Page 51 of A Flower for Angus

She could only hope.

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THE NEXT MORNING, ANGUSarrived at the barn office a little earlier than normal, his worry about Poppy pushing him to get his rear end in gear. Not that Angus was ever late to work. In fact, he didn’t have a schedule at all, he just spent the majority of his time at Neamh and it was a second home.

Usually, he arrived before Darro most mornings, especially now that Darro was married. Up at 5:00 a.m. and out to the barn by 5:30 a.m. had been his schedule. He’d pushed it back by a half hour, or sometimes more depending on various things that Angus was happy to give him grief over or torture him about. Women had a tendency to change a man, and mostly for the better in his opinion. Lucerne had certainly taken some of the sharp edges off the lad.

He glanced at the kitchen door as he drove around the backside of the house to see if he could detect any sign of movement. No one should be in the kitchen to fix breakfast at 5:00 a.m., especially Poppy. If she was, then she needed her little arse tanned. Breakfast was at 7:00 a.m. and she didn’t need to be up at 5:00 a.m. for that.

Doc had assured he and Darro last night that the tablet should help Poppy get a good night’s sleep, and that he’d given her a script to be filled in town today. Which was exactly where Angus intended to take her once she was up and around.

The closed sign was still facing out in the back door window and he chuckled with satisfaction as he drove on behind the big barn. The sign in the window had been Lucerne’s idea. If the sign had a bright sunflower with a big smile on it, then the kitchen was open for him to come in and get coffee and a tart on his way to the barn office. If the board was on the blank side, then the day hadn’t begun for the MacCandish household.

He glanced at his watch. It was just now coming up on 5:00 am. He pulled his truck in and parked, then headed into the office to make a pot of coffee. A stash of Lucerne’s sugar biccies was stored in his desk drawer. He totally loved those delicious, sugary biccies, or cookies as the American part of her sometimes called them. Apparently, the yanks loved their sweet treats too. Sometimes Lucerne would flavor hers with a bit of lemon or even a slight orange flavor and he really liked that as well.

Fifteen minutes later with a cup of coffee in one hand, and a biccie in the other, he'd been staring at the papers in front of him and seeing nothing when the door behind him suddenly opened. He whipped around to see Dal standing there with a sheepish grin on his face.

“Uh...ye are here early,” he stammered, looking guilty as hell, as if his hand had been caught in a cookie jar. That’s when the light bulb went on.

Angus’s eyes narrowed. “So, ye are the mouse what’s been into my biccie stash, are ye? Here I’ve been accusin’ Darro for weeks.”

“Ye have plenty of cookies,” Dal protested, his unrepentant grin giving him away.

“Why don’t ye just ask Lucerne fer yer own?” Angus growled.

“She’s the boss’s wife. I don’t think he’d take it too kindly if I turned up at the kitchen door begging. Everyone knows the sunflower is only there for ye,” Dal complained, folding his arms and leaning in the doorway.

“That doesn’t excuse yer thievin’,” Angus scolded. “Nothin’ worse than the employee who takes someone else’s lunch out of the cooler when no one is lookin’.”

“I don’t take lunches. Besides all’s fair in love and treats,” Dal taunted with a mischievous grin. “I hope Ainsley can cook as well as Lucerne when I marry her.”

The sudden sharp crack of the whip was like a gunshot going off just before Dal leaped two feet forward and grabbed his arse.

“Arrghh,” he yelped in shock as he turned around and then paled.

Angus roared with laughter when Darro stepped into the doorway, coiling the horsewhip in his hands back into a circle.

“Consider that yer only warning,” he growled with a fierce look. “Thieving is no tolerated here on Neamh, even if it is limited to sugar biccies. And it had best be, or ye’ll be holding yer arse for a lot longer on yer way off the property.”

“Y-Yes sir...I mean no sir. I don’t steal,” Dal assured him, rubbing his backside furiously.

Darro folded his broad arms across his chest. “Ye just admitted to stealing Angus’s biccies.”

“I-I might have borrowed a few,” he confessed, his pale face now turning red.

Darro’s eyebrow shot up. “Borrowed? Were ye planning on putting them back then?”

Dal finally shot Angus a ferocious glare. “All right then, I ate them without any intention of putting them back. But it was no with the intention of stealing, it was just a practical joke on Angus because he takes so much pride in having them.”

“And are ye the only one eating Angus’s biccies?” Darro asked, a thread of amusement seeping into his words.

Dal hesitated. “Aye, I’m the only one who took them and I apologize, sir.”

Darro nodded, satisfied with the explanation. He walked to the drawer and took out the bag of sugar biccies and handed two of them to Dal.

“What are ye doin’?” Angus protested.

“Thank ye for yer honesty and yer loyalty, Dal. Tell Henry to stop by the house before he leaves and Lucerne will have a box waiting for his granddaughter.” He gave Dal a wink. Now get to yer work.”

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