Chapter One: Isla
“Stop judging me!” I hollered out the window at the sheep, as I drove at a speed best reserved for someone who knew what they were doing. These highland roads were the bane of my existence. They were too twisty, too muddy, with too many hidden corners, bordered by steep ditches and farmland with sheep looking out from the ridges, criticizing me and my driving skills. “Eat your grass and mind your damn business.”
I just prayed that there weren’t any obstacles waiting for me on the road to Glenby as I went tearing past a flock, driving like a speed demon, determined to get to the next town over and back with a new memory card before my friends’ vow renewal ceremony started, with me in the very last-minute role of emergency replacement photographer.
I jammed my foot down on the pedal, urging my tiny, used Toyota—which I’d nicknamed Lottie—even faster. I whipped around a bend in the road, and swore as I spotted the absolute worst sight in the world—the flash of an oncoming car.
“Ugh!” I groaned, slowing to a crawl. The SUV ahead of me slowed, too. The road was only wide enough for one of us to go by, with a steep ditch on either side. Usually, I wouldn’t hesitate to give way, but it had rained last night and I did not like the current look of the ditches. The last thing I needed was for Lottie to get stuck in the mud.
I’d never forgive myself for disappointing Lena and Weston. We’d gotten so close since they’d moved to Braeburn that it was hard to believe I’d only known them for a year. It seemed like they’d been my honorary big sister and brother for my whole life. So, when I’d walked into the event space a couple hours early and learned that their photographer had slipped in the shower and was on her way to the A&E, I hadn’t hesitated to volunteer to take over the photographer role. Problem was, Braeburn had no electronics store and my current memory cards were full.
I flashed my lights at the SUV. It was big enough to pull into the ditch and back out again without issue. Hell, it was the kind of vehicle that would be used to pull me out if I got stuck. “C’mon, buddy,” I muttered, my eyes flicking to the clock on the dashboard. “Move it already.”
The SUV didn’t move. Instead, it flashed its lights at me.
I jerked back, frowning. “Nuh-uh. Don’t flash your lights at me.”
I honked my horn once. It was a light tap. Nothing obscene. Just enough to say hey, let me by, but instead of pulling over, the SUV’s horn sounded, long and loud and obnoxious as hell.
“Are you kidding me?” I sighed heavily, putting Lottie in park as I shoved my door open. I stepped out at the same time as the other driver. I’d been imagining some Cruella De Vil type staring me down through those tinted windows. Instead, it was a man. A very tall man with shoulders like a linebacker. I could tell because Mr. Obnoxious was clad head-to-toe in a fitted navy suit. Like, it fit him very, very well. He wore a pair of aviators to complete the look and his shoes glinted with polish.
Sheesh. This kind of absurd hotness did not belong on some back country road. This man belonged on the cover of GQ or Men’s Health or starring in that horrible Hearts of the Highlands show Lena had got me hooked on. Even the scowl on his face was hot—though it would be a lot hotter if it wasn’t aimed at me.
I shook off my momentary daze. “Excuse me?” I called over to him. “Do you mind pulling over and letting me pass?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he said in a thick Scottish brogue, shoving his sleeve back to check his watch. “I have somewhere I need to be.”
And what, Lord Poshpants, I didn’t? “Crazy,” I said. “We both have somewhere to be. And I definitely can’t be late. Plus, I asked first.”
“Pretty sure I got here first,” he argued. “That dictates you give me the right of way.”
“Got where?” I said. “This stretch of road? You didn’t get here first; we got here at the same time.”
“Look, I don’t have time to debate with you,” he said gruffly. “I’m in a hurry. Just pull off so I can get past.”
I crossed my arms. “You pull over,” I said. Geez, the guy had to be at least a decade older than me—mid-thirties at the minimum. Wasn’t that old enough to have learned a little patience? “I’ll get stuck in the mud with my car.”
He scoffed, gesturing over his shoulder at his fancy-schmancy Bentley. “This is brand new. I’m not willingly driving it into the ditch.”
“Look at the tires on that thing!” I argued, gesturing wildly. It was annoying and pretentious, but still a beast of a vehicle. “You can pull over and then get back on the road, no problem. And I don’t even need that much room to get by. Unlike you, who needs an entire mountain to yourself.”
“Well, excuse me for not driving something bought from a rubbish heap.”
“Are you calling my car garbage?” I was honestly a little offended. Admittedly, Lottie wasn’t in the greatest shape, but she was sturdy and dependable—and as far as I was concerned, Lord Poshpants could take his fancy car and shove it. Right in the ditch, preferably. “Just take your overcompensating midlife crisis and move, dammit!”
He stalked toward me, and my breath caught in my chest for a moment. It actually pissed me off how attractive he was. A jawline of the gods. Close-cut beard. Hair tousled just right. And as he whipped off those sunglasses, I found myself staring into a pair of smoldering gray eyes that were trying to burn a hole in my forehead. “If you’re incapable of maneuvering your vehicle, just say so and I’ll do it myself.”
“I’m more than capable of reversing myself out of here, Lord Poshpants, but you know what they say: ladies first. Or did they forget to teach you that at your fancy boarding school?”
His nostrils flared. “Lord what?”
A line of sheep appeared on the hillside, looking down at us like a bunch of busybodies. Poshpants arched his eyebrow at them. “Oh look,” I said. “Backup. Maybe they can move your car for you.”
His jaw tensed. “I’d probably have more luck reasoning with an entire flock of sheep than the Toyota Terror and that rattling tin can on wheels.”
God! He couldn’t be that attractive and that infuriating. It went against the natural order of the world. I rose to my full height, which still paled in comparison to his six-something frame.
“Well, Bentley Boy, you know what they say about things that are all flash.” I gave him a deliberate up and down. “They’re missing a little something under the hood. Compensating for that lack of…horsepower.”
He huffed in aggravation, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Just get a shift on already,” he grumbled. “I don’t have time to be part of your roadside drama.”
“Well, I don’t have time to deal with your inflated sense of self right now.” I needed those memory cards, like, yesterday. “I’m in a rush.”
“You may be in a rush, but you’re still standing in my way,” he said, scowling.
I clenched my fists, feeling frustration itch at my neck. “Poshpants, you’ve got about two seconds to relocate your Bentley, or I’m going to take your car to Glenby.”
“You? Behind the wheel of this?” he scoffed. “You must be joking. I’d rather let—ugh!” He jumped back as one of the sheep darted down the hillside, ambling close enough to pluck at the laces of his fancy loafer. He shooed it away, but then another sheep scooted down the hill and another, swarming around us. Next thing I knew, they came pouring over the hill, some of them crossing to the other pasture, some of them just milling about in the middle of the road.
“Bloody hell!” Poshpants spat. “They’re everywhere!”
I bit my cheek, watching him swat at the curious sheep who nibbled at him. They came to inspect me too, but I didn’t have fancy Italian shoelaces, and they seemed more interested in the tufts of grass growing near Lottie’s tires than my worn-out trainers. “See, this is what happens when you faff about,” I said. Was I pissed that Poshpants had wasted my time? Yes. Was I secretly pleased that the sheep were making this experience even more miserable for him? Also, yes.
His gaze narrowed, his words practically a hiss. “I wasn’t faffing about. You were being difficult.”
“Well, the window has closed on only having to deal with me. I hope you enjoy arguing with the sheep now. Maybe they’ll be more responsive to your particular brand of charm.”
His jaw dropped as another wave of sheep ran down the hill, surrounding his SUV.
“Go on,” he called, shooing them away. “Get out of here! Argh!” He waved his arms around and hollered like a man possessed, trying to scare them off the road. One of the sheep responded with a loud, unbothered bleat.
“I don’t think they respond to arsehole,” I called.
His head twisted in my direction. “Get behind them and shoo them back up the hill or neither of us are getting out of here.”
“I’d hate to rob you of this beautiful bonding experience.”
He glowered. “The fact that you can be this annoying and this useless is truly astounding.”
“This is Scotland,” I said, patting one of the sheep on the head just to piss him off. Sure, I needed to get out of here, but letting this play out for another minute or two just to aggravate Poshpants a little more felt totally worth it. Lena and Weston would understand. Sometimes the universe provided in unexpected ways. “Sheep happen. You just have to roll with it.”
“Why don’t you go work on rolling your car into the ditch if you’re not going to help?” he snapped.
“And miss this masterclass in incompetence?” I shot back.
A man appeared at the top of the ridge suddenly. He wore overalls and wellies and had the look of a farmer who’d been in the business since long before I was born.
“These your sheep?” Poshpants called up to him, huffing from the exertion of shouting and shooing.
The farmer blinked. “Aye.”
“Mind getting them out of here?”
“They’ll cross as fast as they cross,” the man said, tucking his hands into his pockets.
I smirked. “See, you can stop having your tantrum now.”
“You could assist at any time,” Poshpants bit back at me, teeth clenched, “seeing as you’re the reason we’re both stuck in this situation.”
“I think you mean sheep-uation.” Poshpants looked murderous. “Plus, you’re doing such a stellar job on your own, winning over the locals with your warm personality.”
He swore under his breath as one of the sheep started gnawing on his pants.
“Hey, maybe you’re just not using the right tone,” I said. “Have you tried baa?”
His face turned so red that for a second I thought he was going to combust, then he turned and marched straight over to the farmer, knocking sheep out of his path as he whipped out his wallet. “How much?” he demanded.
“How much for what?” the farmer asked.
“How much for you to round up your flock and make your sheep cross back there?” Poshpants gestured with his thumb. “I have somewhere to be and your animals are clogging up the road.”
The farmer bristled. “My sheep will bloody well cross where they want to cross!” He clearly did not like Poshpants’s attitude or the assumption he could be bought.
He marched down the hillside in his wellies, whistling sharply, and a brand-new wave of sheep cascaded down the embankment. The farmer deliberately led his flock close to the precious Bentley, and I almost doubled over laughing as the sheep kicked up dirt all over that brand new car.
I pulled out my phone to message Lena. Got a little held up on my way to Glenby. Waiting on some sheep to finish crossing the road. But I’m going as quickly as I can.
Just drive safely. There’ll be plenty of time for pictures when you get back, Lena responded.
I appreciated her saying that, but I knew missing the ceremony would leave her and Weston gutted. I was gonna make it. One way or another.
Splat!
I glanced up just as Poshpants cried out. One of the sheep had managed to ricochet mud off the car and onto him. He stared down at his suit, arms out wide, gaping.
“And that’s what we call karma in real time,” I said as the farmer led his flock up the other embankment. Poshpants was huffing and puffing like some sort of enraged beast. “Too bad they missed your face. That’s the part that really needs to be covered up.”
He glanced from me to his SUV as the last of the sheep cleared the road. The formerly pristine vehicle now looked like it had been dragged through a manure pile.
“Guess you don’t have to worry anymore about it getting muddy,” I said, smug. “So why don’t you go ahead and pull over so we can both be on our way?”
I turned before he could argue with me again, getting back behind the wheel. I honked twice, giggling to myself as Poshpants slammed the door of his SUV behind him.
He started the car and pulled into the ditch, leaving just enough room for Lottie to squeeze by.
I waved out the window as I passed, giving him my best shit-eating grin as I enjoyed the enraged look on his face. God, I’d never loved sheep more.
