Chapter 7 #2
“Oi, you all right?” Callum called, racing over to help me.
Weston was right behind him, jogging, his dark hair blown back in the breeze, his shirt clinging to him in a way his suits didn’t, and in my fall-induced confusion, all I could think of was my gorgeous Highland warriors. Why wasn’t he wearing a kilt?
I’d always known Weston was attractive, but I’d learned to compartmentalize over the years.
I’d grown used to seeing him in his tailored suits, and that version of him didn’t affect me, so long as he kept his jacket on and his arms covered.
But the outdoorsy Scot was something I had no defenses against. Something that had me struggling to compose myself.
Not that there was anything composed about me at the moment.
His lips curled in amusement. “If I’d known you wanted to get your hands dirty, I would have invited you on the tour of the estate,” he said, giving me a look that immediately sparked irritation.
A hot blush surged across my entire body, and I resolutely pushed any fantasies aside as Callum wrestled Satan’s tiny horse off me and helped me to my feet.
My head spun for a beat. When it stopped, I dusted myself off the best I could, but there was no point.
I needed a full-body hose down before I’d be fit for human company again.
Weston was shaking his head at me, trying to hold back laughter. “How did a little horse do all this?”
“That thing is freakishly strong!” I snapped, narrowing my eyes as he started to shake with silent laughter.
“Sorry about her,” Callum said, doing his best to hold onto the pony. “Bonnie thinks she’s a pet and likes to muck about in the gardens. I’m always chasing her off, but somehow she always finds a way in.”
“Maybe we need a bigger fence,” I muttered.
“Aye,” Callum said. “But we’ve yet to find one that can hold her. Our Bonnie’s an expert infiltrator.”
“Maybe we’ll just have to put the fence around you,” Weston said to me.
“Not funny,” I grumbled.
“I’ll get her back outside the fence,” Callum said, trudging off with the pony in tow.
“Well, you look like you’ve had about as good of a day as I have,” Weston said.
“That thing is going to haunt my nightmares,” I agreed, looking back at him.
Now that I wasn’t trying to defend myself from a deranged, hair-eating pony, I took him in and had to agree he looked a little rough.
But not pony-attack rough. Just muddy and deliciously sweat soaked.
Weston in boots and hiking gear was an incredible look, and that Highland fantasy reared to life again.
Damn my weakness for rugged Scots! Hearts of the Highlands had ruined me!
“Rough time clearing the trail?” I asked, still feeling flushed as his eyes roamed over me. I attempted to wipe more mud from my cheek, my fingers coming away coated in pony-drool. Yuck.
“Callum and I still aren’t exactly hitting it off,” he admitted.
I wiped my hand on my shirt. “I thought I told you to be nice?”
He scoffed. “This has nothing to do with me being nice.”
“What in the high heavens have you two been up to?” Agnes cried before I could respond. She marched into the gardens, hands on her hips. “You’re filthy!”
“Bonnie,” Weston and I said in tandem.
Agnes tutted. “That pony thinks she’s a dog.” She waved us inside. “Let’s go. Inside to get cleaned up before tea.”
Weston shook his head. “I’m not very hun—”
“Inside!” Agnes insisted, hearing none of it as she shoved us both toward the stairs. “Try not to track mud all over my clean floors.”
“What are you grinning about?” Weston asked as we started up the staircase.
“Nothing,” I mused. “I’m just glad I’m not the one that has to harp on you to eat for once.”
He rolled his eyes, carrying on down the hall to his room while I marched straight into the bathroom next to mine.
I stripped out of my clothing while I waited for the water to get hot, then climbed in and scrubbed what felt like an inch of dirt and pony slobber from my skin and hair.
When I was pinker than a sunset, I stepped out—only then realizing I hadn’t thought to bring in a change of clothes.
I was so used to living alone, it hadn’t even crossed my mind.
I tucked the towel around me tightly, then slipped out the door, tiptoeing as quickly as I could to my room. But before I reached it, Weston walked around the corner, fixing the sleeve of his button-down shirt.
My breath hitched as my grip on the towel tightened. Fuck.
His eyes skittered up, widening slightly, but instead of the amusement I’d read on his face when we’d been in the yard, his gaze held something else now. Something intense.
Heat surged through me as our eyes connected, prickling at the back of my neck. “Sorry, forgot my clothes. I’m not used to having to worry about that, living alone.”
“Evidently.” His eyebrow arched. “I know it’s a big house, but other people do live here.”
That earlier irritation flared to life. “Excuse me for thinking when you said make yourself at home, you meant that.”
“Forgive me for expecting a certain amount of decorum from my assistant,” he said dryly.
“Well, in case you forgot, I’m your wife now!” I snapped sharply, surging straight past him for my room.