At the bottom of a heart-stopping, steep drop into a valley, the GPS said to turn west, as did a small sign pointing to Deoiridh, but the narrow track looked barely wide enough for her compact car. How could this be the main route to a town?
She resolutely drove over a cattle guard, past a hand-lettered sign warning of "Lambs at Play," then drove up into the hills for another five miles.
Several sheep encased in thick, yellowed wool marked with red dye over the shoulders stood in the road ahead. She slowed, expecting them to bound away in fear. One idly glanced at her car, then buckled at the knees and lay down in the center of the road, clearly unconcerned and ready for a nap. Its friend wandered ahead towards a clump of grass, snatched a few blades, then lay down as well.
Lucy tapped her horn.
Already drifting off, both sheep closed their eyes.
She drummed her fingernails on the steering wheel. Edged closer. Honked again. No response. A steep hill fell away from the road at the very edge of the asphalt on the right; a rocky bank rose on the left.
How did one herd sheep? She'd always imagined them to be timid, defenseless creatures ready to flee from danger, but these were remarkably unconcerned by the threat of thousands of pounds of metal on wheels.
Grabbing her umbrella from the passenger seat, she climbed out of the car and waved it at them, then opened and closed the umbrella several times with a whoosh—an action that would surely frighten a horse. That earned a bored glance from ewe #1.
A low-slung black sports car rumbled up the road and pulled to a stop behind hers.
The city girl in her felt a frisson of unease when a tall, dark-haired stranger stepped out of his car and studied her from behind his open door. He was in his mid-thirties, maybe. Lean, with broad shoulders and a casual sort of grace that made her think of someone she'd seen in the movies.
"Can I gie ye a hand?"
She felt her stomach do a funny little flip-flop at the sound of his voice. Oh, my.
Equally charmed by his Scottish accent and unsure of what he'd just said, she tipped her head toward the recalcitrant sheep. "Road block."
He frowned and strode ahead, then flashed a quick grin when he spied the sheep "Aw...the sweet lassies jus' need a wee bit o' urgin' along."
Surprised by his unexpected flash of humor, she laughed. "I think they need more than that."
As soon as he approached them with a shout and a wave of his arms, they lumbered to their feet and wandered off the road. He turned back to her and cocked his head. "You're a tourist?"
His rich, deep baritone rolled over each of his R's and sent a shiver through her. "Not exactly."
"American, though," he said decisively, his manner cooling. He gave her a dismissive glance. "Enjoying our beautiful Highlands, then?"
The view in front of her was particularly pleasant, with a handsome Scot in it. If he'd been wearing a kilt it would have been even better.
"Wish I had time. I'm only here on family business, then heading back home soon as I can."
He flashed a brief, humorless smile and returned to his car. "Guid day to ye."
"To you as well," she muttered under her breath.
She'd felt nothing but open warmth and hospitality in Scotland thus far, from the woman behind the rental car desk at the airport, to the chatty waitress at a charming little cafe on Atholl Road in Pitlochry, where she'd pulled off the highway for lunch. Even the grizzled old man in the pub, a dozen miles back, had served her an early supper of fish and chips with a smile.
So what was this guy's problem? He'd been friendly one moment and curt the next.
She drove on, well aware of her cautious speed and the impatient sports car at her bumper, then pulled off into the next lay-by and waved him on to pass her. He sped by and disappeared over the next rise.
"Good day to you, too," she muttered under her breath as the tension melted from her shoulders and she settled back in her seat to enjoy the wild beauty of the Highlands.
The only surly Scott she'd met this far could now be arrogant to someone else, but at least she wouldn't need to deal with him again.
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Also by Roxanne Rustand
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A London Christmas (Coming Soon)
A London Christmas Page 5