Page 68 of Some Like It Scot
“You’re teasing me, are you?” I narrowed my eyes down at him. “That’s a reallybaaadsport.”
His giggle burst out and hit me square in the heart, especially after watching him grieve.
“Speaking of sheep.” No time like the present to resurrect my fourth-grade self and offer my own jokes as distractions as we continued up the hill. “What instrument do two sheep play?”
He looked up at me, expectant.
“Thetubaaa.”
His snicker followed. “What should you wear to a tea party?”
I shrugged my shoulders and his smile bloomed.
“A T-shirt.”
“Ooh.” I nodded. “That was a good one to have up yoursleeve.”
And after a pause, he giggled again. I tucked that sound close.
On we went, higher up the hill, each trying to think up another ridiculous pun or joke. At one point I looked behind me, and even with the rain coming down and the fog whisking past on the breeze, it failed to dim the majesty of the place. Was the island moody? For sure. Was it equally fascinating and mysterious and... calming?
Strangely, yes.
No wonder Mirren read Jaime Jo Wright books.
As we crested the hill, a cottage came immediately into view. Larger than most of the others I’d seen off the main road, this white stone cottage was a two-story rectangle. Three large windows dotted the second floor, with two on the bottom, separated by a blue door. A chimney poked from each end of the roof, and a little lean-to room was attached to the left side.
The rock fence trailed all the way to meet a fence at the back of the house, and one large tree branched out in the front yard. With a few flowering bushes and window boxes, it would look even more storybook.
Even in the rain.
I wonder what a starlit night looked like from this point. Marvelous, to be sure.
What a place to call home!
The rain began coming down even harder, and my body wilted a little beneath the weight of the little boy and our climb. But at least relief was near.
We hobbled up to the door and I knocked, but Lachlan didn’t wait for an answer. He just shoved the door open and pulled me in with him, as he was still attached to me for support.
“Uncle Graeme!” the boy called upon entry. “Uncle Graeme!”
The “Uncle Graeme” part didn’t register as quickly as it ought to have because I was immediately drawn to the fascinating collection of sculpted birds hanging in various places throughout the living room.
A seagull.
Kestrel.
A barn owl with wings spread.
Even a puffin stood on the windowsill.
All lifelike.
Where was I?
“Lachlan?” The voice came just before the rest of him turned the corner of the room, towel over the shoulder of his T-shirt and a pair of jeans that was doing him all kinds of favors.
His eyes met mine, then shifted to Lachlan and his leg.
