Page 6 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

I nod and wander out onto a shadowed white gravel path lined with bright rhododendrons.

A tree lowers its branches gracefully over the path, shielding two blue tits who are quarrelling crossly over a bird feeder.

I walk slowly, the only sound the crunch of my feet on the path, and then gasp as I come out into sunshine and the most incredible sight.

In front of me is an old Elizabethan knot garden formed by beds of bright purple lavender edged with white roses and bay trees.

I step onto the white gravelled path that edges the beds and inhale greedily.

The air is heavy with the sharp, sweet scent of lavender.

I wander over to a black iron bench at the side of the garden and lower myself to sit.

The sun beats down and a mischievous breeze dances over me, ruffling my hair and gifting me with the heavy scent from the blowsy roses next to the bench.

When I look up I still at the sight of the house.

I knew it was an Elizabethan manor house but my research didn’t tell me how beautiful it was.

Built of golden stone with ornate gables and mullioned windows, it seems etched against the cornflower blue of the sky.

There’s something so utterly timeless about the scene.

I could have been picked up and put down in Elizabethan England and not know it.

The only sound is that of birdsong and a faint low buzzing.

I cock my head to one side and lean forwards to look into the nearest lavender bush.

For a second I just see purple but then I smile in delight as my eye adjusts and I see that the bed is actually alive with hundreds of bees busily hovering over the delicate flower stalks.

It’s like I’ve been allowed to look into a secret colony hidden away in plain sight, and I stare for long minutes feeling oddly fascinated.

Finally, I settle back, feeling the heat beat down on me.

I breathe in and a strange sense of peace steals over me.

I’ve always been fidgety and on the lookout for more, but for the first time I can remember I’m actually content to sit quietly.

It’s ironic that it’s in an old garden heated by the sun with my only companions the busy bees and the silent stone presence of an old house.

I shake my head at the absurd feeling that this is my place, and become suddenly aware of another sound filling the air.

Anxious bleating. I stand up and look around.

Next to the knot garden are a few apple trees and an old wooden fence from where the noise is coming.

I look around but there’s no sign of Milo, so I amble over, feeling the heat of the sun on my back.

The noise gets louder as I near the fence and I can hear the low soothing rumble of a man’s voice.

Reaching the fence, I hang over it and find myself looking into a long, low field.

A small sheep is dancing around agitatedly on the grass but my attention is all on the man muttering assurances to her and holding her tightly while he looks at her foot.

He’s tanned with dark, almost black hair which forms messy waves over his olive-skinned face. He’s bearded and has high cheekbones and a sharp blade of a nose. He’s dressed in old faded jeans and a red polo shirt that clings to his wide shoulders and long muscled arms. He looks up and starts.

“Shit!” His voice is deep and rumbly but I don’t get the chance to say anything as in his surprise he lets go of the sheep and she seizes her freedom with alacrity, bouncing and hopping away startlingly quickly for an animal with a limp. “Shit!” he says again.

“Sorry,” I say, jumping up and straddling the fence. “Let me help you.”

“There’s no need,” he begins to say but I jump down on the other side and grin up at him. And I mean up. I only come up to his shoulder and he dwarfs me.

“No problem,” I say. “She looks hurt and it’s my fault anyway for creeping up on you.” I grimace. “Like a great big sheep creeper.” I wave my hands. “Like something mother sheep warn their babies about. Beware the London Sheep Creeper. He’s a nose breather.”

He stares at me for a second and I just have time to register how pretty his eyes are.

Hazel coloured, they glow almost green in the sunlight, clear and limpid like a forest stream.

Then he bursts into laughter and I stare, transfixed and probably not hiding it very well.

His laughter is warm and rich and has an almost gentle air about it.

Almost comforting. I shake my head. He’s probably straight and I really don’t need to perv over him. I might get my head kicked in.

Recovering, he looks at me. “Okay then,” he says. His voice is deep and rich. There’s a posh drawl to it but it’s undercut by a local twang, as if the voice has a split personality. “Let’s catch Kylie.”

“Kylie? Who calls their sheep Kylie?”

“She’s quick on her feet,” he muses. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m not sure the actual Kylie would be flattered,” I say dourly, and he laughs again.

At that moment Kylie darts out of a bush and runs at us. The ovine one obviously, not the Australian diva.

“Kylie,” my companion shouts. “Who’s a good girl? Come here, beauty.”

Kylie shoots him a very old-fashioned look, tosses her head and bounces off as best she can with only three healthy feet.

“You’ve got a way with the women,” I say dryly as we watch her little bum bounce up and down and her tail wagging furiously with the movement.

He shakes his head. “You have no idea.” He looks me up and down slowly and time seems to slow like being caught in treacle. “With the men too,” he says slowly and I actually shiver. Wow. He’s potent .

I open my mouth to say I don’t know what, but Kylie makes a running dart past me and before I can think, I reach down and grab her. She’s surprisingly strong, and for a second I freeze as I’m not actually sure what to do with a sheep now I’ve got one.

However, Mr Tall, Dark, and Handsome has no problem. “Brilliant,” he shouts enthusiastically. “Hold her steady.”

“What for?” I ask, but it’s to fresh air as he bends down and rummages through a huge canvas bag before coming out with a small silver instrument.

“What the hell is that ?” I ask breathlessly. “It’s like watching the film Marathon Man .” He brandishes it, grinning, and I shake my head. “What are you doing to Kylie?”

“Getting a stone out of her hoof,” he says and drops smoothly into a kneeling position at my feet. I swallow hard at the sight of that handsome face so near to my groin and I watch as the breeze blows the black waves around and the sun picks out gleaming red strands that glow like fire.

Kylie wriggles and bucks but I maintain a strong arm around her as the man forages quickly and deftly. Exclaiming in triumph, he grabs something and removes it, holding a small stone up to show me. “Teamwork,” he grins, and I give a strained smile.

“You okay?” he asks, kneeling and looking up at me like the sort of wet dream I’ve never been lucky enough to have.

I swallow hard. “Peachy. This position is like most Saturdays for me.” I pause before saying quickly, “Minus the sheep, obviously. I like animals, but I don’t love animals if you know what I mean.”

Silence lengthens and I mentally close my eyes and sigh. Wow, Oz. A fit handsome man at your feet and you’re talking casually about bestiality. I’m surprised he’s not proposing already. I might have to consider that my datable personality has finally deserted me.

I look down, startled as he breaks into loud laughter.

Kylie, sensing escape, wriggles and I let her go in surprise.

The man gives a startled huff as she jumps over him and runs quickly away, disappearing into the furthest reaches of the field.

He carries on laughing and I grin down at him, taken by the laughter wrinkles around his eyes.

He sits up and offers his hand. “I’m Silas.”

I look at it for a second, feeling an odd sense of trepidation that I dismiss with an internal huff. The quiet here is obviously affecting me. “Oz,” I reply and touch his hand. A warm tingle runs through my palm and up my arm, and he looks up startled as if he felt the same.

As if by common accord we both step back and stare at each other. He turns slightly and puts his hand to the gate behind him.

The next second I hear my name being shouted, and when I look up I can see Milo rushing through the knot garden like the White Rabbit. “I have to go,” I say and turn back before standing in surprise.

The field is empty, the only sign that anyone else had been there the pollen rising and glittering in the sun and the click of the gate.