I'm Virtually Yours by Jennifer Bohnet Page A

stones,” Will said. “Mind you don’t slip.” He released both the dogs from their leads before stepping onto the first stone and turning to give Polly a helping hand.
    His hand grasped Polly’s firmly and she tried to ignore the giddy shiver of breathlessness she experienced as her hand was engulfed in Will’s work roughened one. Once she was safely across the stream he let her hand go as they put the dogs back on their leads.
    â€œSeems a shame they can’t run free,” Polly said.
    â€œImpossible at this time of the year. Too many in-lamb sheep around, not to mention the ground nesting birds,” Will said.
    The moor on this side of the stream started out as a gentle gradient but soon became steeper and covered in ferns before levelling out once again. In the distance Polly saw four or five of the legendary Dartmoor ponies clustered around the bottom of the tor she and Will were aiming for.
    They settled into a rhythmic walk, with Will telling her bits about the history of the moor. The way the granite and china clay quarries that used to operate on the moor were initially responsible for the single track railway line built for transporting the granite off the isolated terrain.
    â€œOf course back in the 1800s it was all done using pony power,” Will said as they reached the tor and stopped to watch the grazing ponies.
    â€œI’m surprised we’ve seen so few ponies,” Polly said. “I always thought Dartmoor was full of them.”
    Will shook his head. “Not these days. Less than three thousand of them now — and they all belong to someone. No purely wild ponies up here any more.”
    â€œLove that piebald one,” Polly said. “I plan on buying one just like him one day.”
    â€œRight, time to make tracks for home,” Will said glancing at his watch.
    An hour later and two very tired dogs were spreadeagled on the back seat of the Land Rover as Will drove homewards. They were nearly back at The Captain’s Berth when Will asked, “How’s the business report for Worldsend coming along? Nearly finished?”
    â€œHoping to complete it in the next couple of days,” Polly said. “I need to be home by this time next weekend.”
    â€œLike to come to a beginning of the season party Friday night?” Will asked. “A few of the local businesses get together to wish everyone a good year. There’s usually a band and a bit of dancing.”
    â€œSounds like fun, thank you,” Polly said. “And Will, thank you for this morning, I’ve really enjoyed myself.”
    â€œMe too,” Will said.
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    CHAPTER SEVEN
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    Monday morning and Polly took Rosie for a walk before collecting the books from the boatyard and returning to Angie’s. Up in her room she opened the books, switched on her computer and prepared to spend the morning analysing spreadsheets. Not her favourite job but it had to be done.
    Only this morning, sitting at the table in front of the window, she struggled to concentrate. Memories of her and Will on Dartmoor yesterday kept flooding into her mind. Equally distracting was the view from the window. Every time she glanced outside some activity on the river caught her attention.
    Yachts leaving and arriving in harbour, tourist boats starting to ply their summer trade, the small passenger ferry repeatedly crossing and recrossing the river. Fleetingly she even caught a glimpse of Will at the helm of the boatyard’s workboat as it made its way upriver.
    It was while she was watching the workboat and thinking about Will that Marty rang.
    â€œHi, how was your weekend? Still in one piece?”
    â€œIt was brilliant, absolutely brilliant,” Marty said. “Everything that Kev promised me it would be. No scary moments and I even managed to stop myself from screaming when he did a small wheelie.”
    â€œSo you’re a biker’s moll now are you?” Polly