“The delivery wasn’t supposed to take place until tomorrow,” Iain said.
“Be that as it may, Gareth should have filled me in as I am in charge of the festival until they return, which doesn’t seem like it’s going to be imminent.” Her expression softened from granite to clay. “How’s Izzy?”
“Quarrelsome. Her ankles are…” He made a circle with his hands, knowing better than to use a negative adjective like “fat” or “sausage-like.” Isabel had thrown a pillow at his head when he’d compared her propped up, swollen ankles to something on display in the butcher’s window. He had been thankful a cleaver hadn’t been within reach.
A shadow of something familiar passed over her face. “I miss her.”
The admission was barely audible, and Iain wasn’t sure whether to acknowledge the sentiment or ignore it.
In a voice as brisk as the wind off the loch, she asked, “What’s the plan for Ozzie and Harriet?”
Ignore the shot of emotion it was. “I assume Harriet is the Highland cow?”
“Yep. I got her into the barn after she took a giant crap on the driveway.” The smile cresting her face had no relation to amusement or happiness. It was pure devilish glee. “Which you will need to clean up, by the way.”
He didn’t acknowledge her prodding remark. The primitive deposit of one Highland cow hardly filled him with disgust, considering he was used to managing hundreds of sheep and dozens of cows. Instead, he started toward the barn, Ozzie following docilely.
Anna fell into step beside him, taking two steps to his one. “A kilt on a weekday, huh? You take being Scottish seriously.”
He raised an eyebrow and shot her an up-and-down look. “A rainbow tutu on a weekday, huh? You take being a fairy sprite seriously.”
A laugh stuttered through her surprise before she muffled it. “A sprite? Nothing so magical. Just a dance teacher.”
“I’ll bet you’re magical to the kids you teach.” He opened the door to the barn and blinked, sun blind. The cow made a sound that bordered on distress. It was hot even in the shade of the barn. Better ventilation wouldn’t go amiss, but water was the top priority.
He let go of Ozzie’s lead, confident she would remain in the shade, and went in search of anything he could use as water troughs. Two large plastic buckets were stacked in the corner. Beating back the cobwebs, he hauled them to the middle of the barn. Inside one was coiled a green hose.
“There’s a faucet out here, I think.” Anna disappeared around the side of the barn and he followed. A pipe came directly out of the ground with a valve.
They worked together to attach and unroll the hose, then filled the two tubs. Ozzie and Harriet fought to drink as soon as the water hit the bottom of the first. Iain spoke to them in Gaelic, and it seemed American stock wasn’t much different than Scottish. Both animals calmed, and soon each was drinking out of her own tub. He gave each animal a scratch behind the ears.
Anna was looking at him with an expression absent the heat from earlier. “What are you telling them?”
“Basically that they’re safe, and I will care for them.”
“Interesting,” she said in a way he wasn’t sure meant “fascinating” or “strange.”
Probably the latter. He’d been called strange and weird and a host of other things since he was a kid. His childhood had been unconventional. Not many lads were raised in the shadow of a castle and fed Robert Burns for breakfast. Iain’s da could recite every poem the long-dead Scotsman had written. And now, so could Iain. Sometimes another man’s words were easier than formulating his own.
He was at a loss for any words at the moment. Iain shot a glance from the corner of his eye toward Anna, trying and failing not to stare. More of her hair had come loose, and she wiped her forehead with the back of her forearm. Curls wisped around her face. Closer now, he could see the light freckles sprinkled across her thin, straight nose and the red slashes the sun had left on her fair cheeks. She was younger than Isabel had led him to believe, yet her dark blue eyes reflected a wisdom gained only through the crucible of painful life experiences.
The silence was deafening. It was his turn to say something. He understood the basic mechanisms of conversation, even if his gears often got stuck. Although Iain hated to butcher a perfect quote from a British treasure, it was a truth universally acknowledged that Iain was utter rubbish with women. His army mates had teased and tortured him about his tied tongue and awkwardness around bonny lasses.
He hadn’t been gifted even a percent of Sean Connery’s suave confidence. In fact, he would have been more likely to be cast as a Bond villain than the hero. While he wasn’t an ogre under a bridge, he might pass as a distant cousin. His dark looks were intimidating, and the scar he’d acquired as a lad bordered on plain mean. A fact he’d used to his advantage when faced with snot-nosed village lads and in Her Majesty’s service, but which didn’t serve him well face-to-face with the fairer sex.
“Er … I guess I’ll take things from here,” he said.
“I guess you will.” She turned toward a car that appeared more like an overgrown toy, then spun back around, her skirt swishing. “Wait. What exactly will you take from here?”
“I’ll shepherd the festival to a successful conclusion and let you get back to your…” Dance seemed more of a passion than a job. “… work?”
The questioning waffle in his voice had been unintentional. Her blossoming anger transfixed him. Yes, beauty resided in her flushed cheeks and sparking eyes, but even more apparent was her spirit. She didn’t seem fazed by him in any way. Not his size or his scar or his inability to formulate coherent thoughts.
“I have everything under control.” She put her hands on her hips and stepped toward him.
“Of course you do, Bo-Peep.” The words came out with a teasing edge that surprised even him.
Anna arrowed her pointed gaze on him. “You stay in the barn out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Understood?”
His brusque nod seemed to appease her. She turned, slipped into her car, and threw gravel on her tight turn around the driveway. While he had understood her, he hadn’t actually agreed to stay out of her way. He had promised Alasdair to do whatever was necessary to make sure the festival ran smoothly. The last thing Isabel needed to worry over in her condition was a festival thousands of miles away.
Anyway, selfishly, he needed this time to away from Cairndow to figure out his life. He loved Cairndow and his da, and he couldn’t wait to get home after leaving Her Majesty’s service, but he hadn’t slipped seamlessly back into his old life. An odd dissonance had wrecked his expected contentment.
He was no longer certain if he wanted to take over as groundskeeper of Cairndow. Maybe he did, but he needed time to figure it out. He’d tried to voice his doubts to his da, but they’d lodged somewhere around his heart when he’d seen his da’s happiness and pride in having him home. Anyway, the Connor men weren’t known for their loquacious natures.
His future was a bridge to be crossed, but for now, he would enjoy the respite life had given him and consider his options.
He’d assumed Anna Maitland would be more than happy to relinquish control of planning the festival. Why wasn’t she? He hadn’t a clue, but what he did know was he and Anna were sure to lock horns like two Highland cows during mating season. A zip of energy went up his spine.