Page 59 of Wild Scottish Rose

Agnes pulled back, her mouth dropping open, and she shook my shoulders until I squealed.

“You. Have. A. Gnome. And this is the first I’m hearing of it?” Agnes demanded. “We need to go see him. I’m obsessed already. Tell me everything.”

“I will, I will.” I eased out of her grip. “How about a pint? I could use one after today.”

“Perfect. Let me just finish up the till, and we can go.”

I took the time while Agnes finished closing to calm myself down. There was no use in getting out of sorts about Agnes’s decision for us to keep the Kelpies from Owen. The reality was, he was a famous filmmaker and a wildcard when it came to what he’d say about Loren Brae. Knowing Owen’s passion for the truth, I could hardly ask him to lie on our behalf. A thought occurred to me.

“Say, Agnes?” I turned from admiring a shelf of wee ceramic flowerpots to see Agnes with her handbagon her shoulder.

“Aye?”

“What if we control the narrative? Wouldn’t you prefer to be the one to talk to Owen about this? The more he hears ‘no’ the more he’ll dig in, don’t you think? Wouldn’t it be better if it comes from us?”

Please say yes, please say yes.

“That’s a thought, I suppose. I’ll have to run it by Archie and Hilda. If anything, it’s them that should be talking to Owen. They know the full history, they’re sort of the caretakers of the Order as well. If it comes from anyone, it should be them.”

I breathed out a small sigh of relief. At least it hadn’t been a straight no. Maybe there was a way around this that didn’t involve me lying to Owen.

A blustery night, the wind cut across the loch and buffeted the buildings, spraying a smattering of sea water onto the pavement as we crossed the street to the pub. Light bloomed from the paned windows, inviting us in, and when we pulled the thick wooden door open, we were hit with the warm scents of bacon and garlic from the kitchen. Hanging our coats at the rack in the narrow front hall, we walked through a stone passageway that spilled us out into the main pub.

A true Scottish pub, the Tipsy Thistle was a hodgepodge conglomeration of rooms that had been built out and added on through the years. Thick grey stone walls showcased vintage whisky and Guinness advertisements, a fire crackled in the large fireplace, and worn wooden tables with tartan chairs completed the ambience.

A chorus of voices greeted our arrival.

“Och, bloody hell. What have we got here?” Agnes grumbled.

At the gleaming wood bar that dominated the main room, Lachlan, Archie, Munroe, and Graham all leaned in around a very smiley, and very drunk, Owen.

“Shona!” Owen crowed, and almost toppled off his stool before Lachlan caught his arm. “Look, guys. It’s my beautiful landlord. Isn’t she just the prettiest thing you ever did see?”

My face heated, and Agnes swiveled her head to look at me, an eyebrow raised.

“You didnotmention the fact that he fancies you back.”

“Yes, um, we didn’t get that far in our conversation.”

“Hmm,” Agnes hummed. “This may change things.”

I perked up, hoping that Agnes might be able to see things from my point of view now.

“Shona Shona bo-bona, banana fama fo fama,” Owen sang, enveloping me in a hug that almost toppled me over when I drew close. Grinning, I looked down at where he’d wrapped his arms around me and clung to me like a monkey on a tree.

“What have these lads done to you?” I made a tsking sound. Glancing up, I narrowed my eyes at Graham, the handsome bartender that Owen was worried I’d once dated, and he gave me a cheeky wink. Munroe, owner of Common Gin and best friends to Lachlan and Graham, shrugged.

“I’m just along for the ride, Shona.”

“You own a distillery, Munroe. Shouldn’t you promote responsible drinking?” I chided him. His shoulders hunched, and I immediately felt bad. Criticizing Munroewas like kicking a golden retriever. I narrowed in on Graham again. He owned the establishment, so this was technically his fault. “And you, Graham. What kind of pub owner do you call yourself then? I could get you in trouble for overserving.”

Graham winced, wiping the bar with a towel, his shirt rolled back to reveal tattoos on his forearms.

“Sorry, Shona.”

“Oh, Shona gets an apology, does she?” Agnes took a seat at the bar and glared at Graham. “I’m still waiting on one for the mess of yours I had to clean up yesterday.”

“What mess?” Distracted, I patted Owen’s back lightly as he nuzzled into my side. I couldn’t lie, it felt damn good to have the hottest man in the bar wrapped around me. And based on the combined handsomeness of the men in my vicinity, that was saying alotabout Owen.

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