She would show that smug arse – the one with the incredible arse – she had no intention of leaving. She would succeed as much for herself as to spite him. It was easier to hate him than to dwell on the turbulence he’d created within her. That was a weird, one-off reaction to someone who was clearly the village idiot with ideas above their station and it wasn’t going to happen again. No. Definitely not. Not ever.
It was three o’clock by the time she left the library, and even though her stomach was calling, the sun was already starting its descent to bed and she needed light. She drove back to the cabin and unloaded her supplies.
The outhouse got a glittery toilet seat, chrome toilet roll holder, and a powerful battery-powered camping light. The cabin got solar and battery-powered lights, cleaning tools and products, plastic boxes for her clothes, and the pièce de résistance, a tent, which she put up in the far corner of the cabin. The cabin may not have had a front door, but it did now have a bedroom.
She then filled her empty plastic bottles from the stream. This was where Willie had got his water supply, but she needed to fix the gutters and drainpipes he had put up when she stayed so she could collect rainfall and have it closer to the cabin. Drinking water was a different problem. She didn’t want to keep buying bottles; it wasn’t so much the cost as the plastic. As she mentally added a filtration system to the long list of things the cabin needed, she heard a car pull up. She walked out to see a familiar, yet unfamiliar, man getting out. He gave her a friendly wave. ‘Hey, Zoe.’
‘Jamie!’ Without a second thought, she barrelled herself towards him with her arms outstretched.
He stood, an embarrassed smile on his face, his cheeks pink, as she gave him the same treatment she had received from his mum and sister.
‘Look at you! You’re all grown up. You’re taller than me now. It’s so amazing to see you again. Thank you so much for coming. Your mum tells me you’re an electrician? Come see the cabin!’
Zoe dragged him by the hand, exactly as she’d always done, but this time with a strapping man, whilst he also reverted to the past and followed without a word like the little boy he had been, always following his elder sister and her best friend around.
‘Ta-da!’ Zoe dropped his hand and used hers to present the interior of the cabin. ‘As we enter the majestic building, with its unique entrance, we move onto the kitchen – perfectly formed if yet not functional.’ She sashayed around as if presenting a property show on TV. Jamie was grinning at her but a knot of anxiety was tying tighter in her stomach. He was the first person, apart from the man-bear, to have seen the true state of the cabin and she was dreading him having the same reaction. ‘We move onto the open-plan living area. Here we have a brand-new invention – not a walk-in closet, but a pick-up-and-walk-off closet.’ She lifted the plastic boxes containing her clothes and ceremoniously placed them down again, a few inches away. ‘And finally, the master bedroom! Bathroom currently non-en suite, but definitely on property.’ She presented the tent with arms spread and jazz hands as if showing off the latest toaster on a home shopping channel.
There was a pause and Jamie cleared his throat.
‘Well, Zoe, I think you’ve got a palace on your hands. Nothing a bit of graft and a door can’t fix.’
Zoe leapt forward and grabbed his upper arms as if clinging onto the life raft of his optimism for dear life. ‘You think so? Oh, Jamie, everyone thinks I’m mad, but I have to make it work.’
His smile was warm. ‘You’ll be fine, Zo, but we won’t have light for long, so let’s see about the stove, then if there’s time, we can look at the door.’
Zoe followed him back to the car like an obedient puppy and gamely held onto sticks and brushes as they walked back into the cabin.
‘Now, this could get a little messy, so just clear as much room as you can,’ he said, laying newspaper over the top of the Rayburn. Zoe moved everything to the far side of the cabin and Jamie opened the cleaning door to the flue pipe.
‘Pass me the first brush, would you?’
Zoe complied, feeling like she was a surgical assistant at an operation. Jamie had brought ash shovels of various sizes and was soon scooping out black soot into a bag.
‘Can you take a look outside and let me know when I’m out?’ he asked as he screwed more extensions to the brush.
Zoe ran outside, taking pictures with her phone, and yelled with delight as she saw the brush triumphantly exit the chimney, sending a bird’s nest catapulting up into the air, then rolling down the roof to the ground. She snatched it up and ran back inside.
‘We’ve made a family homeless!’
Jamie grinned, his face starting to blacken from the soot. ‘They’re long gone, it’s nearly winter now. But it’ll make good kindling.’
Zoe held the nest protectively to her body. ‘No! It’s my first piece of art for the cabin.’ She laid it down carefully on top of one of her plastic boxes and Jamie closed the flue.
‘That wasn’t bad you know, but let’s clean the rest out and get it lit.’
She helped him manhandle the heavy iron plate off the top and they set to work with brushes, cleaning out the vents and firebox whilst Jamie talked her through the complexities of a wood-fired Rayburn. Zoe listened to his deep Scottish voice talking about damping down, sliders and spin wheels. This was what someone who lived in Scotland should sound like. His voice was a melodious lullaby and she let herself wander off into a daydream, walking through purple heather under a bright blue sky, her great-uncle at her side. She turned to look up at him and recoiled from herself as her mind conjured up the man-bear, shirtless in a kilt.
‘Zo? Zoe?’
She started as she realised Jamie was talking to her.
‘Er? What?’
‘A fireside companion. Do you have one?’
‘What? Like a cat?’
Jamie laughed. ‘No, a poker, tongs, shovel and the like. I’ll leave these here tonight and run you up one in the morning.’
Zoe flushed with embarrassment and gratitude. ‘Thank you, Jamie, thank you so much.’
The Rayburn was ready, so they made a little pile of paper and kindling in the firebox and Jamie gave the job of lighting it to Zoe. She felt a thrill seeing it catch. They grinned at each other and high fived.
‘Now for the door!’ Zoe cried.
They went outside to look at whether or not they could fix it. The frame had started to rot so the hinges had finally given out and the door itself was also warping.
Jamie shook his head. ‘This isn’t going to be a quick fix.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Zoe, ‘I’ve had an idea.’
She showed him a pile of plastic sheeting and wood.
‘My plan is to make a frame and staple sheeting to either side. What do you think?’
Jamie smiled and squinted out toward the mountains on the other side of the loch. ‘Well, I reckon we’ve got about an hour of light left so let’s see what we can do.’
They worked quickly to assemble the frame, then Jamie took the hinges off the old door and they hung the new one in its place. The fit was far from perfect but it would have to do for now.
‘Tomorrow I’ll run up a few old fleeces from Alan’s farm,’ Jamie said as he helped Zoe tidy up. ‘We can fix them between the plastic for insulation and you can use them as a draft excluder along the bottom. I’m afraid my skills don’t stretch much further than this, so you’ll have to find someone else to fix the door properly, but I can give you some names.’
‘Thank you so much, Jamie, you’ve been a lifesaver today.’
* * *
Zoe stood on the porch waving him goodbye, smiling ruefully at Morag’s hopes they would be more than just friends. He was as wonderful as she remembered, but a brother, not a lover. And anyway, the last thing on her mind was finding a boyfriend. She hadn’t been in a relationship for years. Not since Joe, who had lasted through uni and a couple of years beyond. Things had always been plain sailing with Joe, apart from where
his parents were concerned.
They were steadfastly upper-middle class, and after investing their money in the right education and social circle for their son, were supremely dissatisfied by his choice of lower-middle-class girlfriend. The fact Zoe’s father was a cashier in a bank, not a hedge fund manager from the city, and her mother worked in a charity shop rather than being on the board, was further proof Joe was wasting his time with the lower orders.
During the five years they were together, Zoe could never get them to accept her, and always experienced a gnawing sense of inferiority and anxiety around them. Joe was nice, but their relationship was no grand passion, and it was a relief for them both when his parents engineered a job for him in America and they could let it all come to an end. Since then, she’d tried internet dating but had been left disillusioned by the whole process. One liar after another. It didn’t matter what the lie was, it was always going to come to the surface sooner or later, like a boil.
Most men lied about their age and appearance. Using profile pictures from decades ago, or photos of their friends. Then they lied about their jobs, their families, their kids. They lied about smoking, they lied about how they felt. They were just incapable of telling the truth.
Zoe had been so optimistic, taking every man at his word, pouring her expectations, heart and soul into each date. She had even slept with one, who turned out to be married with three children and another on the way. Within six months of dating she was soiled by the whole experience. A boyfriend was at the bottom of her priority list. Top of the list was a good night’s sleep. An enormous yawn unfolded out of her, so big she couldn’t stifle it. She brushed her teeth, crawled into the sleeping bag, and listened.
It was so quiet. Back home there had been hundreds of people within a few feet of her at all times. Even in her flat, she could hear people moving about on the other side of a wall. Now it was just her, and an endless expanse of emptiness outside. She oscillated between a sense of loneliness and excitement, before excitement won out.
She popped in her earplugs, put her eye mask on, and groped to turn off the light. Lying on her back, she thought about Jamie, Fiona and Morag. Thank god for that family. With them on her side, life in Kinloch would be so much easier.
4
After the previous night in the car, sleeping on the floor in a tent was the height of luxury, and Zoe woke with a lazy smile, pushing up her eye mask and checking her watch to see she had slept for nearly twelve hours. Her heart was full with excitement for a new day, however her bladder was fuller, and she remembered with a groan that a sleepy morning stagger to the bathroom meant boots, a coat and a walk outside.
She pulled out her ear plugs, shuffled out of the sleeping bag, and walked to the Rayburn which was still warm to the touch. Jamie had shown her how to fill the firebox with wood last thing before she went to bed; ‘banking’ it, so it was ready to get going the next morning. She refilled it and brought out a stove-top kettle to fill with water for the essential morning cup of tea. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she attempted to get water from the five-litre bottle into the kettle, without transferring most of it to the floor.
A bellow came from outside, and she dropped the bottle in fright, straight onto her foot. It tipped over, and water glugged out. She yelled, grabbing at the bottle to right it, then sat on the floor in a giant puddle, rubbing her foot.
‘Owwww!’
‘Moooo!’ came an answering call from outside.
What in god’s name was that? She dragged herself up to stand, and limped to the front door. Everything was blurry through the plastic, so she tugged it open a crack and peeked out.
A shaggy head framed by enormous horns peered back at her, its eyes obscured by long auburn hair. Condensed air puffed thickly out of its dark wet nostrils, its front hooves were on the first step leading up to the deck, and its jaw was moving in circles as it chewed.
‘Mooooo!’ it called again in greeting; the sound waves vibrating the plastic sheeting of her makeshift door.
Answering moos came from the rest of her land, as more horned heads raised up from the eternal task of eating, to see that a human had been spotted. Humans equalled food, and en masse they ambled up to the porch to jostle with each other for front row seats.
Zoe closed the door, petrified with fear. Where the hell had they come from? And even more importantly, how on earth was she going to reach the outhouse? Cycling through her options in rapid succession, she squatted over the washing up bowl to pee, mortified she’d sunk so low on only her second full day. Maybe if she ignored them, they would go away? It was the only option she could even consider, so she got dressed and made herself a bowl of porridge, putting her ear plugs back in to help her ignore the sounds from outside.
Fifteen minutes later, she took out her ear plugs and checked through the dirty windows to see they had dispersed again. Now she just needed to make it to the truck and she’d be away. As she looked from cabin, to cows, to truck, planning her escape, she noticed stalks of hay lying on the darker grass. There weren’t many left, but they were concentrated at the top of her property, leading away down the track towards the road. Cows weren’t renowned for their brains or dexterity and the hay hadn’t been there yesterday. This herd had been coaxed here.
Zoe was livid. Was this some kind of ‘welcome to Kinloch’ practical joke? These were killing machines! They weighed more than Siena. And they had bloody horns! How the hell was she going to get rid of them? She decided to make a run for it. Get to the truck, drive up the road until she found a signal, then ring Jamie to beg for help. She packed her bag, pulled on her boots and coat, and silently pushed the door open, gingerly lifting her foot to place one hundred and forty pounds of weight onto the ancient decking.
Creak! groaned the floorboard.
‘Moo?’ went a cow.
‘Shit!’ yelled Zoe.
‘Moo!’ went several happy cows, as the herd quickly made their way back to the porch.
Zoe rolled her eyes to the heavens and slumped her shoulders. This was not happening! The most she had blocking her path back home were old people wanting a chat with the bus driver, or the occasional drunk. Now she was confronted by the results of a gene-splicing experiment between a tank, a yak, and a Wookiee. Even Spanish bulls that gored men in sparkly outfits didn’t have horns this big. This was it. Again. She was going to die. And this time, not mauled by a bear that wasn’t a bear, but by thirty tonnes of shag pile carpet.
Two of the cows pushed forward and placed their front hooves on the bottom step. It gave way with an almighty crack. They stepped back in shock and Zoe walked forward, the sound of the breaking step being the last straw.
‘Get off! Get back!’ she cried, flailing her arms like a windmill in a hurricane. The cows nervously shifted back, allowing her space to descend the steps to the ground. She furiously pointed towards the track leading to the road.
‘Bugger off! Shoo! That way!’
They looked blankly at her.
She stepped forward, gesticulating wildly. ‘That way, you dozy fuckwits! Over there!’
‘Moo?’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ Zoe muttered and strode on, the cows parting before her.
She got to the truck and opened the door, hyped on adrenaline. Before jumping in the cab, she turned. The cows had stopped and were looking expectantly at her. Could she lead them off her land? She slammed the door and set off walking up the track, her new friends patiently following behind.
Her heart was hammering in her chest, but with each step her confidence grew. They seemed calm enough, and she could see a breadcrumb trail of hay which would hopefully lead her back to where they had come from. She took out her phone and started filming. If she was going to die this morning, she wanted to make the news. When she reached the road she saw scraps of hay in the verge on its far side, leading to the right up the hill. Praying no cars were coming, she walked across and picked up the pace, checking they were all still following her. Te
n minutes later, the trail turned left up a muddy track, and five minutes after that, she found a metal gate leading to an empty field. She opened the gate and they dutifully filed through. She shut it behind them and rested her feverish forehead on the cold metal of the top bar. She had done it.
* * *
Buoyed by her bovine success, Zoe went into Kinloch to check in with Morag and Fiona. The bell for the post office door tinkled happily as she walked in to be greeted by Morag, her face lighting up.
‘Oh, there you are, love! Come in, come in. How did you sleep?’
Zoe’s smile froze. The man-bear stood at the counter, a muscle in his jaw twitching, a German Shepherd at his heels. He looked away.
‘You remember, erm.’ Morag turned to him. ‘What’s your name, love?’
There was a pause as she watched the muscles in his face fighting with each other. Eventually enough tension was released for him to reply. ‘Rory.’
Morag smiled. ‘Nice to meet you, Rory. I’m Morag.’ She turned to Zoe. ‘You got your wood from him yesterday?’
The dog trotted forward, its tail wagging, pushing into her legs to say hello. She dropped to her knees, stroking it.
‘Hello! And who are you? Aren’t you gorgeous!’
The dog licked her face and she laughed. Rory whistled and it trotted back to sit at his side. Zoe stood, wiping her cheek. She turned to Morag.
‘He wasn’t in, so I had to drive to the garage on the road to Inverness and buy as much as I could from there.’
‘Oh, love, that’s daylight robbery!’ Morag wailed. ‘Anyway, this is Rory. Rory, Zoe; Zoe, Rory. Rory will sort you out now. Won’t you, love?’
Rory swallowed and swivelled around mechanically to look at her. ‘What do you need wood for?’
Zoe smiled beatifically at him. ‘I’ve moved up to the cabin where Willie Laing used to live and I need wood for the Rayburn. I cleaned it out yesterday and it’s running like a dream. I even made porridge on it this morning!’ she said proudly before holding out her hand. ‘I’m Zoe Maxwell, Willie’s great-niece. I now own the cabin. It’s all mine. My property. Mine.’
Highland Games: sparkling, sexy and utterly unputdownable - the romantic comedy of the year! (The Kinloch Series) Page 4
