Page 22 of Of Heather and Thistle

“And,” she continued, her cheeks burning, “I stepped in cow poop. Twice. So if you could… not judge me right now, and also not actually be a murderer, that’d be great.”

That did it—he laughed softly and shook his head. “Come in before ye catch yer death, lass.”

Heather hesitated, glancing back toward the field.

The cows were still watching her. “Okay, yeah,” she said quickly, stepping inside and trying to preserve what little dignity she had left.

But as she stepped inside, she immediately regretted it.

The cozy warmth of the cottage hit her like a tidal wave, and the combination of cow shit, rain, and wet linen created a genuinely unique, horrifying aroma that she was sure filled the entire room.

The man stepped back, politely wrinkling his nose. “Right, well… that’s a smell.”

Heather closed her eyes, wishing the floor would swallow her whole. “I know! It’s me… I’m the smell. I’m so sorry!”

He crossed his arms, his biceps flexing in a way that was frankly distracting. “Yer also drippin’ all over my floor.”

“Cool, cool. Add it to the list.” She flicked her gaze down, realizing she was standing in a rapidly expanding puddle of water, her sneakers sloshing with ungodly brown liquid with every movement.

“Oh, God. Do you have a towel—or a time machine, maybe?”

The man bit back a laugh and crossed the room to a wooden cabinet by the window, pulling out a towel. He tossed it to her, and she caught it awkwardly, nearly dropping it in her haste to wipe her face.

“Thank you,” she muttered, attempting to pat herself dry but only managing to smear water around.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” he said, heading toward the kitchen. “Ye look like you could use some tea. Or maybe a dram.”

“Tea would be great,” Heather called after him.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror above the coat rack and winced. Her makeup was wrecked, her underwear on full display in the light.

Fabulous.

She grabbed the towel again, holding it strategically in front of her, and then let out a breath, shoving her drenched hair out of her face. “Fantastic. I may as well be wearing cling film,” she muttered.

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 twitch ing.

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, clutching the 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.”

She peeled off her soaked linen outfit, grimacing at the state of it, and draped it over the bathtub’s edge.

The mud-streaked sneakers, now reeking of rain and cow pasture, were set near the front door—out of the way but impossible to ignore.

Slipping into the soft sweatpants and oversized flannel, she inhaled the faint scent of cedar and soap.

The clothes hung loosely on her, but after the night she’d had, their warmth felt like a small mercy.

When she emerged, fresh-faced and scrubbed clean, with her damp curls tied back in a loose bun using a rubber band she had found on the bathroom counter, she heard the rumble of a truck pulling back into the driveway.

She rushed to the window just in time to see the man step out, Byrdie’s carrier in hand.

“Thank God,” she whispered, a wave of relief washing over her.

A moment later, he walked back in, dripping-wet but grinning.

“Yer wee beastie’s safe and sound,” he announced, setting the carrier gently on the floor.

Heather dropped to her knees, peeking into the carrier to find Byrdie blinking up at her, unimpressed but unharmed.

“You’re my hero,” she said, looking up at him with genuine gratitude.

He shrugged, his grin turning sheepish. “I cannae leave a wee kitty-cat in distress, now can I?”

“Seriously,” she said, standing up. “Thank you. I owe you, like, a million favors.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’ll settle for you tellin’ me how, exactly, you ended up in the middle of my cow pasture.”

“It’s a long, embarrassing story,” Heather groaned, covering her face with her hands.

Amused, he walked toward the kitchen. “I’ve got more tea. And I reckon you’re not going anywhere in this weather. Start talking, lass. ”

Despite the chaos of the evening, Heather couldn’t help but laugh with him. She launched into the whole tale of her misadventures, starting with Alastair and the broken-down car and ending with her unexpected arrival on his doorstep.

Heather took a deep breath, still feeling slightly ridiculous standing in his shirt and sweatpants, but she mustered a smile. “I’m Heather, by the way. Heather Campbell.”

The man leaned casually against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed as he gave her a warm, lopsided grin. “Flynn Duncan. Nice to meet ye, Heather Campbell. Though I’ll admit, this isn’t exactly how I thought my night would go—soaked underthings and cow shite included.”

Heather groaned, her cheeks flushing. “Please don’t remind me. That was… not my finest moment.”

Flynn chuckled gleefully, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Och, dinnae fash about it. Happens to the best of us.”

God, even his laugh was attractive. Unacceptable.

“Really? You’ve stepped in cow poop before?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He shrugged, smirking. “Aye. It’s a rite of passage in these parts. Though I cannae say I’ve done it while marching through a storm wearing… whatever it was you were wearin’.”

Heather laughed despite herself, the tension in her chest easing slightly. “It was supposed to be my stylish-yet-comfortable travel outfit. You know, for my grand new start in Scotland. So much for first impressions.”

“Well, I think you’ve made quite the first impression,” Flynn teased, pushing another mug of tea across the counter toward her. “Though I’m not sure it’s what ye were goin’ for.”

Heather rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks. For everything. Seriously. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t opened the door.”

Flynn straightened, his gaze softening. “Ye’d be surprised what ye can manage when yer desperate. But I’m glad you knocked. Yer safe now, and that’s what matters.”

She sipped her tea, the warmth spreading as the rain continued pounding against the windows.

“So… Flynn Duncan. Do you always rescue wayward travelers, or is this a one time thing?”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the cozy cottage. “Not usually. Most folks know better than to wander into a highland cow pasture in a storm.”

Heather shook her head, smiling. “Well, lucky me, then.”

“Aye,” Flynn said, his grin softening into admiration. “Lucky for both of us, I’d say.”