Chase wiped his wet face on his sleeve and rolled to his feet. “What the hell is that?” he asked, eyeing the horse-dog and trying to swallow his irritation.

“We don’t know exactly,” Ophelia said, pushing her spectacles back on the bridge of her nose. “But he does well with the sheep.”

“Max is an excellent sheepherder,” Sophia agreed. She waited until Derrick had pulled the dog into the back of the wagon before she removed a huge straw hat from behind the seat and handed it to Chase. “You’ll need this since we’re to be in the sun today.”

He took one look at the fanciful ribbons and faded silk flowers that decorated the brim and handed it back. “No thank you.”

“You’ll sunburn.”

“There are flowers on it.”

“That’s because it’s Harriet’s. Stephen doesn’t have an extra hat, but Harriet said you could wear hers.”

Somehow, Chase did not doubt that one bit. “I am not wearing this hat.”

“Oh, no one will see. Just us. Besides, I just added the sprig of forget-me-nots last week. Do you know how long it took to get those on there?”

Chase ground his teeth. He would not be caught dead in that blasted hat, come rain or snow. “I’m certain it must be too small for my head.”

Ophelia shook her head, adjusting the ribbons of her own straw hat under her chin, then climbing into the back of the cart and making herself comfortable in the straw. She and Sophia were going to pick berries while the others gathered the sheep. “Harriet’s hats are all large because she always wears braids. I daresay it will fit you perfectly.”

Chase sighed, glancing at the sun barely showing on the horizon. It was difficult to imagine that it would be warm, but Sophia was probably right.

Sighing, he slapped the hat on his head, turned, and found Harriet’s gaze from across the yard. She was standing beside a solemn-faced Stephen, her hands resting on her hips. Even from here, he could tell that her eyes were alight with laughter.

It took him a moment to realize the truth; she was laughing at him.

“Damn it!” He yanked the hat off his head and threw it into the back of the cart, then climbed in himself and took his place on the seat beside Derrick, who was still buried in his book.

Bloody hell, look at how far he’d sunk. But perhaps it was fate’s way of mocking him as well. Hadn’t he violated the St. John honor with his reckless behavior? Hadn’t he humiliated his family name? Perhaps this was retribution of some sort.

He straightened his shoulders. Whatever life had in store for him, he’d face it. No more hiding. No more trying to drown his troubles. He was a St. John and no matter the circumstances, it was time he remembered it.

His gaze roamed over the yard until he found Harriet. She placed her hand on her brother’s arm and spoke earnestly. Stephen must have disagreed with what she had to say, for he shook his head violently and, when she continued to speak, finally pulled away, turned, and then went into the barn as fast as his crutches would allow. Harriet watched him go, a strangely hollow look to her face.