Page 26 of Bea's Book Wagon
‘Ah, I see.’
‘I think I might have to wade across and get him.’
‘Really? In those?’ he asked, pointing to her feet. ‘It’s not that deep. I can get him for you if you like?’ he offered.
‘Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that, it’s too much—’
But the stranger didn’t hesitate; he pulled off his wellies and jacket and skidded down the bank straight into the water, wading across with ease. Scooping Wordsworth up into his arms, he shouted, ‘Got him!’ and then made his way back across the river, which was swirling around his waist. ‘Here, take him,’ said the man, passing Wordsworth up to her.
Bea clipped the dog’s lead back on – there was no way she was going to risk him running off again – and began patting him dry with her jacket.
‘Thank you so much. Are you okay?’ she asked, as the man attempted to clamber back up the steep bank. She reached out a hand to help him, just as he lost his footing in the mud and slipped all the way back down into the water.
‘It’s okay, I’m fine!’ he said, spluttering.
His white T-shirt was soaked through to his skin, and Bea couldn’t help noticing the way it was clinging to his well-defined abs. He was in good shape… really good shape. She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how handsome he was.
‘Are you sure?’ said Bea, taking his arm successfully this time and helping him out of the river.
‘I’m good, yeah,’ he said, tousling his mop of dark, wet hair.
‘I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along,’ said Bea. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said.
‘Here, take this,’ she said, picking his jacket up off the ground and handing it to him. ‘You need to get warm.’ As he took the coat from her, his hand brushed hers and butterflies surged in her stomach.
Who is this guy?
‘Sorry, I’m Bea,’ she said, quickly, ‘and this troublemaker is Wordsworth,’ she said, jangling the dog’s lead. ‘I don’t know what’s got into him today, he’s usually so well behaved. He never goes in the river.’
‘I guess there’s a first time for everything.’
‘Yeah, I suppose there is.’
‘I’m Lochlan,’ said the man, ‘good to meet you,’ he said, bending down to ruffle Wordsworth’s fur. The dog licked his hand appreciatively.
‘Lochlan,’ Bea repeated under her breath, God, even his name is exotic.
‘Do you live around here?’
‘I’ve only just moved here; a couple of weeks ago actually,’ she said, unable to take her eyes off him.
‘Ah that explains it, I’m sure I’d have remembered if I’d seen you around before…’
Was he flirting with her?
‘You live nearby?’ she asked.
‘Yes, near the village. I try to get out for a walk down here a couple of times a week, it’s normally pretty quiet,’ he laughed.
‘And then we came along…’ said Bea. ‘Sorry to cause you all this trouble, you’re soaked through,’ she said, her eyes flicking back to those well-defined abs.
‘It’s just a bit of water, no harm done.’
‘Even so—’
‘Honestly, I’m glad I could help,’ said Lochlan, sitting down on the bank to pull his wellies back on.
