The first course arrives—a steaming vegetable soup—and the questions begin.
“So,” Callum says in that deceptively neutral tone of his, “your European travel plans are officially dead?”
“Postponed.”
“Postponed or canceled?” Keira asks, with all the subtlety of a jackhammer.
“Keira,” Isobel warns disapprovingly.
“What? It’s a legitimate question!”
I dip my spoon into the soup while searching for an answer that won’t reveal too much.
“Postponed. I had… a professional opportunity here. Jamie MacNeil left the clinic unexpectedly, and the village needed a vet. Coming back made sense.”
“Jamie left?” Emma asks in surprise. “Why?”
“No idea.”
“How strange,” Maggie murmurs thoughtfully. “People fleeing without explanation. It’s becoming an epidemic.”
I shoot her a suspicious look, but she merely smiles innocently into her soup.
The second course arrives, and the scent of roasted leg of lamb fills the room. My stomach growls in anticipation. If I have to survive a family interrogation, at least there’s good food involved.
“There’s a new doctor in the village,” Maggie suddenly mentions with studied casualness. “Poor man seems to be struggling to fit in.”
“City people,” Callum comments absently while cutting into his meat. “They arrive in the Highlands full of arrogance and then act shocked when nobody instantly worships them.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Maggie replies smugly.
Something about her tone feels odd, but I’m too distracted by Lachlan asking whether I plan to stay in Glenfield “permanently.”
“I don’t know. For now, yes. After that… we’ll see.”
“That’s not an answer,” Keira points out.
“It’s an honest answer.”
“Same thing.”
I’m about to fire back when a strange noise echoes from the hallway.
The sharp clatter of hooves against hardwood.
Followed by a deep, determined bleat.
Everyone freezes.
“Fergus left a door open again,” Isobel sighs.
And then, as though this evening weren’t already surreal enough, a sheep walks into the dining room.
But not just any sheep.
A massive sheep with thick black wool, two sets of curling horns, and a cold, vaguely judgmental stare stands in the doorway like he owns the place. He scans the room, assessing us one by one, until his eyes finally settle on?—
The leg of lamb in the center of the table.
