Page 37 of Wild Scottish Rose

Grabbing my thermos, I slipped a scone with a dab of strawberry jam into a lunch sack, and then paused. Thinking about Owen, I added another to the bag.Not that I needed to feed him. The market had plenty of stalls with food and takeaway items. Still, it would be rude not to offer a scone if I was eating one. Annoyed with myself, I stomped to the greenhouse, my mood best described as growly.

Agnes had warned me away from him.

When I’d told her that he’d had camera equipment delivered and what he was after here, she’d asked if I could terminate his rental agreement. That was how adamant she’d been about getting Owen out of Loren Brae. It was so uncharacteristic of her that I’d been happy we’d been texting because I’m not sure I would have been able to formulate a response in person. Was getting rid of Owen really the only option? It wasn’t like keeping the Kelpies a secret worked all that well for Loren Brae when we really had no control when they appeared. While I understood her concern, I now felt caught between two worlds—protecting Loren Brae and my desire to learn more about this man who had woken something inside of me.

Hence my tetchiness today.

“It’s about time you cleaned yourself up, lass.”

“If you keep jumping out at me, I’m going to punt you over the fence,” I snarled at Gnorman who hurried to keep up with me when I breezed right past him.

“One would think you’d be in a better mood after your boyfriend brought you flowers yesterday.”

“He’s not my—” I whirled, stabbing a finger in the air toward the gnome. “I don’t have time for this today.”

“Too bad, the lads wanted to show you something.” Gnorman lifted his chin behind me, and I turned to find the hedgies in a lightning bolt shape.

“G, what are they doing?” I asked, charmed despite my annoyance with Gnorman.

“Gentlemen! Attack!” Gnorman bellowed and the hedgies took off in a mad scramble, disappearing into my garden.

“What are they attacking?”

“Why, all the pests that would kill your plants, of course. What did you think they were doing?”

“You never clarified what the army was for, G.”

“I’ve told you the G is silent.” Now the gnome was sounding as growly as I was.

Eugene rushed out of the slightly open door of the greenhouse, his little face panicked, and went sprawling as he caught his paws on a loose stick.

“For flora’s sake, Eugene,” Gnorman growled.

“Leave him alone. He’s doing just fine. He can be my inside pest control, right, Eugene?” I bent to pick up the hedgie, and he beamed up at me. “You’re now officially Chief Indoor Pest Officer.”

Eugene bristled in my hands, preening if a hedgie could do so, and Gnorman sighed.

“You can’t wrap the lad in cotton wool.”

“I hardly think promoting him to chief is wrapping him in cotton wool.” I carried him inside the greenhouse, Gnorman at my heels, and skidded to a stop in front of my tray of seedlings. The gnome ran smack into the back of my shin and bounced off.

“Damn it, hen. Sort yourself out.”

“Look,” I breathed. Putting down the thermos and lunch sack, I cradled Eugene closer as I bent to the pot of thyme with the red ribbon wound around it.

The plant had fully grown.

Overnight.

Its spiky stalks with short leaves jutted proudly upwards, forming a nice-sized bush, and I could see where a few flower buds were starting to bloom. In fact, it was so large, that it threatened to spill out of the pot, and Iimmediately crossed the room to look for a better sized option for its expanding root system. My heart hammered in my chest as my mind whirled.

I’d been able to help a seedling along in the past. Revive a dead flower, that kind of thing. But this? The growing of an entire plant overnight? It was unheard of. The possibilities were endless. Remembering the words on the scroll, I made a mental note to clip and dry some of the thyme so I could bundle it for any rituals as needed.

“Good morning.”

I almost dropped Eugene, so caught up in my thoughts. Whirling, I blinked at where Owen stood just inside the greenhouse.

Damn it, why did he have to be so handsome? It would be better if he stood out in some way, like wearing a tux to the market or something, but instead, he must be one of those men that adapt seamlessly to any situation they were in. Today he wore perfectly worn dark jeans that hugged his legs nicely, thick-soled work boots, which actually looked like they’d been used, and a tartan flannel shirt peeked out from under a grey fleece-lined jacket. He’d tugged a knit cap on his head, and I briefly remembered threading my fingers through his hair and pulling his mouth more tightly against mine.