin asked as sweet as treacle pudding. “What am I doing?”

  “Staring! For God’s sake, go lie down somewhere—here or in the house, I don’t care, but leave me be.”

  “But I’m really interested. I know so little of animal husbandry. It’s fascinating. I may never get another chance to witness the birthing of lambs firsthand.”

  “What is it you do for a living exactly, Mr. Tobin?” Bennet decided to turn the tables on him, let the man answer a few questions for a change.

  “I work for a legal firm in the city.”

  “A lawyer, then.” Go on, tell me what you’re really here for.
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  “I’m a solicitor, but some of my assignments are rather hard to describe.”

  “Try. I’m really interested,” Bennet mocked him. “I know so little of legal proceedings. It seems fascinating.”

  Tobin paused, and Bennet felt a surge of satisfaction. He’d bested the annoying gadfly. But then Tobin answered, “Well, currently I’m searching for a man who went missing some time ago. His extended family and the company he holds controlling shares in are quite worried about him. Can you imagine the agony of wondering?”

  Bennet could imagine the agony of those distant Pierce relatives wondering if a good portion of the factory and estate might be theirs at last. Before he’d fled town, he should have simply settled the issue. But at the time he’d been… Distraught was too weak a word. Suicidal or, on occasion, homicidal would be closer. The disbursement of his holdings had been the least of his concern. He had struggled every day to simply breathe in and out.

  The purse of guineas he’d grabbed as he left his old life had gone into this landholding. Learning to actually take care of himself and then of his flock took all his time and energy—a blessing.

  At first, he thought it would be a temporary retreat, but then a year passed and three more as he settled in the windy green hills. Even now when he thought of London, the dark anger hit him.

  “Perhaps they should have him declared dead.” Bennet laid a hand on the ewe’s flank as she shivered through another contraction.

  “They fear that will be the end result, but the courts insist on protocol being followed and every effort must be made to find the missing man.” Tobin paused. “Even should he not wish to be found.”

  Only a thin veil now stood between the truth and their pretense they were speaking of another man. A simple snip would tear it asunder, and then they would have to speak honestly. Bennet didn’t think he could stand that. Not tonight. He wasn’t ready for it.