Page 52 of Scotlander

‘Stop!’ she eventually insisted. ‘You’re gonna make me pee my pants.’ She clapped her hands to her cheeks. They felt flushed, her hair was dishevelled, and no doubt her mascara was smeared everywhere, but for some reason none of it mattered.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You didn’t have to say those things.’

‘I did. They’re facts, pure and simple.’ He sat down on the remains of the bale and patted the space next to him. Once she’d joined him, their thighs lightly touching, he said, ‘For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have let you be trampled by the cows.’

She barked a laugh. ‘That’s mighty kind of you, McCowboy.’

They sat in silence for a few moments until Finn broke it. ‘Whatever your friend’s reasons were for bringing you here will become clear.’

Biting back the urge to bow and say, yes, sensei, she thought instead of the letter in her bag. She could read it now and figure everything out, but the simple truth was, she didn’t want to. Reading it felt final. Too final. As if, once she undid the adhesive, pulled out the letter, unfolded it and let the inevitable flow of tears plop down on the ink, her friendship with Valentina would really be over. Like a lightbulb burning its last, final rays of light and then . . . darkness.

‘C’mon.’ He bumped his shoulder to hers. ‘You look like you could do with some cow therapy.’

‘Cow cuddling is the new goat yoga!’ Willa pronounced, draping herself over one of Finn’s favourite girls, Heidi.

‘If you say so, dear.’

‘I do.’ She gave him a superior smile.

He pulled off his flat cap and shifted it back into place. If he were a poker player, this would definitely be one of his tells. ‘Your boots okay?’

‘Fabulous.’ Willa glanced down at the oversized, steel-toe-capped boots Finn had found for her up in the barn office. Orla’s presumably. She attempted a jazzy soft shoe number and ended up stumbling over her own feet. ‘I think the biggest hazard here is myself.’

He grinned at her, then wandered over to one of ‘his girls’. He knew all of them by name. Their tag numbers. Their calving history. Their due dates. Nicknames. All the calves they’d had. Their calves’ calves. ‘Just a wee hobby.’ Or so he claimed.

‘So, to be clear, this is a wee hobby you have here at the farm where you don’t live any more?’ It was a pointed question, and she felt a bit intrusive asking it, but he’d discombobulated her by being nice, so she had to regroup. It felt much safer disliking Finn than accepting him as an actually ally.

Trusting someone meant relying on them and the past few months without Val had been terrifying. Showed her just how deep loss could cut.

The simple fact was, leaning into her friendship with Val had made one thing very clear: Willa had never laid a foundation of her own in LA. She’d just borrowed someone else’s. And now that Val was gone, Willa was like the cartoon character stepping blindly off a cliff into—

‘You alright, there, lass?’

She dug her fingers into Heidi’s fluffy coat and began to scrub. ‘Boy, oh boy! They do love a good scratch behind the shoulders, don’t they?’

‘If cows had knickers to get into, this would be the way to do it.’

Willa hooted. ‘Is that how you get down with the ladies? Sidling up beside them and giving them a good ol’ back scratch?’

‘Aye,’ he said drily. ‘That’s exactly how I do it.’

‘Underneath all of your roughtie-toughtieness, you’re a bit of a softie, aren’t you?’

He barked out a laugh. ‘Depends upon what you’re using as a measure.’

‘A sponge?’

He snorted. ‘A chunk of granite, mebbe.’

It was her turn to snort. ‘Even granite turns into soft, fluffy sand given the right conditions.’

‘What? Being pulverised by my environment?’

‘Well . . . You did marry me even though you obviously think all of this superfan stuff is nonsense.’

‘Aye, well . . .’ His eyes cinched with hers. There was something there she hadn’t seen before. A vulnerability that suggested she was right. He had a big, kind heart and at least a little bit of it was looking out for her. The atmosphere between them switched from friendly banter to a warm, giddy feeling that seemed as if it had skipped right past flirting and straight to open desire. His teeth dragged along his lower lip. Her tongue swept along hers. He closed the space between them. She tilted her chin up to keep her eyes glued to his. And then her boobs buzzed.

Feeling twists of disappointment and relief, she answered the phone with her eyes still linked to Finn’s. ‘Bryony! What can I do for you this fine, sunny Los Angeles morning?’