A Summer of New Beginnings

by Lisa Hobman

  Zara huffed and curled her lip. ‘What are you, a bloody lawyer?’

  He fixed her with a firm stare and rested his hands on his hips. ‘Aye, I am if you must know. Although… my speciality was family law but nevertheless…’

  Zara opened her mouth to speak but was rather dumbfounded that someone so well trained was working on a bloody farm when he could earn fantastic money and live in whichever city he damn well wanted.

  Eventually she asked, ‘You’re really a lawyer?’

  He scowled. ‘Well, it’s hardly something I’d lie about, is it?’

  ‘But you’re working on a farm,’ she stated plainly, hearing the disbelief in her own voice.

  ‘I own the place. I don’t just work here, remember? And it’s a croft actually.’

  ‘Oh, right, a croft, yes, sorry. So… you work remotely from here for a law firm?’

  He crumpled his brow and it was clear his patience was waning further. ‘What? No, no. I just run the croft now. I had to give up my practice. Well, not had to… I chose to give it up.’

  She was utterly intrigued and ideas for articles for The Bohemian began to rattle around her mind. High-powered lawyer gives it all in to run a Highland farm… erm croft. ‘Stress, was it?’ Her question was way too personal and she realised as soon as it was too late to suck the words back in.

  He scoffed. ‘Not at all. My father was terminally ill and I had to make a choice. Come home and take over or sell the place I grew up in, that my father had built from nothing. I chose the former. He passed away recently and I was on the way back from meeting his solicitor at the will reading when I encountered you in that lay-by.’

  Her heart softened a little for the brusque man. ‘I’m so sorry. And gosh, that’s very noble.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Hardly. I used to love being here when I was a kid. When I went away for university I just got dazzled by the city and pace of life, not to mention its convenience. Coming home has been… well, it’s different. It’s the kind of place that never really leaves you. It’s part of who I am and always will be. It’s in my blood, I suppose.’ He shook his head and briefly closed his eyes. ‘Anyway, I haven’t got time to sit here chatting all day. I’ll go find that puncture kit. There’s porridge on the stove and a clean bowl beside it. Help yourself. Then you can be on your way and back to your schedule.’ He seemed to find a little amusement in that word. ‘Oh, and by the way, you’re just outside Scourie so you’re not exactly off your route as such.’

  He possibly realised he had divulged quite a lot of personal information to her as a total stranger and had somewhat shut down now. He left the room and she heard the entrance door slam.

  She got up and went to fill up a bowl with porridge as he had invited her to do and squeezed a little honey on the top. Bess sat beside her, staring up with her tongue lolling out the side and a string of drool dangling from the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Euw, Bess. You can’t have this. It’s people food. You’re a dog. Don’t you have a bone to chew on?’ As if she understood, the dog glanced towards her bed and then back at Zara, still evidently desperate for some porridge. ‘Come on, I’m off to sit down and eat. I’m starving. You can come and drool over here.’ She walked back to the place she had been sitting earlier and sat again.

  Lachlan seemed to be gone ages and Zara was beginning to worry that he couldn’t find the puncture repair kit after all. She washed her bowl in the large pot sink and hunted round for a tea towel. Once the bowl was dried, she wandered over to the dresser beside the fireplace where lots of photos proudly sat. She presumed the ones of the small boy were Lachlan as a child and the man who looked incredibly similar to how Lachlan looked now must have been his dad. There was only one photo of the older man with a woman and it was quite old and stained brown with age. His mother perhaps? A little further along was a more recent one of the old man in a hospital bed. Lachlan was sitting beside him and they were holding hands. What struck her was that they were both laughing. The love they had for each other was so clear in their eyes. The photo told a story of a father and son with a wonderful relationship. A father who doted on his son and a son who would clearly do anything for his father. Her heart ached a little for Lachlan’s loss.

  ‘Right, you’re all done.’ Lachlan’s voice snatched her back from her daydream and she spun round, feeling guilty for snooping.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I was just… erm—’

  ‘Being nosey? Aye, I figured. Look, I know you’re not one to accept help, you being a strong, independent woman and all, but I’ve repaired your puncture. Don’t go shouting at me, okay?’

  She sighed and smiled. ‘Ugh, I’ve not made a very good first impression, have I? I’m sorry. I’m not usually quite so loud and neurotic.’ Lachlan didn’t speak; he just stood there, his piercing eyes fixed on her. She blushed under the weight of his gaze. ‘Okay, I think I’ve maybe outstayed my welcome. I should go.’

  As if he snapped out of a trance, Lachlan began to speak again. ‘Lachy. My friends call me Lachy. And there’s no rush. I thought you might appreciate a freshen up. You can use the bathroom at the top of the stairs if you’d like a shower. I have an en-suite one so I don’t use it really. There are clean towels set out and some fancy shower stuff.’

  ‘Ooh, ready for guests at all times, are we?’ Zara had no idea why she made that question sound so sleazy. In fact, she really was questioning her mental state after the last day or so.

  ‘Something like that. Anyway, I’ll make some fresh coffee and you can have a cup when you’re done, if you like. Unless you’re desperate to get back on the road?’

  She snorted. ‘Oh, believe me, the only thing I’m desperate for is my own bed and clothing that doesn’t rustle when I walk.’

  Lachy laughed and his face changed completely. He really was incredibly handsome… if you liked farmers. But she reminded herself that her male embargo was still in place so noticing a handsome man was a waste of her precious time.

  She stood and made her way to the stairs and as she reached the bottom step she glanced back over her shoulder. She hadn’t told him her name, had she? She’d been so hung up on being pissed off that it had slipped her mind.

  ‘Erm, Lachy… my name is Zara. I forgot to mention it before, you know, when I was…’

  He grinned. ‘Ranting like a lunatic? Aye. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Zara. I’ll get the coffee on.’

  She made her way upstairs to use the bathroom, making sure to lock the door just in case. After all, she didn’t know him from Adam and appearances could be so deceptive. She’d learned that the hard way.

  She had to admit that after the previous day’s shenanigans the shower and porridge had been incredibly welcome, and she almost felt human again. Once dried and dressed, she combed through her knotted locks and made her way back down to the kitchen. As promised, Lachy had made fresh coffee.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and looked everywhere but directly at her. He pointed to a pile of aluminium foil on the table. ‘Look, I… erm dried out your map on the range. It’s a wee bit crumpled but you should still be able to use it. And I made you a sandwich to take with you. That way you can just eat and not worry about looking for somewhere. It’s home-made bread so I apologise if it’s a little overdone. I put you an apple and a chunk of tablet in there too. The sugar will give you a boost.’

  A little overwhelmed by the man’s kindness, Zara was unsure what to say and stood silently for a moment searching for something that wouldn’t sound trite, like calling him a domestic goddess or something equally condescending. ‘Tablet? Like headache tablets?’

  Lachy smiled that same gloriously handsome smile from earlier. ‘No, it’s a wee bit like fudge. Only better.’ He raised his eyebrows as he spoke and Zara’s heart skipped a little.

  Good grief, I need to get a bloody grip, I do.

  ‘You didn’t have to go to so much trouble, you know. I was illegally camping on your land, after all. I don’t exactly feel as in tr
ouble as I should.’ She smiled warmly, hoping that his first impressions of her had been forgotten somewhat.

  ‘Aye, I know but… Well, you’re doing a brave thing, cycling that route all by yourself. And I don’t mean that to sound patronising. It’s a fact. And a wee bit of kindness never goes amiss, does it?’

  Yep. She had totally underestimated this man in her angry state. He was a decent bloke. Not an oafish shit-shoveller. She cringed at her earlier assumptions. ‘I guess not. And I really do appreciate it.’

  They shared a smile but then an awkward silence descended again and something a little like sadness washed over Zara.

  ‘So anyway, why are you out here if you don’t want to be?’

  Zara sighed. ‘It’s a long and boring story involving me being guilted into writing an article on the NC500 for the magazine I work for. Let’s just say I usually write about luxury hotels in far-flung places, so this is a little different for me.’

  ‘And you’re really hating it?’ He looked disappointed.

  ‘Not as much as I expected, to be honest. Yes, yesterday was hell. Or certainly felt like it. Silver Dickhead getting a puncture really didn’t help.’

  ‘Silver…?’

  She cringed. ‘Yes, I named the bike Silver Dickhead… SD for short. We have a love-hate relationship. It loves making me uncomfortable and I hate it. But there have been some lovely highlights.’ She smiled and dropped her gaze for a brief moment. ‘I think this has been one of them.’ Another moment passed between them and she wondered if he might laugh at her comment. But he didn’t. Instead he smiled and nodded.

  Lachy cleared his throat. ‘Look, I know you don’t really want to stray from your route too much, but if you get a craving for hot chocolate you really should head to Balnakeil. There’s a chocolate shop there called Cocoa Mountain. Seriously the best hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted and I happen to be quite the connoisseur.’ He grinned before taking a drink of his coffee.

  ‘Balnakeil. Cocoa Mountain. Duly noted. I happen to adore hot chocolate too.’

  ‘Aye, well, you’ve not tasted anything like it. Believe me. Better than se— erm anything.’ His cheeks coloured bright red and he stood from the table. Bess dutifully rose and skipped around. ‘Ah, you’ll be wanting to help me check on the sheep, eh, Bess?’

  Zara pulled her lips between her teeth in a bid to stifle the giggle at his almost slip-up. Hot chocolate that’s better than sex? Might just be worth the detour.

  18

  Lachlan walked Zara out to her bike and stood there awkwardly as she loaded the panniers onto the back and examined the tyres.

  ‘Thanks again, Lachy. You really have been incredibly gracious, considering my imposition.’

  He shrugged. ‘Nah, it’s not every day I get to help a strong independent woman. I was thinking your name might be Beyoncé until you introduced yourself officially.’ His eyes twinkled with mirth.

  Zara sighed and covered her beetroot-red face with a hand. ‘Ugh, I can’t believe I said that out loud. You can blame the bulling up I had from a group of lady bikers I met the day before yesterday.’

  He threw back his head and laughed, his shoulders shaking. His laugh was gravelly and sexy and the fact that she took notice of that annoyed her.

  He held his hands up and continued. ‘Hey, I’m all for feminism. Don’t get me wrong. And to be honest, I think the fact that you’re camping in the middle of nowhere and not running for the airport is evidence of your will and independence.’ He patted the bike. ‘Look after your passenger, eh, Silver Dickhead.’

  She couldn’t help smiling now and that little twinge of sadness resurfaced. ‘Well, thank you, Lachy. You’ve been amazing. I’ll be sure to mention you in my article.’

  ‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I don’t want to be overrun with women looking for a husband or anything,’ he joked. ‘I’m better keeping my light under its bushel.’

  She stepped towards him and was reaching up to kiss his cheek when he enveloped her in an unexpected hug. He smelled fresh and clean, not as she might have expected. She hugged him back and closed her eyes. The warmth of his embrace comforted her and she realised she really did need to stop being so damned judgmental.

  He released her and stepped back. ‘Take care of yourself, okay?’ He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a business card. ‘Here, it’s got my mobile number on. And my email. Not that you’ll need them, you know. But… just in case. I’m not suggesting you’ll need to be rescued or anything though, don’t take it to—’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the card from his fingers. ‘I appreciate it. And no, I won’t take it the wrong way.’ She glanced down at the card and read aloud. ‘“Lachlan Grant, Scouriemore Croft, Lairg.” I didn’t realise farmers had business cards.’

  He nodded. ‘Erm… crofters and, aye, we have to have a means of contact and such for the sales. Plus I think I’m just used to having business cards. Old habits die hard, I guess.’

  ‘Crofters, yes, sorry. Right, well, I’ll be on my way. Thanks again, Lachy. I’ll remember this.’

  ‘Oh and… erm… better text first rather than call. I’m usually driving the quad and I don’t answer unknown numbers anyway.’ She nodded her understanding and he continued, ‘Well, bye just now. And watch out for those sharp bends, eh? And don’t be talking to your bike too much. They call it insanity, you know.’

  Zara mounted SD and set off. At the end of the track she paused and looked back over her shoulder to find Lachlan still standing there. He raised his hand in a wave and she reciprocated before focusing on the road and leaving the croft.

  *

  She had calculated that she was only fifteen miles behind her schedule and, after hearing Lachy talk about the orgasm-inducing hot chocolate on offer at Balnakeil, she decided she would make the detour. After all, it was those kinds of places that would be of interest to people reading her article. Places to eat were definitely a priority in her mind – but maybe that was simply because she had an increased appetite with all the exercise. Whatever the reason, the thought of hot chocolate plagued her mind and she knew it was an itch she would absolutely be scratching.

  The little craft village at Balnakeil was intriguing and made up of a collection of small buildings that had previously formed an old warning station built in the fifties when the cold war was at its peak. These days the buildings had been transformed into bookshops and craft shops. Some had colourful artwork painted on their exteriors and each was unique. She locked up her bike and removed her helmet before wandering round each little outlet. Handmade glass, wooden artefacts and ceramics of every conceivable colour and design adorned the shelves in the little shops. She wanted to buy something from every single place but knew she was sadly limited on baggage space.

  In the quirky artist’s studio she immediately fell in love with a miniature painting of Scourie bay and she had to purchase it. It would be a reminder of the kindness she had been shown and the beautiful scenery that greeted her at every turn in the road. In spite of the horrible day she’d had only yesterday, she really was warming to the Highlands and could at least appreciate why people loved it so much – even if it wasn’t a place she could live.

  She thanked the artist and walked along the curved path, following the signposts for Cocoa Mountain. The aroma that infiltrated her nostrils when she opened the door was sweet and tantalising. Her mouth watered as she stood before the glass cases that were filled with delectable-looking pieces of chocolate heaven. She peered up at the drinks menu and the variety of hot chocolates on offer seemed too good to be true. Which should she choose? They all sounded amazing. After much deliberation she chose one and ordered it. She took a seat by the window overlooking the complex and was soon presented with a mug drizzled with melted chocolate round the edges and fresh cream dolloped on the top. She closed her eyes and took a sip. The liquid was velvety smooth and as the dark sweetness hit her taste buds she had to stifle a groan of sheer pleasure. Lachy was r
ight. This is divine. She took out her tablet and tried to put down in words a vivid enough description of the drink that readers of the article would want to visit and try it for themselves. No one should miss out on this, she surmised.

  Trying to savour the mug of indulgence, she drank it slowly and languorously; enjoying every single mouthful as if it were the first. But all too soon it was gone. She was on the verge of ordering another when a group of cyclists walked in, dragging her back to reality and the cycle ahead of her. As she walked back to where she had left her bike she tried to take in as much of the place as she could before she had to leave. She took photos on her newly charged phone – another thanks to Lachy – and smiled as she mounted her titanium steed once more.

  Her next stop was a funny little place named Smoo Cave. It sounded like somewhere you would find an old dragon hiding out. She managed to tag along on a tour that was just about to leave as she arrived and, along with the other intrigued visitors, she walked along, wondering what on earth she was about to see. A narrow path led from the car park where she left her bike and wound its way down towards the wide opening in the rocks that faced the sea.

  Zara snapped photo after photo, all the time grinning and gasping along with the other members of the group as the guide regaled them with stories of the cave’s past. It was an eerie yet simultaneously wonderful place to see and yet another place she would no doubt remember for a long time to come.

  Cycling along with ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ playing in her mind, Zara eventually arrived at Tongue. The campsite was located with a fantastic view of Ben Loyal in the distance. She had made up her time but it had been hard going. Once her tent was set up, she sat beside it and tucked into the home-made bread and pâté that Lachlan had packed for her. He had been quite self-deprecating about his bread, but it was delicious. Fresh and crusty. There wasn’t much that could better home-made bread. The tablet melted on her tongue and she relished the grainy consistency. It was different from fudge and possibly sweeter but, wow, it was so good.