Kingfisher Morning

'Emma's dirty,' said Donna, assuming disapproval now that Ross, the stern male, was present.

Emma involuntarily laughed. 'I'm naughty,' she agreed in a light voice.

Ross lifted her to her feet, his hands firm on her arms. 'I'll run you both home. I should think your legs are aching after a gallop across a field with Bonaparte after you!'

'Is that really his name?' Emma laughed, thinking how well it suited the bull.

'It is—they call him Nappy for short.' He cocked an eye at Donna, who giggled. 'Ah, here comes Tracy. She can be our little messenger and convey the good news to Mrs Pat and Edie. They're out of their minds with anxiety.'

Tracy gave Donna a cross, reproving stare. 'Where have you been? You'll get a smack. We've been looking for you for ages, and Edie's crying like a waterworks…' Becoming conscious of Ross's glance, she added primly, 'Mrs Pat said like a waterworks.'

'Skip back and tell them we've found Donna and she's quite safe,' Ross said. 'Ask Edie to bring you and Robin back to the cottage right away, will you? Time you three had a bath and were off to bed, I think. You've had a busy day again today.'

'Why is Emma all black?' Tracy asked, staring. 'Did she fall in a puddle?'

'Yes,' said Ross. 'Now, be off with you.'

Tracy ran off reluctantly. Ross handed Donna into the car, and Emma got in beside her, aware of a faintly distasteful odour.

'The cowshed fragrance stems from yourself, I'm afraid,' Ross told her, tongue in cheek, seeing her wrinkling her nose.

She looked down at her best black-and-red check dress, with its flared skirt and patent leather belt. A groan of horror and grief came from her as she saw what had happened to it when she fell, and then a groan of disgust as she realised what she had fallen into.

'I shall have to scrub myself until my skin is raw to get rid of this smell,' she said with anguish. 'My tights are ruined, and look at my shoes!' surveying them with dismay.

Ross chuckled. 'Never mind. Put it down to experience, and remember, you've had what you might call a baptism of fire.' His eyes twinkled at the wrath reflected in her face. 'Country living isn't as hygienic as life in town, you know. We aren't all plastic-wrapped and tidy. The only smell in a town is the reek of petrol fumes, I think.

Personally, I prefer the smell of a horse or a cow, but tastes differ.'

'Emma ran and ran,' Donna said admiringly. 'Then we fell over the gate.'

Ross shot Emma a look in the driving mirror. 'Quite the little heroine,' he drawled.

She flushed. 'Oh, shut up!'

Ross took charge of Donna when they arrived. The child was unscratched, comparatively clean, since Emma had instinctively protected her from the fall without even knowing what she was doing. Ross stood her at the kitchen sink on a chair and let her play contentedly with the water in a plastic bowl. Emma went upstairs to take a bath.

Later, scrubbed clean and wearing jeans and a sweater, she came downstairs with her dirty clothes in a little parcel, rolled up together. 'I must do some washing. The sooner these are clean the better!'

Ross surveyed her with mocking amusement. 'Town dweller!'

'I notice you always wash thoroughly after you've been at work in a barn,' she snapped.

'A matter of common sense,' he shrugged. 'More hygienic.'

'Don't tell me you actually like the smell of manure,' she protested incredulously.

He grinned. 'Not on myself,' he admitted unashamedly.

'I thought so,' she tossed her head in triumph.

He moved closer, looked down at her face, at the clear, healthy skin, aglow with colour, at the wide, warm eyes the colour of chestnuts, at the generous pink mouth and rounded chin.

'You smell a lot nicer now,' he said, sniffing the fragrance of bath salts and talc. 'Like a garden.'

Emma was hypnotised, fixed by his unwavering grey eyes, held like a rabbit under their spell.

'Thank you,' she said huskily, with an effort.