Page 45 of Of Heather and Thistle
The man returned with a steaming mug of tea, his eyes flicking to her before quickly looking away again.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “And, uh… if yer needin’ somethin’ to change into, I might have somethin’ that’ll fit.”
Heather accepted the tea gratefully, the warmth seeping into her frozen fingers. “Thanks. Though, unless you happen to have a full set of dry clothes for a random stranger, I’ll probably end up in, like, one of your t-shirts and—”
“—probably… uhh… safer? …than what ye’ve got on now,” he interrupted, his lips twitching.
Heather groaned, burying her face in the towel. “This is officially the worst day of my life.”
The man snorted in amusement, leaning against the counter. “Could’ve been worse.”
“How?” she demanded, peeking out from behind the towel.
He tilted his head, pretending to think.
“The cows could’ve chased ye.”
She stared at him, horrified. “That was an option?”
He grinned now, complete and easy. And despite her embarrassment, Heather felt her heart flip.
“Aye, since ye decided to traipse through the pasture.” he said, his accent lilting. “But dinnae fash, lass. Ye survived. And now ye’ve got a story to tell.”
“Yeah, a story about how I showed up half-naked and smelling like shit at some stranger’s house,” she muttered, taking a sip of tea. “Real inspirational.”
“Och, at least I’m a friendly stranger,” he said again, winking at her this time.
Heather rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up.
“Lucky me.” She shifted awkwardly, glancing toward the door. “So… uh, I kind of left my cat in the car.”
The man blinked at her. “Ye left your cat?”
“Yes, my cat,” she said defensively. “Her name is Byrdie, and she’s in a carrier. I didn’t want to bring her out into the rain, but now I’m realizing leaving her in a cold car might not have been the best decision either.”
The man raked a hand through his damp, dark hair—evidence of his own trek through the storm—and let out a bemused sigh. “Sounds like ye’ve had one hell of a day.”
“You don’t even know the half of it,” she muttered, clutchingthe towel closer.
He nodded toward a hallway. “Loo’s just down there. I’ll grab you some dry clothes.”
“Really? That would be amazing. Thank you.”
As he disappeared into another room, Heather stood awkwardly, dripping water onto the floorboards. A moment later, he returned with a neatly folded bundle of clothes.
“Here,” he said, handing her what looked like a pair of sweatpants and a faded flannel shirt. “Not exactly high fashion, but it’s dry.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, taking the bundle gratefully.
“The loo’s the second door on the left. I’ll take the truck and fetch yer cat.”
Heather blinked at him. “Wait—you’re going out there? …in this weather?”
He shrugged, already grabbing his keys. “Cannae leave the wee thing out there alone. Besides, I’m not the one soaked through and freezing.”
“Are you sure? I can go with you—” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Stay here, dry off, and warm up. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Before she could protest, he was out the door, the sound of the rain swallowing his retreating footsteps. Heather sighed, heading toward the bathroom. She flicked on the light, catching sight of herself in the mirror again. “Oh, good…” she muttered. “I look like a drowned raccoon.”
