Page 43 of Of Heather and Thistle
Heather steadied herself, wrapping her arms tighter around her shivering body. She just had to keep moving.
She took another shaky breath, pushing forward.
What if no one was home? What if it wasn’t a house at all—just an abandoned building, or worse— private property?The last thing she needed was to be chased off by some grumpy old farmer with an axe.
But what choice did she have? Sitting in the car, waiting for help that might not come, wasn’t an option. And she had already come this far.
Another gust of wind howled through the open field, sending rain straight into her eyes. Heather wiped her face with frozen fingers, her shoes squelching against the soaked earth as she forced herself forward.
Then, through the storm, she saw it clearly.
The cottage.
The light from the windows grew brighter, glowing warm against the storm.
Just as she allowed herself a flicker of hope, her foot landed in something soft and squishy.
Heather froze.
Slowly, she looked down.
Oh, for the love of—
Cow shit. Fantastic.
Another loud moo sounded closer this time, and Heather froze mid-step. A particularly enormous highland cow was staring straight at her, its wet fur plastered to its face and its long, intimidating horns gleaming in the rain.
“Okay,” she whispered, hands raised as though negotiating with a hostage taker. “No sudden movements. You’re just a big, fluffy cow. Nothing to be scared of.”
The cow snorted, a deep, rumbling huff that sounded suspiciously amused, stomping one hoof in the mud.
Heather’s stomach dropped. “Oh my God, it’s going to charge,” she gasped, panic bubbling up.
She darted to the side, misjudged her footing, and her shoelanded squarely in yet another pile of cow poop.
The cow let out another loud huff, its breath misting in the rain—almost like it was laughing at her.
“Why? Why is this my life?” she questioned loudly, throwing her arms up in exasperation.
Dragging forward in sheer determination, she muttered, “You just had to leave the car, Heather. You just couldn’t wait for Alastair. Nooo, you’re Miss Independent now. Brilliant idea.”
The warm glow of the cottage shimmered like an oasis. Just a little farther.
So, she pushed forward, rain dripping from her hair, the scent of wet earth and livestock clinging to the air. She was almost there—
Her chest collided with something solid.
Another fence.
Heather let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She wiped the rain from her face and squinted. The wooden posts stretched out on either side, vanishing into the mist. It wasn’t as tall as the last one, but still enough to be a problem.
Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the top rail and hoisted herself up. The wet wood was slick beneath her frozen fingers, but after a few ungraceful attempts, she threw one leg over, then the other, landing with a heavy squish on the other side.
The…mud? …sucked at her shoes, nearly taking one off her foot as she plodded through it. This was fine. Everything was fine.
She blew a rain-soaked curl out of her face, ready to makea run for the front door—
