Chapter 31
FINN
Shoplifting
(Or How Finn and Mary Finally Discover Ragnar’s Secret)
I just stand there staring at her, my heart pounding way too hard for someone who’s supposed to be a healthcare professional capable of staying calm under pressure.
Breathe, Finn. It’s just Mary.
Except it isn’t just Mary.
It’s Mary who’s probably leaving.
Mary who’s about to disappear from my life for good.
She’s standing there in a flawless gray suit, her hair perfectly styled, wearing heels.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her in heels.
And God, she looks incredible.
“Hey, Mary. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
My voice comes out colder than I intended.
Defense mechanism.
She gives me a small bitter smile.
“Without the sheep, I wouldn’t be here.”
She gestures vaguely behind her.
I glance over her shoulder.
Nothing.
The path is empty.
No Hamish.
No Ragnar.
I raise an eyebrow.
“The sheep?”
She turns her head briefly before looking back at me, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“They were here two seconds ago. Hamish and Ragnar. Together. They literally pushed me all the way here.”
Okay.
Either Mary has completely lost her mind, or the sheep are plotting something.
Honestly, both options seem statistically possible in this place.
“Together? Hamish and Ragnar?”
“I know it sounds impossible. But it’s true.”
An uncomfortable silence settles between us.
I suddenly realize we’re still standing in the doorway.
“You want to come in?”
“If it’s okay.”
It’s not okay.
It’s the opposite of okay.
Because seeing you inside the space where I spent weeks imagining a life with you is going to kill me.
“Of course.”
I step aside.
She walks in.
I close the door behind her, and instantly the cottage feels way too small.
We sit in the tiny living room.
I offer tea automatically out of pure reflex.
She declines with a small wave of her hand.
Then we just sit there on opposite sides of the room pretending not to stare at each other.
Say something, Finn. Anything.
But she speaks first.
“My interview went well.”
The words hit like a punch to the stomach.
“That’s good,” I manage.
My voice stays neutral.
Apparently years of delivering terrible medical news finally paid off.
“They offered me the position. I could start in two weeks.”
I stare at my hands like they’ve suddenly developed some fascinating rare disease.
My jaw tightens so hard I can feel my teeth grinding.
She’s leaving.
She’s really leaving.
“Congratulations,” I finally say. “That’s what you wanted.”
“It’s not…”
I cut her off.
“You’re right to leave. There’s nothing for you here.”
Except me.
And apparently I don’t count.
She rises abruptly.
“Finn…”
“I’m serious. You deserve better than a village that watches your every move and a failed doctor who…”
I stop.
Unable to finish the sentence.
A failed doctor who fell in love with you when he was only supposed to pretend.
Mary stares at me with an expression I can’t decipher.
“A failed doctor?” she repeats softly. “That’s really how you see yourself?”
I stand too.
Now we’re facing each other with too many unspoken things hanging between us.
The air feels so charged I could slice through it with a scalpel.
“That’s what I am.”
“Finn, you’re not—”
But she never finishes.
A loud crash erupts outside the cottage.
Then Mrs. Finley’s hysterical voice rings across the courtyard.
“Ragnar! Get back here, you thief!”
Mary and I move at the exact same time.
We rush outside and immediately stop dead at the sight unfolding in front of us.
Ragnar is sprinting full speed across the castle courtyard with a massive loaf of bread clenched in his mouth.
Behind him, Mrs. Finley charges after him waving a dish towel like a weapon while Fergus trips over a stone and Jamison somehow manages to hurry forward with dignity intact despite his age and immaculate suit.
Fergus shouts in panic:
“He stole the loaf! And the cheese! And the ham!”
Jamison, trying desperately to preserve what remains of his composure, adds:
“Would someone please stop this… this creature!”
“He’s heading for the stables!” Mary exclaims.
And suddenly we’re all running after a kleptomaniac sheep.
Because apparently emotionally devastating conversations are not complete without a full-scale livestock chase.
Ragnar disappears into the stables.
We arrive seconds later, followed closely by the panting castle staff.
“He went in here!” Mrs. Finley gasps. “I saw him!”
We split up immediately.
Mary checks the stalls on the left.
I take the right side.
Fergus searches near the tools.
Jamison methodically inspects every corner using a flashlight despite visibly wheezing.
Several minutes later, we’re forced to admit the impossible:
Ragnar is gone.
Completely vanished.
Mary stands in the center aisle with her hands on her hips looking stunned.
“At this point I wouldn’t even be surprised if he found a secret tunnel like Hamish.”
I stare at her.
“A secret tunnel?”
She blinks like she accidentally said something obvious.
“It’s a long story. Hamish found a tunnel between the castle and the McKenzie distillery. Keira and Alistair discovered it during their fake engagement. But that’s not really the point—”
“That demonic sheep probably has supernatural powers!” Mrs. Finley interrupts furiously. “I knew it!”
“Maybe we should call a priest,” Fergus suggests with complete sincerity.
Mrs. Finley wipes sweat from her forehead.
“I’m done. If he wants to keep the damn bread, he can keep it.”
“I need to get back to work anyway,” Fergus mutters.
Jamison straightens his jacket with what little dignity he has left.
“I shall verify whether anything else has been… stolen.”
They all head back toward the castle, leaving Mary and me alone inside the silent stable.
Mary crosses her arms and glances around.
“How did he disappear?” I ask.
“Sheep don’t disappear. He has to be somewhere.”
Probably laughing at us.
Silence settles again.
Neither of us wants to restart the conversation we were having before.
Apparently hunting down a criminal sheep is easier than dealing with feelings.
Then Hamish appears.
The sheep calmly trots toward me, grabs the bottom of my jacket in his teeth, and tugs.
“Hamish. Not now.”
He pulls harder.
“Hamish, let go.”
He releases the fabric, backs up a few steps, and bleats insistently.
Then he heads toward the stable exit before stopping and looking back at us expectantly.
The message is painfully obvious.
Mary watches the scene with the ghost of a smile.
“I think he wants us to follow him.”
“He’s a sheep.”
“A sheep who apparently has a plan.”
Suddenly Hamish charges forward and headbutts me directly in the knees.
I stumble forward trying not to lose my balance.
“What is wrong with you?” I mutter.
Hamish trots back toward the exit and stops again.
Waiting.
Mary and I exchange a look.
“We’ve got nothing to lose,” I finally admit.
Hamish leads us out of the stables, around the castle, and into a small stretch of woods I’ve never explored before.
We walk in silence a few feet apart.
I’m painfully aware of her beside me.
Focus, Finn.
You’re following a sheep through the woods.
Officially the weirdest moment of your life.
Hamish finally stops in front of a tiny abandoned structure.
The wooden door is half-rotted.
The windows are filthy.
The roof sags inward.
The kind of place nobody’s touched in decades.
“I didn’t even know this building existed,” Mary whispers.
“Neither did I.”
Hamish scratches insistently at the door.
I walk forward and push it open.
The hinges groan ominously.
Inside, darkness and damp wood surround us while cobwebs hang from every corner.
And in the far back corner—
Ragnar.
The sheep is lying down.
He lifts his head toward us and lets out a low almost threatening bleat.
Mary moves closer carefully.
“Ragnar? Are you okay?”
Then she freezes.
I step closer too, squinting into the darkness.
And then I see it.
Beneath Ragnar.
Trembling.
Dirty.
Skinny enough to break your heart.
A tiny dog.
A Highland terrier.
Its once-white fur is now gray with dirt, and its ears flatten nervously against its head.
The terrified look in its eyes hits me straight in the chest.
Mary slowly kneels beside them, her voice soft as velvet.
“Well… what do we have here? How did you end up here?”
The dog lets out a weak whine.
Ragnar doesn’t move.
He’s positioned directly between us and the puppy.
I stay completely still.
“He’s… protecting him?”
My brain struggles to process the information.
A sheep.
Protecting a dog.
Deliberately.
Around them, scattered across the floor, are the stolen loaf of bread torn into pieces, cheese, ham, and several other supplies that must have been collected over days.
And beneath them is the blanket Ragnar stole during our picnic.
Mary turns toward me, eyes shining.
“He wasn’t stealing for himself. He was stealing for the dog.”
Of course.
Suddenly everything makes sense.
The missing food.
Ragnar’s strange behavior.
Why he always stayed near this side of the castle.
“How long has he been hiding him here?” I murmur.
Mary inches closer to the dog, palms open and movements slow.
“Easy, Ragnar. I’m not going to hurt him.”
Ragnar watches her carefully but doesn’t growl.
“He’s dehydrated. Malnourished,” she says quietly. “Probably mildly hypothermic too. And he almost definitely has parasites.”
She gently strokes the puppy’s head, and the tiny thing trembles beneath her touch.
“But Ragnar probably saved his life.”
I kneel beside her.
Our shoulders brush.
“He found him,” I whisper. “He hid him. Fed him.”
Mary nods silently.
Ragnar slowly stands and steps aside just enough to let us approach.
A grumpy isolated sheep who hates everyone…
Secretly rescuing an abandoned dog.
“Maybe he’s not so different from me,” I murmur.
The words escape before I can stop them.
Mary turns toward me.
In the dim light, her eyes look enormous.
“Maybe none of us are who we pretend to be.”
Hamish walks into the building and settles quietly nearby.
For once, the two sheep don’t fight.
Mary keeps examining the puppy, slowly relaxing him beneath her expert hands while she checks his paws, eyes, and fragile ribs.
“We need to get him to the clinic,” she says finally. “Now.”
“I’ll carry him.”
I carefully reach for the tiny animal.
He looks terrified, but he’s too weak to resist.
When I lift him, he weighs almost nothing.
Just bones and dirty fur.
Mary rises and wipes her hands on her skirt.
“Finn… about Perthshire…”
She stops and glances at the dog in my arms.
“We’ll talk after,” I say quietly. “Him first.”
Saving lives, I know how to do.
Saving us?
That’s another story entirely.
We leave the abandoned building together.
Ragnar and Hamish follow silently behind us.
A deeply bizarre little procession moving through the Scottish woods.
The puppy trembles against my chest.
I tighten my hold carefully.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “We’re going to take care of you.”
Mary walks beside me.
I can feel her watching my profile.
“You’re good with him,” she says softly.
“It’s my job. Well… sort of. Wrong species, same concept.”
We drive to the veterinary clinic.
Mary unlocks the door quickly and flips on every light.
“Put him on the exam table.”
I obey.
The puppy whimpers softly.
Mary moves with calm, efficient precision.
She performs a full exam, starts fluids, draws blood.
Her hands are steady.
Certain.
And I become her assistant automatically, passing supplies whenever she needs them.
She’s beautiful like this.
Focused.
Capable.
Completely in her element.
“He’s going to make it,” she finally announces. “Thanks to Ragnar.”
She turns toward the sheep standing quietly near the entrance.
“You saved his life.”
Ragnar lets out a soft almost shy bleat.
Who would’ve guessed that a grumpy antisocial sheep had such a huge heart?
Mary carefully washes the dirt from the puppy’s fur while I hold him steady.
We work together without speaking.
Our movements perfectly synchronized.
Like we’ve done this forever.
An hour later, the puppy sleeps peacefully inside a heated kennel.
Mary washes her hands at the sink while I remain standing beside the kennel watching the tiny body breathe steadily.
“He needs a name,” she says softly.
“You’re the vet.”
“But you carried him.”
And you helped save him.
“Courage,” I say suddenly.
She looks surprised.
“Courage?”
“He survived. Kept fighting even alone. And accepted help from a completely unexpected sheep.”
Mary smiles.
A real smile.
And it hits me straight in the chest.
“Courage,” she repeats softly. “That’s perfect.”
She walks over and stands beside me in front of the kennel.
“Finn…”
“I know.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
Yes, I do.
You’re going to tell me you’re taking the job.
That you’re leaving.
That this was nice while it lasted.
“Perthshire,” she begins quietly. “The position… it’s a really good opportunity.”
“I know.”
“But I haven’t accepted yet.”
I turn toward her.
“Why not?”
“I asked for forty-eight hours to think.”
Something inside my chest jolts violently.
Like my heart is trying to restart after cardiac arrest.
“Why?” I ask again.
She looks at me like she can see through every wall, every lie, every defense I’ve built around myself.
“Because I don’t know if I really want to leave.”
Say something.
Anything.
Ask her to stay.
Give her a reason.
Beg if you have to.
“Mary…”
She turns toward me.
I don’t want you to go.
That’s what I should say.
What I want to say.
But the words still refuse to come.
“Finn?”
“There’s something I need you to know…”
Instead of asking her to stay or giving us a chance, I tell her the truth about my past.
Really tell her.
About the hospital.
About the little girl.
About the mistake that shattered me.
“One mistake brought me to the Highlands,” I finish quietly.
Mary reaches for my arm, her eyes shining.
“When I look at you, I see someone good, Finn. Why can’t you see yourself the way I see you?”
Because I don’t deserve that look.
Because I’m terrified.
Because if you really see me, you’ll leave.
“Looks like Ragnar was right after all,” she says softly.
“How so?”
“He protected Courage because it was the right thing to do. Even when it was hard. Even when it meant stealing food and hiding away. Sometimes courage is just continuing even when you’re afraid.”
And just like that, she somehow manages to give me a life lesson using a criminal sheep as an example.