Chapter 2
Saoirse
I kicked off my heels the moment I crossed the threshold of my cottage, sighing as my bare feet met the cool wooden floor.
Ciara and Alex’s wedding had been beautiful, and I’d loved getting to see them take this next step, but five hours in those torture devices was my absolute limit. Give me wellies or other boots any day.
I dropped my clutch on the side table. “Home sweet home.”
A clatter from the kitchen announced Isla’s presence before she appeared in the doorway, curly dark brown hair piled messily atop her head, wearing my oldest flannel pajama bottoms and a faded university t-shirt.
It reminded me so much of our uni days, I almost ached.
Between my veterinary practice and her field research on rewilding efforts in the Scottish Highlands, our careers kept us both busy, so these visits were few and far between, and incredibly cherished.
“Look who finally escaped!” She grinned at me and brandished a steaming mug. “Want a cuppa?”
“I’d love one. Put the kettle on while I go change?”
“On it!”
I strode down the hall to my bedroom, where I found Pippin, my polydactyl ginger cat, curled up in his favorite spot amid the mound of colorful pillows.
“Hello, my handsome boy,” I cooed, sitting on the edge of the bed. Pippin raised his head, yawned widely, and then stretched his three legs before hopping up to bump his head against my hand. “Did you miss me? Or were you too busy being spoiled by Auntie Isla?”
He purred in response, the rumble vibrating against my palm as I scratched under his chin. I’d found him as a kitten four years ago, his back leg mangled beyond repair after being caught in some kind of trap. The surgery to amputate had been one of my first procedures after finishing vet school.
“You’re not even going to ask how the wedding was, are you?” I shook my head, unclasping my necklace. “Typical man.”
Pippin blinked his golden eyes lazily and settled back into the pillows.
I untied the bow at the base of my spine, loosening the multitude of laces criss-crossing my back enough to shimmy out of the fancy gown, careful not to snag the delicate fabric.
It really was beautiful, and I so seldom had reason to dress up, but I was beyond ready to be out of it.
I hung it carefully in my wardrobe before digging through my dresser for my second-oldest pajama bottoms—soft blue flannel with little sheep printed on them—since Isla had already claimed my favorite pair.
The tank top I pulled on was well-worn and comfortable. Perfect loungewear.
I twisted my hair up into a messy bun and wiped off my makeup with a cleansing cloth, watching my “done up” self disappear in the mirror.
There was something unsettling about seeing that reflection—the polished, proper woman who looked so much like my mother’s daughter.
Like a ghost of the girl they raised, still trying to crawl her way out through my skin.
The girl my grandmother still hoped I’d become, hosting garden parties in Chelsea rather than mucking out stalls in the Scottish countryside.
Pippin bumped against my ankle, begging for cuddles and the inevitable treats that went along with them when I’d been gone for a while.
Scooping my boy into my arms like a big ginger baby, I scratched at his belly and carried him into the kitchen, where Isla was popping the top on my insulated tea mug—both because distracted vet was often distracted, and also because Pippin liked to be a stereotypical feline arsehole and knock open beverage containers off tables and counters.
We relocated into the lounge and curled up on opposite ends of the sofa.
Isla set my mug within arm’s reach. “So, how was the wedding? Did you dazzle them all with your posh accent and killer dress?”
“The dress worked its magic. The accent, as always, marked me as an outsider.” No one would know I had half-Scottish roots by hearing me open my mouth.
My English mother had done her best to see to that.
I took a long sip of tea, savoring the warmth as it slid down my throat.
“The wedding was lovely. Absolutely perfect. The castle looked like something out of a fairy tale with all those tiny lights strung everywhere. And Ciara was stunning. That dress was made for her.”
“And Alex? Was he a proper mess watching her walk down the aisle?”
“Complete disaster. Tears everywhere. It was adorable.” I laughed, tucking my feet under me. “They’re so in love it’s almost nauseating.” And if I let myself think too long about how much I wanted something like that—how far away it felt—I’d drown in it.
Isla raised an eyebrow, her expression knowing. “Do I detect a little pinch of envy?”
I sighed, absently stroking Pippin’s fur.
“Maybe a little. The single gig is getting a bit old.” There.
I said it out loud. And maybe that was the first real thing I’d said in weeks.
I hadn’t meant to admit it, but if I couldn’t be honest with my oldest, dearest friend, that would be a sorry state, indeed.
“Not that I have time for anyone. Not even an uncomplicated shag.”
Isla snorted into her tea. “Lass, when was the last time you got laid? Six months ago? A year?”
I grimaced. “Fourteen months, if you must know.” God, when had that happened? How had time slipped by so fast without anyone to share the days with? “And if there’s one thing I’ve learned since moving to Glenlaig, it’s that there’s no such thing as an uncomplicated shag in a village this size.”
“Ah, the small-town curse. Sleep with someone and suddenly everyone knows your business.”
“Exactly.” I nodded emphatically. “And then you run into them at the post office, and the bakery, and the pub… and before you know it, Mrs. MacDougal is asking when the wedding is while you’re trying to vaccinate her terrier.”
That dragged out another snort laugh. God, I missed that sound.
Isla managed to sober slightly. “Okay, but there has to be someone. What about that flirty mechanic?”
“Toby Byrne? His mum runs the bakery. I’m not doing a bloody thing to imperil my supply of pastries.”
“Okay.” She considered. “Oh, how about Fergus Hughes? I know how you like a man in a tool belt.”
“Darling, you need to get your eyes checked. When we ran into him at the pub last time, it was you he was giving the eye.”
Isla brightened. “Was he really?”
“He was.”
“Something to remember on my next break from the field. What about Lachlan Reid?”
“The only thing I want with the likes of Lachlan Reid is an advanced reader’s copy of his latest tartan noir thriller. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s got something going with Zo Bassey.”
Isla arched a brow, interest piqued. “Really?”
“That’s the rumor, anyway. There was something about him testing out an escape from handcuffs and getting stuck, and the only number he could manage to hit on his mobile was the pub. Zo was the one who came to his rescue, and they’ve been spending a fair amount of time together ever since.”
Isla waggled her eyebrows. “Handcuffs give an entirely different vibe to his thrillers.”
It was my turn to snort into my tea.
Isla finished her tea and set the mug on the coffee table. “What about Alex’s other business partner? The not grumpy one.”
“Finley Patterson?” My voice came out sharper than intended, and I immediately busied myself with scratching behind Pippin’s ears. My sweet boy began to rumble under my hand.
“That’s the one.” She leaned forward, suddenly interested. “The one who’s always out in the wilds on the overnight expeditions?”
I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. Neutral was safe. Neutral didn’t invite questions I wasn’t ready to answer. “What about him?”
“I don’t know. He’s fit, isn’t he? I’ve seen pictures of the Out of Bounds crew on their website.”
“I suppose some might think so,” I muttered, feeling heat creep up my neck. Because apparently my hormones had no interest in aligning with my standards.
Isla’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, there’s a story here. Spill it.”
“There’s nothing to spill.”
“Saoirse MacGregor, I’ve known you since our first day at uni. I can tell when you’re hiding something.”
I sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let this go. “Fine. He asked me to dance at the wedding.”
Isla’s eyes widened. “And? How was it?”
It had been horrible. A man like him had no right to have that much sex appeal.
He’d looked so damned good in his kilt as a groomsman, and now I couldn’t unknow how those muscles felt beneath my palms. And, damn it, he could actually lead.
That was such a rarity these days. I was attracted.
To him, of all people. And I hated that I couldn’t fully control my reaction.
“I walked away from him as soon as the song ended.”
She looked genuinely confused. “Why?”
“Because he’s just… a lot. Always trying to be charming and funny.”
“The horror,” Isla deadpanned.
“I’m serious.”
“Exactly why you could use some charm and funny in your life.” She pointed at me with her poppy red painted toes. “You spend all your days being responsible and taking care of everyone else. A bit of lightness wouldn’t kill you.”
I frowned. “You know I don’t trust that kind of thing. And I could never be with someone who doesn’t like animals.”
That made her pause. “He doesn’t like animals?”
“Not long after I moved here, there was this abandoned kitten situation. He refused all responsibility, point blank.” I stroked Pippin’s fur, remembering how Alex had been the one to take Saffron.
He’d carried the little thing around in his pockets until she’d outgrown it.
“Anyone who rejects a helpless animal like that…”
Even as I said it, unbidden memories surfaced—Finley giving Parker’s service dog, Falkor, a good scruff around the ears.
How he played tug with Ciara’s maniac Aussie shepherd, Maeve.
The way he wrestled with Ewan’s massive dog, Havoc.
Maybe it wasn’t animals in general. Maybe it was specifically cats?
Or maybe it was responsibility he was avoiding?
The trouble was, that last one hit a little too close to home. Because what if it wasn’t indifference, but fear? And how the hell was I supposed to handle that?
Isla echoed my own thoughts. “So he’s not a cat person. That’s hardly a crime.”
In my lap, Pippin yowled.
“His majesty disagrees.” I scratched under his chin. “It doesn’t matter. Finley Patterson is not for me. He’s all surface charm and jokes. I need substance.” The kind of man who shows up. Who stays. Who doesn’t make everything a joke because feeling things is hard.
The kind of man I’d stopped believing existed.
Isla studied me for a long moment. “You know, for someone you claim to dislike, you’ve put an awful lot of thought into analyzing him.”
“I have not.”
“Have too. Your face goes all pinched when you talk about him.” She mimicked my expression, scrunching her features with great exaggeration. “Like you’re trying very hard to convince yourself.”
I laughed, too loud, too fast. Because if I didn’t, I might actually start to believe her. Then I tossed a pillow at her head. “You’re ridiculous.” But something fluttered uncomfortably in my chest. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me how the rewilding project is going.”
Her entire face lit up. “Saoirse, it’s incredible!
We’ve documented seventeen new species just this month.
The pine marten population is thriving, and there’s evidence the red squirrels are expanding their territory.
” She gestured wildly with her mug. “I’m setting up motion-sensor cameras tomorrow to try to capture the beaver activity near the eastern loch.
The ecosystem is regenerating faster than our models predicted! ”
“That’s amazing.” I knew seeing the Scottish wilds returned to their natural state was truly her passion project.
That she’d been able to get in on the ground floor of a study utilizing huge, remote swaths of the estate at Ardinmuir—where Alex and Ciara had gotten married—had been a point of great pride and excitement.
I drank my tea and listened as she chattered on about the details I didn’t entirely follow. But it didn’t matter. It was simply good to be here with her. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this content.
“It’s getting late,” Isla announced. “We should probably head to bed.”
Realizing I was halfway to dozing already, I couldn’t disagree. “You are not wrong.” I shifted, dislodging Pippin, and stretched.
Isla scooped up our mugs. “I really appreciate you letting me use your place as a base of operations to reset and do laundry. You have no idea how glorious that shower felt after three weeks of field stations and wet wipes.”
“Please, mi casa es su casa. Always. I just wish you could stay longer.”
“I should be able to stay at least a few days when I come back from this next excursion. Meanwhile, you’ll be getting my check-in texts on the daily.”
“I look forward to them.” I pulled her in for a hug. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She gave me a squeeze. “Bit like old times, aye?”
“The best of times.”