Page 21 of Of Heather and Thistle

The minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. Heather’s thoughts raced, pinging between worry about the car, the rain, and whether Alastair would find help—or even make it back safely.

Now and then, she glanced at the dark road behind them, hoping to see headlights or even a glimpse of his silhouette.

Nearly half an hour passed. She shifted in her seat, trying to shake off the rising anxiety. Her fingers tightened around Byrdie’s carrier again as she whispered, “This wasn’t exactly in the plan, huh?”

Byrdie blinked up at her, her tiny face unbothered. Heather managed a small, wry smile. “At least one of us isn’t panicking. I guess you’re just wanting to be home?”

But the rain wasn’t letting up, and neither was the unease curling in her stomach. Byrdie let out a small, impatient meow, the sound cutting through the steady patter of rain. Heather rubbed her knee, grounding herself. “Yeah, I know, Byrd,” she whispered with a shaky voice. “Me too.”

Heather checked the clock again, the numbers glowing accusingly back at her.

Now it had been almost an hour since Alastair disappeared into the storm.

Every minute that passed without sight of him was now gnawing at her, feeding worst-case thoughts.

What if he’d gotten lost? What if he’d been swept off the road?

What if he’d just… decided she wasn’t worth the trouble?

Byrdie let out a plaintive meow, louder this time, her wide green eyes pleading.

Heather’s heart twisted. She didn’t want to leave her—but sitting in the car, waiting for help that might not come, wasn’t an option anymore.

If she wanted to find Alastair—or at least figure out where the hell she was—she had to move.

She swallowed hard and reached for the door handle. “I promise I’ll come back for you, okay? Just stay here, safe and dry. I’ll figure something out.”

She checked that the carrier was securely fastened, giving Byrdie one last reassuring stroke. “You’re braver than I am, you know that?” she murmured.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it: a flicker of light in the distance.

She sat up straighter, wiping at the condensation on the car window. For a second, it was gone. Then, there—a faint glow. Her pulse quickened. A house? …a car? …someone who could help?

It was better than sitting here, waiting.

Heather took a breath and shoved the door open.

The wind hit her like a slap, the rain soaking her within moments.

She stepped out, sneakers sinking into the wet ground, and threw one last glance at the car.

Byrdie’s silhouette was barely visible through the window.

With a deep breath, she shut the door with a loud thud , sealing her decision, and then she turned toward the light.

The wet grass squelched beneath her sneakers as she trudged forward, muttering to herself to keep her nerves at bay. “You’re fine. This is fine. Just… a little rain. Not an ideal start, but it’s not the end of the world.”

But as she walked, the field stretched on longer than she expected. The wind howled through the open land, and the rain made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

The light flickered again. Still distant.

Heather exhaled sharply. It had looked closer from the road.

Her foot hit something solid.

A fence.

She blinked, rain dripping into her eyes, and hesitated. Had she wandered into someone’s property?

Gripping the slick wood, she peered ahead. The light still flickered in the distance, but the storm made it impossible to gauge how far away it was. If she turned back now, she’d be stuck waiting in the car, now soaking wet, with no idea when Alastair would return.

Heather exhaled, steeling herself. Carefully, she climbed over the fence, dropping onto the other side with a soft plop in the mud .

A shiver crawled down her spine as she looked around. The darkness shifted, shapes materializing in the storm.

Large. Unmoving. Silent.

The scent of damp earth and something unmistakably… organic … filled her nose.

A low, heavy exhale sounded to her left. “Moooo…”

Heather turned her head, stomach dropping.

Cows.

A whole field of them.

She was in a pasture.

Oh, shit.

The cows stared at her, eerily still, their hulking forms barely visible through the rain.

Heather swallowed hard. “Okay… no sudden movements.”

The wind howled again, nearly knocking her off balance. She turned in a slow circle, panic creeping in.

What if there was no house? What if she had walked in the wrong direction?

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, forcing herself to focus.

Then… a light.

This time, stronger. Steady. Glowing like a beacon in the distance.

Relief surged through her. She wasn’t lost. The house—or whatever it was—was real.

But it was still a long way off.

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 shoe landed 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 make a run for the front door—

Then she looked to her right. A gravel road.

Heather froze, blinking against the rain. An actual, proper road leading straight to the cottage. A perfectly walkable, cow-shit-free road.

Her stomach dropped. She had hopped fences, trudged through a muddy pasture, and stepped in God-knows-what , all while there had been a clear, easy path the entire time.

She let out a slow, disbelieving breath.

Of course.

Because of course she had to take the hard way.

With one last, exhausted sigh, Heather turned away from the road she should have taken and trudged toward the front door, cold, drenched, and thoroughly unimpressed with herself.

She banged on it harder than she intended, her knuckles slick with rain.

“Hello?” she called, shivering as water dripped from her hair into her eyes.

Her soaked linen outfit clung to her like a second skin, and she became painfully aware of just how see-through it had become.

Her new black lace bra and matching panties—lovely in the boutique, now mortifying in real life—were on full display, and her freezing-cold nipples were clearly outlined against the fabric.

The door swung open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man stood there, his dark hair damp and curling slightly at the ends.

His gray t-shirt clung to his chest, making it hard not to notice how ridiculously fit he was.

His stormy blue eyes widened in surprise, and his gaze darted—unsuccessfully—to anywhere but her soaked figure .

“Uh…” He cleared his throat, his Scottish accent thick and startled. “Can I help ye?”

Heather blinked up at him, raindrops clinging to her lashes.

“Hi,” she managed, her voice slightly breathless. “My car broke down. It’s raining… Obviously.” She gestured vaguely to herself and the storm, very aware that she looked like a drowned rat in lingerie.

The man arched an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a grin. “Aye, I can see that.”