10
10
Juniper
One-star review – Don’t waste your time
My first visit to Scotland and to be frank, I don’t understand the appeal.
Such a long drive for atrocious weather, big hills and sheep.
And don’t get me started on the accent.
The inn was nice, I suppose, and the bed was comfortable, but I couldn’t eat the breakfast. Perhaps they should start serving pancakes instead of haggis.
I was in a staring contest with my cat.
The third one this week.
Music hummed softly from my sound system and, in her spot across the room, Shakespeare’s eyes drew into thin slits.
Her tail whipping like a thresher shark’s, right before it stunned its prey.
Refusing to blink first, I widened my own eyes, leaning forward until my chair groaned.
“Flick that tail all you want.” I had a fresh scratch across my chest, courtesy of the little monster who’d used me as a pin cushion in the middle of the night.
“Today’s victory is mine.”
“So this is where the magic happens.”
“Fuck—” My elbow slid out, sending the spoon from my empty bowl clattering across the counter.
“You scared the shit out of me, Macabe.”
Shakespeare hissed, leaping to her favourite hiding spot atop the fridge.
The very same spot she’d taken refuge last week when I’d attempted to administer her flea ointment.
The ordeal resulted in a shattered vase, a hole in my favourite blanket and a five-inch battle scar down the length of my forearm.
Reclining in my doorway, Macabe gave me an oh so casual two-fingered salute, eyes bouncing around my tiny home.
“I expected more, I’ll be honest. Not a salt circle in sight.”
“Don’t you knock?”
He flashed his signature just decapitated the neighbours’ gnome collection schoolboy grin.
“I did. Three times.”
“And when I didn’t answer you decided to let yourself in?”
“Figured you could have been hurt.”
“And if I’d been in the shower?” I shot back, my chair screeching as I stood to deposit my bowl in the sink, right beside yesterday’s.
“Even better.”
“Do you take anything seriously?”
He stared at me for a beat.
“When the mood strikes.”
I threw him a glare, opening my mouth to say …
I don’t know, something rude and witty hopefully.
But I finally noted the thick coat and grey knitted hat he sported.
He looked – Macabe rules , I reminded myself before I could travel any further down that road.
“Sorry.” I shook my head.
“You’re going out of your way to help me, I’ll try my best to curb the insults. It’s second nature when it comes to you.”
“No, please go on.” He rolled his hand for me to continue.
“I love hearing how much you hate me first thing in the morning. Really kicks my day into high gear.”
“It’s not as though you like me.”
He only tilted his head, those depthless eyes tracking my features until I squirmed.
“Are you here for something?”
“Surely you haven’t forgotten our first date?” he said, brows pulling in.
I followed his stare to my bare feet.
My black-painted toenails were a little chipped and I curled my toes in self-consciously.
“Already? But you haven’t made a start on the bathroom yet.” And I needed a chance to set some new rules if I was going to spend time with him.
The Macabe brother rule book wouldn’t see me through this, I’d violated every single one in the last thirty seconds.
Callum unsnapped the first button of his coat, working the zip down an inch.
“Consider this a deposit. I’ve already checked in with Ada, you don’t work until noon, and I’ll be back tonight to get started on the suite. Unless you think your guests will enjoy waking up to the sound of hammering.”
I crossed my arms. “You might make an excellent point.”
He grinned that Ken doll smile, flashing his dimples.
But beneath the charm, his beard looked a little too long and dark smudges bloomed beneath his eyes.
“That’s been known to happen a time or two.” He clapped his hands.
“Let’s go. Dress warm.”
I gave him my own brand of salute and strode past, noting the clothes horse beside the radiator, covered in every piece of underwear I owned, which he would have had to walk past to get to my kitchen.
The books and game controllers spread out across the coffee table.
I winced. I wasn’t usually this untidy.
Heat rising in my cheeks, I scooped up the pile of washing from the end of the sofa and deposited it inside the walk-in closet, leaving Callum to amuse himself while I brushed my teeth.
“Hey, harpy …” he called a minute later.
“Yeah?”
“Not to alarm you, but there’s a very angry cat sitting on top of your fridge.”
I popped my head out.
“Oh … yeah, that’s Shakespeare. I wouldn’t touch her if you want to keep all of your fingers … or y’know, do.” I smiled around my toothbrush.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s possessed by a demon, Father Robertson is performing an exorcism in the morning.” I left to spit, returning to the main room in time to watch him draw closer to her.
“What scares me, harpy, is that I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“It’s more fun that way, wouldn’t you say?”
He snorted.
“Does she need anything?”
I eyed her hunched form on top of the fridge and said, “A lobotomy perhaps.”
“As warm and comforting as always,” he muttered, holding out a hand to her.
I bit my lip, stifling my warning as he paused a short distance away, offering up his scent without startling her.
Shakespeare took the bait, or maybe he did, because she slunk forward a step, sniffing his hand then pressing her furry cheek into it.
“Hey, beautiful.” He stroked her softly.
“There’s a good girl.” When she licked his finger, he threw me a triumphant grin over his shoulder.
“See, she’s a little prickly but all she needs is a tender – ah, fuck! ”
Callum snapped his hand back, a single drop of blood beading on his index finger.
Shakespeare hissed, showing all of her gleaming teeth.
And I laughed, I couldn’t help it.
The stunned expression on his pretty face almost too pure for this world.
“She’s a wicked little thing,” he noted with dry amusement, running the cut under the tap.
“That’s her MO, draw you in before she goes for the kill.”
“Like someone else I know.” He crossed to me, eyes roving over me again.
I didn’t understand what he was searching for until he hissed, “ Fuck , Juniper.” Spotting a particularly bad scratch on my inner arm, he extended a hand, as though to run a finger along the tender surface.
Then dropped it limply to his side at the last moment.
“Why would you bring home a vicious cat?”
“You can blame Kelly for that.”
“Kelly? My nurse, Kelly?”
I nodded.
“I occasionally foster cats from the shelter she volunteers at, just a night here or there, until she offered me a ‘really sweet girl’ struggling to find a permanent home. She played me.”
He laughed with surprise.
“Fuck, I didn’t know Kelly had it in her. Wait … how did I not know about this?”
I froze, thinking through my options before admitting, “We use a … different vet.”
His eyes flashed and he barked, “Who? Don’t tell me it’s Dennis Foster?” I curled my lips, saying nothing.
“Please tell me you’re joking. Foster’s barely qualified, the kid got his degree from the University of Aberdeen for crying out loud.”
“He handles Shakespeare well enough.” Not exactly true.
She’d made him cry the first time he checked her teeth.
“Bullshit. Next time bring her to me.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Are you done being high-handed? It’s extremely boring.”
“If you promise to let me examine her.”
Jesus, I almost missed Community Ken.
“I promise to think about it. Good enough?”
“Not even close.”
Screw these Macabe men.
Squaring my shoulders, I turned for the bathroom.
“Why did you keep her? If she’s such a menace?”
I paused with my back to him.
“Kelly blackmailed me, said no other family would take her.”
“Careful, I might mistake you for a softie, harpy.”
“That would be your mistake, Macabe .”
“You’re a real fucking snoop, you know that?” Fully dressed in a thick cardigan and jeans, I found Callum dragging a finger over my alphabetised game collection.
He paused, pulling the Silent Hill box from the shelf and eyeing it with interest. “Can you blame me? This feels like getting a peek behind the curtain.”
My brows flew up, about to ask what the hell that meant, when Callum’s attention slid from the game to the sideboard.
The ring box I usually kept hidden in my junk drawer sat open, the diamond glinting in the fresh band of sunlight filtering through the window.
Everything with Callum had left me feeling …
muddled and I’d pulled it out last night to torture myself.
I must have forgotten to put it away.
The floor tilted. My steps slow and choppy as I rushed to snap the lid shut.
I knew it was too late.
The pinch of his lips told me he’d already seen the contents.
Neither of us spoke for a long moment.
The seconds passing almost audibly when I refused to look at him.
Then he was at my side, his large hand covering mine, skin surprisingly rough as he slipped the box from my fingers and brushed a thumb over the closed lid.
“Why do you still have it?”
“To remember—” The words rose up my throat, tangling at the tip of my tongue.
“Someone can swear you’re the love of their life a thousand times, that doesn’t make it true.”
He set it back on the sideboard carefully.
“Did he cheat on you?”
The question surprised me.
Had he and Alistair never spoken about this?
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters.”
No, he hadn’t cheated.
Sometimes I wished he had so I could look back and pinpoint the moment it all went wrong.
A reason to rage and scream.
A reason to burn his pictures and cut up his clothes.
When a person abandons you for the simple reason of not loving you enough, everything becomes very …
quiet. A small wound that lingers, festering beneath the surface.
“Will it make you feel better for nearly fucking me?” I don’t know why I said it.
To make him feel as shitty as I felt, I supposed.
“ Fuck , Juniper, that’s not why I’m—”
But I was done.
Done with his prying.
Done with how pathetic these memories made me feel.
“Can we go now? I want to get this over with.” I fled for the door without waiting for an answer.
“Hold your hand out, let her come to you,” Callum urged from beside me, one arm slung casually over the fence post as though we weren’t staring down a two-thousand-pound monster.
“You can’t expect me to touch that thing?”
Callum shifted the giant bag of barley at his feet, and I swear it licked its lips.
Oh, fuck no.
I folded my arms, stepping away.
After a lengthy and gruelling hike through a dense forest, my boots squelched so deeply into the mud on the steep hilltop, it soaked through to my socks.
“You’re insane for thinking I’d ever agree to this.”
Early October cloaked the sky like a shroud in proud purples and blues, the icy wind tossing the strands of our hair poking from beneath woolly hats with rough fingers.
Beads of moisture clung to Callum’s eyelashes like tiny distracting pearls.
I didn’t want to know what I looked like.
It had been a short tension-filled drive – for me, at least: Callum had steered his oversized truck with admirable ease.
Thrumming his fingers on the wheel in time to an old rock song as he sped around sharp bends that usually left me wincing.
I’d started to scramble from the car before he could do something ridiculous, like open my door for me, when he flipped open the centre compartment, slipped a black woollen beanie onto my head and said, “You need a hat.” I’d been about to tear the thing straight off, drawing the line at wearing his sweaty old car beanie.
Then I noticed the store tag he shoved into his pocket.
He’d bought me a hat.
Ten minutes later I was still trying to figure out the punchline.
“Perhaps my nickname was misplaced, harpy. I thought you were made of sterner stuff.”
“I’m a coward for not wanting to catch rabies? You can’t bait me into agreeing.”
He rolled his eyes.
An entirely new gesture on the oldest Macabe.
“You can’t catch rabies from a cow.”
I threw a hand to where it waited on the other side of the fence.
“Look at the crazed glint in its eye. It’s sizing me up.” It had horns .
I couldn’t be the only person to notice that particular detail.
“Because she’s hungry and you’re taking too long.”
“Then you do it.” We could have done anything on this damn island.
Anything . Shell picking on the beach, wild swimming, the options were numerous, and he’d chosen this?
“I have. Dozens of times.” His bare hands came to rest atop his chest. “Why would we drive all the way out here so I, a vet, could feed a cow?”
“Why would we drive all the way out here so anyone could feed a cow?”
“Because you can’t live on Skye and never hand-feed a cow, it’s like a rite of passage.” He tore the bag of grain open with his bear paw hands and kernels flew like tiny missiles.
The beast crept closer.
I jerked, boots sinking further into the mud.
“I’ve made it this far.”
He sighed and for the first time he sounded a tiny bit exasperated.
“If you really don’t want to do it, we’ll leave.” I didn’t think he was trying to make me feel guilty, but it slithered through me all the same.
I glanced at the cow again.
Its russet hair ruffled in the wind, making it shine like burned gold.
I could admit – from a distance – it held a certain …
charm .
“Fucking fine.” I rolled the sleeves of my coat up, goosebumps pebbling as my entire forearm was exposed.
“If this is your go-to move to impress a woman, try harder next time.”
“Again, so curious about my dating life. If you want to know, all you need to do is ask.”
I scoffed and held out my cupped hand.
“Can we just get this over with? You promised I’d have fun; all I’m feeling right now is cold and dissatisfied.”
“Is this the wrong time for a ‘ that’s what she said ’?”
Was there a wrong time for a well-placed that’s what she said ?
But I could never give him the satisfaction of confirming he was occasionally funny, so I schooled my features into boredom.
“I’d forgotten I had the honour of spending time with Scotland’s most promising comedian.”
“That’s your mistake, harpy.” He echoed my earlier words, eyes dancing.
I stuck my tongue out.
“Are we doing this?”
He answered with a wink and tipped a heap of grain into my palm.
“We’ll start small and see how you go.” Despite the chill, my palm was clammy, the grain sticking to it.
“Just hold your arm over the fence and she’ll come to you.”
“Are we allowed to be here?”
“I play shinty with the farmer.” Of course he did.
Social and sporty? Perhaps I should elevate him to Superstar Ken.
“And I helped him deliver a calf last spring.”
“I thought you only worked with domestic animals?”
“It was an emergency. I was the closest.” He shrugged like it was nothing while I was still backtracking to the image of this man with a baby cow in his arms. Shirtless of course.
“Is there anyone you don’t know?”
He thought about it, gracious enough not to point out that I was stalling.
“Nope.” He shrugged.
“People like me.” It wasn’t a dig and yet something sharp scoured my throat.
Unlike me, Callum had one of those personalities that people easily gravitated to.
“Let’s go.”
Resigned to my fate, I swallowed and edged closer to the fence.
“Okay, here I go. I’m doing it,” I said more to myself than Callum.
“I’m approaching the cow.”
“Yes, you are.” He sounded amused.
“Don’t forget to breathe.”
“Easy for you to say, Mr Animal Whisperer.” I hooked my trembling arm over the beam and grain spilled into the wet grass.
“Like this?”
“Harpy, it’s a cow, not a grenade. Hold it steady … yep, like that.” A finger pressed lightly beneath my elbow, nudging it higher.
“Perfect. Flatten your palm a little, it will make it easier for her to take it.”
I complied, looking the cow right in the eyes as she leant in to sniff the offered food …
but came no closer. After a minute, I deflated.
“Am I doing it wrong?”
“No. She’s just sussing you out. Deciding if she likes you.”
Remembering the fresh cut Shakespeare had left on my knuckles only this morning, the sharpness in my throat expanded.
My hand trembled.
Take it.
Take it.
Please – I urged the stubborn animal – don’t embarrass me like this.
Still, she came no closer, and my hand fell completely, rejection and embarrassment scorching like fire down my chest. I’d failed.
Even at this I’d failed.
What was it about me that made me so easy to dismiss?
Before I could crumble completely, heat enveloped me.
Callum. His wide chest flush to my back.
Steady breath at my ear.
Salt and soap and Skye filling my nose.
He smelled like the mountain thyme candles we burned at the inn.
Earthy and a little wild.
“Don’t give up.” His hand cupped my wrist, rough fingers folding all the way around my bare arm as he lifted and held it steady.
“Sometimes you need a little persistence to make something spectacular happen.”
His other arm curled around me, fingers grasping the fence panel.
My chest met the wood, his every breath pressing me deeper as we waited.
I don’t think I breathed at all.
“ Come on ,” I thought I heard him murmur.
It could have simply been a whisper on the wind because I was no longer paying attention.
Not when the cow finally lumbered closer and seized the offering.
Her hot nose brushed my wrist. Tongue, as rough as sandpaper, lapping up every single grain.
“I did it.” The words punched out of me.
Giddy. I was utterly giddy.
“Did you see that?”
The cradle of his arms tightened.
“Damn right, I did.”
I shook out my hand, saliva dripping in globs.
“That was disgusting.”
“Want to do it again?”
I grinned despite myself.
“Absolutely.”
His laugh rumbled through me, and he stepped back to retrieve the sack.
“Both hands this time.”
I cupped them both eagerly, a childlike lightness I’d rarely felt as an actual child brightening my insides.
“Just as before?” I eagerly hooked my arms over the fence, and he followed.
Both of his hands gripping the wood this time.
His chest to my back.
Hips cradling mine in a near perfect curve.
“Just as before,” he said and I felt the words like a caress down the collar of my coat.
There was no reason for him to be this close, and yet I couldn’t summon a single word of complaint as the cow dove in again.
“There … you got it.” His tone filled with pride.
I was laughing. No, giggling .
Unable to recall the last time that sound had passed my lips.
“Still hate me, sweetheart?” The words were a whisper on the shell of my ear.
Sweetheart. That was new.
I swallowed. “Undoubtedly.”
“ Good . Just making sure.”
I didn’t even have time to consider what that meant when another russet head appeared.
The second cow was bigger, easily brushing the first aside to get at my hands.
“Woah, not so fast,” I chided, when another blustered its way through, mouth open so wide I could smell its breath.
Count its teeth. Callum unfurled from me, reaching forward to stay the newcomers at the exact moment I recoiled.
Too entrenched in the mud, my feet refused to follow, suctioning me to the wet earth.
My arms flailed as the fence tipped.
No, I was tipping, falling, hands searching for purchase.
Callum shouted my name.
His fingers grazed my sleeve.
But not quick enough.
Cold. That was the first sensation to return.
Cold, wet mud. It seeped through my leggings.
Coated my hands where I’d braced myself.
And the—
“Fuck, Juniper. You okay?” Callum was bending over me, reaching to lift me to my feet.
But halted, expression grim.
“Is that—”
“ No .” I immediately cut him off.
“No, no, no …”
His entire face changed.
It was like witnessing a domino effect as his grin rippled into his eyes.
“It is —”
I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking him out.
“Don’t say it. Don’t you fucking dare.”
“I have to. It’s like pulling off a plaster … Ready?”
I shook my head.
Frantic. If he didn’t say it, it hadn’t happened.
“Juniper … sweetheart .” I heard him take a breath, as though steeling the both of us.
“You fell in shit.”
His words were the breaking of a dam.
The smell rushed in, so potent I gagged, bringing my hands up to cover my mouth.
“No.” He caught my wrists.
“Don’t touch your face, just in case.”
I gagged again at the thought, glad I’d had so little for breakfast, or I’d be wearing that too.
I cracked my eyes, finally taking in the state of myself.
Every inch was coated or splattered.
My feet were still stuck in their little mud hole, my hands streaked with wet muck, crusting beneath my nails.
It even dripped from my hair.
“I … I don’t know what to do.” I was about to bloody cry.
I could feel the tears rising inside me like a tidal wave.
“Just … try and hold still for now.” His full lips wobbled.
“I’ve got a blanket in the bag.”
He was back in a flash, the thick tartan tossed over his shoulder.
His unchecked grin leading the way as he bounded back up the hill.
Bracketing his feet on either side of mine, he reached underneath both of my arms. Our cheeks brushed and I felt the imprint of his smile, joining with the quiet rumble in his chest.
“Want to try and rein your enjoyment in just a little, Macabe? Keep grinning like that and you’ll get wrinkles.”
That seemed to push him over the edge and the laugh tore free, shaking his entire body.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to. You practically floated back up the hill.” He snickered again and I groaned.
“Can we just pretend this never happened?”
“Oh, no. I’m going to be feeding on this memory for years, stinkerbell, might as well get used to it now.” And then before I could even register the new nickname, I was lifted.
Leaving nothing but a sickening squelch and my dignity behind.
As soon as I was steady, I pushed him away.
Satisfied with the dirty handprint I left on his sweatshirt.
“I hope you’re happy with yourself?”
That grin of his refused to slip and he brushed away a single happy tear from the corner of his eye.
“You think I lured you out here so you could trip over your own feet and land in cow shit? That’s a little far-fetched, even for me.”
“I wouldn’t have been out here in the first place if it wasn’t for you.” I gestured down to myself.
“Now look at me.”
Unaffected by my goading, he looked me over, from the slightly askew beanie to the mud pies that had replaced my feet, and his nostrils flared.
Probably from the smell.
“You look fucking beautiful, Juniper, you always do.”
“Am I supposed to believe that’s a compliment?”
“Believe what you like.” He chuckled ruefully, barely even wincing as he swaddled me in the plaid and hefted me into his arms. I shrieked; arms too tangled to cling on.
“You never trust pretty words, especially if they come from me.” I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.
“Let’s get you home and showered. You’re looking a little pooped .”