Page 64 of Some Like It Scot
“It’s about time you showed up, Katie.” Lachlan shaded his eyes with his hand and called out to me. “Were you trying to wait till I caught all the fish?”
I grinned through a sigh and made my way down the hillside, Wedge running ahead.
“I had to make a stop along the way. How is the fishing so far?”
“Not bad.” He shrugged a shoulder like a kid much older than ten. “But ’tis a dreich day and we’re bound to get some rain.”
The sky kept changing, almost by the minute. From partly sunny, as I started out that morning, to windy and overcast, to now... where the clouds held a shade of darkness to them, just waiting to release right on top of our heads.
“My grandpa told me that some of the best fishing happens in the rain.”
“Maybe for the size of the catch.” He wrinkled his nose with his frown as I walked up beside him. “But no for pleasure.”
I chuckled, still enamored with his turn of phrase and the overall Scottish accent. It was delightful. Engaging. And if I thought about Graeme, utterly swoon-inducing. “No, fishing in the rain isn’t much fun, is it?”
I set up my pole and baited my hook, receiving an approving nod from my fishing buddy. The mist carried from across the loch, where a few hills rose on the opposite shoreline, and that’s when I saw them. The bane of my mortal existence.
Sheep.
A flock grazed just across the loch, thankfully distant. At least two dozen of them.
Sheep hated me.
And now it was reciprocal, but only because they started it.
My dozen experiences where “cute sheep” attempted to kill me proved the fact. The first situation that led to my moniker of Miss Adventure involved a rebel sheep, a tricky vine, and a ledge. There I was on my first solo assignment, minding my own business taking photos of the amazing views of the Andes, and a Criollo sheep decided I was his mortal enemy.
From all my knowledge of sheep at the time, which basically came from the Bible and children’s nursery rhymes, these creatures exuded gentleness, tranquility, and maybe some recklessness or stupidity. But murderous intent?
I get the fact that red hair is unique and my American accent may not have been familiar to his Peruvian ears. But neither of those things constituted him chasing me across the hillside until I slipped over a ledge, at which time I grabbed hold of a vine that unraveled me far enough down that I only dropped about six feet onto a hillside and rolled the rest of the way down the mountain.
So there I was at dusk with a fantastic photo of a sunset over the Andes, a ridiculous story, and a broken toe.
Of course I required a helicopter rescue due to the terrain.
My advice: Don’t let the woolly fluff fool you.
Their black eyes convey a soullessness not even Bram Stoker describes. I knew beneath that pillow-fluffiness dwelt sinister designs for my demise.
“You look a wee bit peely-wally, Katie.” Lachlan slowed his pace and glanced from me to the terrifying creatures. “You don’t like sheep?”
Even the word sent shivers down my spine. And if I had a heat vision–empowered glare, then Lachlan and I would feast on lamb chops for supper instead of fish. I’d developed a tiny bit of a vindictive fondness for mutton.
“I had a bad run-in with a sheep once.” Or thrice.
“Aye, they’re troublesome sometimes, make no mistake.”
Now there was an appropriate use of the wordtroublesome. At least it was daylight. They looked less horrific in daylight. “They seem less alarming here than in Mongolia.”
“Mongolia?” His tongue smoothed over the word. “Is that near Yorkshire?”
I looked over at the adorable boy, and half of my previous fear dispersed into a grin. “Not really. Are the sheep in Yorkshire scary?”
“I don’t know.” He gave a half shoulder shrug. “But the Scottish sheep are too dumb to be scary. Just troublesome. Dinnae fash yourself. Wedge and I will keep ye safe.” He gave the dog a nod. “Won’t we, Wedge?”
The dog yelped his agreement.
“Now.” He tapped his temple and narrowed his eyes. “The one to keep a keen eye out for is Seamas.”
