2. Locke
LOCKE
If I ever saw another sheep again, it would be too bloody soon.
And that woman—gah! If I ever saw her again, I’d drive myself off the nearest cliff. Now I was running behind schedule, and there was nothing I hated more than being late. Not even women who blocked roads like it was their day job.
“Christ!” I swore, slamming on the brakes as a crowd of people surged across Braeburn’s high street, unloading platters from a catering van.
I took a deep, settling breath, glancing up and down the road for a place to park as I waited for them to clear out.
Town was rammed, unsurprisingly. After the summer festival, Lena and Weston’s vow renewal had to be the biggest event of the year for Braeburn.
As far as I knew, the whole town had been invited to attend. Massive white tents had been erected in the nearby green where the kilted dash was usually hosted during the summer festival. Each one was strung with strands of lights and enough flowers to cover the whole of Scotland.
I shook my head, lips twitching as I drove past. I’d known Weston since we were all of eight, attending Highland Camp for the first time, and before last year, I’d have thought he’d be the last man in the world to go in for grand ideas of romance.
Marrying Lena had changed everything for him.
It might have started out as a marriage of convenience, to fulfill the terms of a will, but it had blossomed into the realest, truest love I’d ever seen.
It was most definitely worth celebrating, so since their initial wedding had been a rushed, courthouse affair, they’d gone all-out for this vow renewal on their first anniversary.
I didn’t know which of them was more excited, but if I had to hear about Weston’s six-foot-tall tier of millionaire’s shortbread biscuits one more time, I was going to toss him into the sea. Alistair, our other lifelong friend from camp, would surely help.
I turned down a side street and spotted a space big enough to fit my Bentley, racing for it before another impossible woman with a flock of sheep could steal it from me.
I parked, then hurried down the street to the green.
There’d been no time to swing by Weston’s estate to change—another reason to hate that woman and her Toyota.
So me and my filthy trousers would just have to make do.
I reached the green, heading through the main tent, walking between rows of empty chairs to where Weston was standing with Alistair, both of them clad in sleek black suits.
“All right?” I called. I took the engraved vows from my jacket pocket that Weston had asked me to grab from the jeweler on my way here and handed them over.
At least I was in time for that. Otherwise, I never would have forgiven myself. “Special delivery.”
“What the hell happened to you?” Alistair said, gaping at me.
I bristled, running a hand down my front as I silently cursed that woman again.
“You look like shite,” Weston agreed, tucking the vows into his own jacket pocket. He inhaled deeply. “You smell like it too.”
“Sheep,” I ground out between my teeth.
Alistair burst out laughing. “Why is it always sheep with you? Is this the return of—”
“Don’t start,” I warned, cutting him off with a threatening finger before he could bring back the nickname from when we were boys.
Alistair chuckled, and even if it was at my expense, I was glad to hear it. His life had been hell lately—no doubt, he could use a laugh.
“C’mon,” Weston said, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I frowned, checking my watch again. “Isn’t the ceremony starting? Speaking of, why isn’t everyone seated?”
“We’ve got time,” Weston assured me. He lowered his voice like he was telling a secret. “There was a bit of a faff with the photographer. We’ve got it sorted now, but we’ve pushed the ceremony back by half an hour.”
“Just enough time for you to change out of your Shite Butt disguise,” Alistair teased. I gave him the finger as we left the tent.
“You know there’s a Shetland pony tied up in one of the tents?” I said.
Weston grinned. “Aisling insisted Bonnie be part of the ceremony.”
“Foster daughter strikes again,” I said. “And how does Lena feel about that?” She fondly referred to the horse as “demon pony.”
All Weston did was laugh as we swung by my Bentley for a change of clothes, then headed over to the meeting hall to use the bathroom facilities.
“You gonna expand on what happened with the sheep?” Weston asked, standing outside the door as I shrugged out of my suit jacket and my pants, trading them out for another set.
“There was a whole damn herd of them,” I muttered, grabbing some paper towels to wipe the dirt off my shoes. “Kicking up mud all over the place.”
“Flock.”
“What?”
“A group of sheep is a flock.”
I rolled my eyes. Weston and his goddamn animals.
I told him all about the insufferable woman and her junk heap of a car while I stuffed my shoes onto my feet.
Looking in the mirror, I straightened my jacket before swinging the door open.
“She argued with me for so long, a farmer had time to bring his entire flock over the hill and upon us. That was when a sheep started to eat my shoelaces.”
“What did she look like?”
“The sheep?”
Weston barked a laugh. “Don’t be daft. The woman!”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Tall. Blonde hair probably hiding demon horns. Fit as hell. Drives a blue Toyota.”
Weston’s eyes widened for a beat, then his lips twitched, a familiar spark of mischief flitting across his face.
“What?” I demanded.
“Nothing.” He clapped me on the chest. “Despite the many horrors you’ve faced to get here, you clean up all right.”
“So do you,” I assured him as we wandered back outside. “I’ve certainly never seen you look happier. Can’t believe it’s already been a year of you and Lena.”
“A year without Grandad,” Weston said, rubbing at his clean-shaven jaw.
Lord, I missed that man. He wasn’t just the one who’d run the camp that had brought us all together—he was the one who’d taught us about the kind of men we wanted to be: strong, loyal, honorable, and resolute.
“So much has changed,” Weston mused.
“For the better, I’d say. You’ve done Pete proud.” I clapped Weston on the shoulder, and he grinned, as I’d known he would. Nothing pleased him more than hearing that he was honoring his grandad’s legacy.
There was a flurry of shouting from across the street, like pots banging together. Then an indignant whinny followed by that Shetland pony tearing through the side of one of the tents.
“Oi, Bonnie!” Weston shouted, darting into the middle of the high street to chase after the pony.
But before he could reach her, a man went racing past us, lifting his hand in passing. It was Callum, Weston’s groundskeeper. “Aye, I’m on it,” he called before jumping in a beat-up truck and tearing after the horse.
“Bloody hell,” Weston whispered under his breath.
“What do you want to bet Lena set her free?” I quipped.
Weston smirked, shaking his head at me. “What a mess.”
“Worse than my last property deal,” I agreed.
“Oh yeah, was that the one where God told the guy not to sell to you?” Weston asked, grinning.
“That’s…not exactly what happened,” I hedged, letting out a frustrated huff when Weston laughed at me.
“Look, it was a perfectly normal deal at first,” I explained.
“How was I supposed to know that, a week before we were scheduled to sign the papers—and long after we issued press releases about our plan for the new luxury resort—the seller would get smashed, plow his car into a tree, and ‘find Jesus’ to explain how the hell he survived, resulting in him walking away from the deal?”
“Did he really end up giving the property to charity?”
I nodded. “And I’m not even mad about that.
It was the glee in all the rags that got to me, everyone painting it like some kind of feel-good story about how the big, bad property developer lost out.
Why am I the bad guy?” Did I want the property?
Sure. Was I going to fight a guy who was trying to donate to charity?
No. But that didn’t stop the press from turning me and my company into the incompetent villain in this story.
“Fraser Developments is basically the laughingstock of the real estate market right now. I need to find a new project to redirect the narrative ASAP.”
Weston hummed, and I knew he understood. Thanks to a vengeful ex, he’d had his own struggles with his name and reputation being smeared.
“But that’s not what today is about. It’s about you and Lena. And how sickeningly in love you are,” I teased. “At least one of us has a win to celebrate.”
Weston’s face fell. “I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m rubbing my happiness in Alistair’s face. Celebrating all this when everything is rubbish for him.”
“Hey,” I said as we slipped into a tent.
“He wouldn’t have missed this for anything.
Not even the police tracking down his scam-artist ex.
” Jessica had embezzled millions from his company, then vanished without a trace, leaving Alistair in the firing line with the press and with his company’s board, who held him responsible.
They were now suing him for negligence and breach of fiduciary duty.
But he had us in his corner, along with his daughter, Kenna, and I knew he’d never begrudge Weston his chance at happiness.
“Listen, mate, no matter how many women try to swindle us or how many business deals fall through, we’ll always show up for you. And we’re happy for you.”
Weston huffed a laugh.
“I mean it,” I said, nudging his shoulder.
“You got win-the-lottery lucky finding Lena, and that deserves to be celebrated.” It certainly wasn’t the kind of love I was after.
That had disaster written all over it ninety-nine times out of a hundred, but I was glad it had worked out for him.
“That kind of love is rare, and you need to cling to it with every fiber of your being.”
“I know,” he said seriously.