Captain of My Heart (Scottish Single Dads #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

LACHLAN

The wipers screech across the glass, barely keeping up with the spray. I keep one hand steady on the wheel, the other braced against the console as another swell lifts us, drops us, makes the ferry groan.

“Passengers are asking how much longer, skipper,” Kenneth’s voice crackles through the intercom.

“Ten minutes.” I nudge the Calabrae back on course as the wind shoves us sideways. “Maybe fifteen.”

Should’ve known better than to trust Scottish weather.

We left Corraig late, chasing what looked like a window.

The skies had cleared, wind had eased. I either took the chance or cancelled the last sailing back to the mainland, and I’d no wish to spend the night moored at the island.

The hundred or so passengers onboard wouldn’t have thanked me for it either.

The hull judders, car alarms wail below, and my jaw tightens. Finn’ll be pressed to the window, wondering where the hell I am. Promised him we’d build that fort tonight. Bloody stupid thing to say.

Then, through the murk, a glow. The harbour lights, blurred but steady. At last. I ease back the throttle, the ferry shuddering once more before the engines settle into a steadier rhythm. My shoulders loosen, just a fraction.

“Easy now,” I mutter, as much to myself as to her.

Almost there. Dry land. Finn’s smile. Gus’s wagging tail.

Home.

The front door is barely open before a golden retriever-shaped cannonball hurtles at me, paws thumping against my chest, tongue going for my face.

“Down, you daft beast!” I try to sound stern, but my hands find the sweet spot behind his ears, and Gus’s whole body wiggles with delight.

“Da!” Finn barrels in right after the dog, grinning so wide I can see every one of his gappy teeth. “You’re home! Can we build the fort now? You promised?—”

“Whoa there, laddie.” I slide Gus off me and ruffle my son’s hair, dark brown like mine but with none of the grey creeping in at the temples. “Let me get through the door first, eh?”

My neighbour, Flora, comes into the hallway at her usual steady pace, a far cry from Gus and Finn’s stampede. “The rain’s fairly lashing down out there, Lachlan. You must’ve had a rough crossing.”

“Aye, it was a bit lively, but we got in safe, that’s what matters. Thanks so much for picking Finn up from after-school club. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Oh, hush.” She smiles warmly, eyes crinkling. “I’m always happy to help, and it’s good practice for when I’ve got Finn over the summer. He’s eaten. We made a shepherd’s pie, and there’s plenty left over for you.”

On cue my mouth waters. Long day, empty stomach.

“I helped mash the potatoes!” Finn chips in.

“Aye? Well done, mate.” I hold my hand out for a high-five, and he slaps it with all his might. “You really are the best neighbour,” I tell Flora. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She shrugs into her coat, but there’s something careful in the way she moves, protective almost, as if one arm is giving her bother.

“You all right there?” I ask.

“Fine, fine. Just a bit tired.”

“Flora fell over Gus earlier,” Finn blurts out. “He got all excited and knocked her right over.”

“ Gus! ” At my tone the dog ducks his head, ears drooping. “What did you do?” He slinks off, tail between his legs. “I’m so sorry, Flora. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No harm done. I’m tougher than I look.”

“It’s her wrist, Da,” Finn offers. “She’s been rubbing at it.”

“Och! Will you two stop fretting? I’m sure it’s nothing. It’ll be fine come the morning.”

“Nope, you’re going to get that checked out,” I say. “I’ll drive you to Raigmore.”

“You’ll do no such thing! You’re only just back. Go eat your dinner and spend some time with your boy. It’s an hour and twenty minutes to the hospital on a good day, and in weather like this? No, thank you. I’m staying put at home.”

“At least let me?—”

“I’m fine, Lachlan.” She squeezes Finn’s shoulder with her good hand. “Good night, love.” And with that, she slips out into the rain before I can argue any further.

Finn stands frowning after her, lower lip stuck out in worry. “Is Flora really okay? Or was she just saying that?”

“Between you and me, lad, that woman is as stubborn as a Highland coo, and she likes to think she’s as hardy as one too.

We’ll give her a wee visit tomorrow and see how she’s doing then, but for now, tell me more about this shepherd’s pie.

I hear the potatoes were mashed by a master chef. A very ticklish master chef.”

My hands shoot out, and Finn squeals, dodging away from me. “It’s through here. C’mon!” He leads the charge through to the kitchen, Gus hot on his heels. He opens the fridge and pulls out a dish with both hands like he’s unveiling buried treasure. “See, Da? Loads left.”

One sniff of the food and Gus transforms into the picture of canine innocence. Suddenly he’s sitting perfectly with big soulful eyes, his tail giving the tiniest hopeful swish.

I snort. “You honestly think you’re getting some of this after knocking Flora off her feet? You’re a chancer. Dream on, pal.”

I step back from our architectural disaster and try to find something positive to say.

“It’s . . .”

“Amazing!” Finn bounces on his knees inside the lopsided structure, torch beam dancing across the blanket ceiling. “It’s like a proper castle. Look, this bit’s the throne room.”

Amazing? Not the word I’d have used. The chairs are doing their best to hold up the throws, but the whole thing lists to one side like it’s had a few too many whiskies. One corner has already given up entirely, the blanket drooping down to brush Finn’s head.

By the time I’d finished the washing-up, it was after eight, past Finn’s usual bedtime on a school night.

I tried suggesting we build the fort tomorrow instead, but his face crumpled in a way that punched a hole clean through my resolve.

He doesn’t ask for much, my boy. And after being late home again because of weather I admittedly couldn’t control, I reckoned the least I could do was keep one bloody promise.

“Right then, Your Majesty,” I say, grabbing his favourite book from the shelf, a Julia Donaldson tale about a hapless dragon. “Shall we have a story in your castle?”

I squeeze myself halfway into the fort—no small feat for someone my size—and Finn snuggles against my side and uses my arm as a pillow.

Gus pokes his nose through the blanket doorway, decides there’s not enough room for a golden retriever, and settles for lying guard outside with his chin on his paws.

Finn’s eyelids are already heavy, and he soon lets out a jaw-cracking yawn.

He tries to muffle it behind his hand, but it comes out anyway, all big and squeaky at the end.

I barely get halfway through Zog when his breathing evens out, the torch slipping from his fingers to cast wild shadows on the walls.

His mouth parts slightly, dark lashes resting against flushed cheeks.

Should move him to his bed. But I don’t. Not yet. For a while I stay here in our wonky castle, listening to him breathe, his little body warm beside me.

Finally, I ease my arm out from under him and lift him carefully. He stirs, mumbles something about dragons, but doesn’t wake. I tuck him into his bed, pull the duvet up to his chin, and press a kiss to his forehead.

“Night, wee man.”

I head downstairs to the garage and flick on the light. The makeshift gym stares back at me—weights neatly racked, bench positioned just so, everything in its place. Most nights, after Finn’s asleep, I work out here. I’d rather sweat out the day than sit on my arse watching telly.

Gus pads in behind me and settles on his old blanket in the corner. He knows the routine as well as I do. But tonight, exhaustion wins out over habit. “On second thoughts, pal, how about we make today a rest day, eh?”

Gus perks up, tail wagging like he’s just won the lottery, because he knows what happens now.

I head through to the kitchen, fish one of his dental sticks from the cupboard, and toss it to him.

He snatches it out of the air and pads off to enjoy it in his favourite corner.

I grab a cool beer from the fridge for myself and collapse into a chair at the kitchen table.

Checking my phone, I see there’s a message in the Dadventurers chat, a group chat between me and two other single dads in the town.

Struan

Lachlan, thought I saw your ferry surfing a wave earlier. Radical, Cap’n

Trust Struan to find the humour in a Force 8 gale.

Lachlan

My arse hasn’t unclenched yet. And I was late home, of course. Flora saved the day though

Douglas

That woman’s a saint

Huh, a quick reply from Douglas—that doesn’t happen often. Struan’s the clown, I’m the grump, and Douglas... Douglas is the poor bastard with the “terror twins”, as Struan and I call them behind his back. They’re not bad, just... a little rumbustious. It’s a miracle Douglas is upright.

Struan

More like a bloody angel. Don’t know why she puts up with you

Lachlan

Neither do I. And to thank her, my daft mutt bowled her clean off her feet

Struan

Classic Gus. She all right?

Lachlan

Says she is. Reckon she hurt her wrist though. Hopefully it’s nothing cause she’s supposed to be looking after Finn over the summer

A little retirement income for her, a lifeline for me.

Douglas

Ooft. If she’s out, that’s rough.

Struan

Aye. Easy fix, though. Just drop Finn off with Douglas’s parents. They’re already looking after two kids all summer. What’s a third?

Douglas

Not happening. Sorry, Lachlan

They might be able to do an odd day here and there, but not six weeks

I’m already asking too much of them. My folks love me, just not THAT much

Struan only has his daughter at weekends, so he never has to worry about childcare. Probably explains why he’s got more energy than me and Douglas combined.

Lachlan

No way I’d expect your folks to take Finn too. Anyway, hopefully I’m stressing over nothing and Flora is fine

Struan

On the bright side, Lachlan, your life could be worse

You could’ve made this pile of shite

He sends a link to a news article. I tap it and squint at the headline: “Coming soon, the new app guaranteed to give your child nightmares!”

I skim the first few lines. It’s about some AI storytelling thing that was supposed to let kids bring their imaginations to life. Apparently, though, the journalist testing it got it to tell a truly terrifying tale about monsters and gore.

Douglas

Jesus. Now we’ve got to worry about shit like this too? As if bedtime wasn’t traumatic enough already

Lachlan

What pillock thought this was a good idea?