Hurt.
‘What on earth’s he done now?’ Gran questioned.
Rae’s knife dropped to the chopping board with a clatter, panic clenching cold fists around her gut as she dashed outside. She almost tripped over the dogs to reach Dad.
‘What happened?’
‘He’s all right,’ assured the man supporting his weight. His honey-blond hair and hulking frame were familiar, but Rae didn’t have time to look at his face,assuming he was one of the few farmhands left. ‘Just decided to take a long walk off a short cliff, didn’t you, Doug?’
Dad’s snort of amusement was fractured by his wince, his face wan under his dark beard. ‘Aye, I clearly need my eyes checked, as well as everything else. It’s just a sprain, kiddo. I’m fine.’
She rushed to prop the patio door open, unable to tear her gaze away from her dad’s pained expression. ‘Are you sure? Maybe we should go to the hospital—’
‘No need. I’ve checked for broken bones already.’ Dad’s saviour was so tall that he had to duck his head to guide him through the patio door. Once in the kitchen, he turned to give Rae a lopsided smile, revealing a dimple that was half-hidden by a smattering of uneven stubble, thicker above his top lip than his chin. His hazel eyes triggered vague recognition, but it was his words that finally gave him away.
‘Long time, no see, Little Rae.’
No. That was impossible. Her best friend’s lanky older brother, who she’d nicknamed Ben Nevis after the UK’s tallest mountain, could not have gotten this handsome since they’d last seen one another at Martha’s twenty-third birthday party. Had he made a sacrifice to the mountain gods? Spent the last five years sipping water from a mystical fountain overlooked by pixies?
She hadn’t realised that she’d frozen on the threshold until Gran complained, ‘Close the door, child. You’re letting the midges in.’
By then, Nevis – shit, no,Struan –had disappeared down the corridor with Dad.
‘Don’t touch my carrots!’ she demanded when Gran’s hand curled around the knife, then hurriedly grabbed an extra-large ice pack from the freezer and followed after them.
Dad was already on the couch when she stepped into the living room, his leg propped on the cluttered coffee table. Struan was peeling off Dad’s navy sock, which should have been a terrible experience for all involved considering the hairy toes, but…
But Nevis wasreallyhot. No wonder the ice caps were melting.
Now that his length-to-width ratio had balanced out and he wasn’t the shape of a HB pencil, he looked more like a windswept Viking, unkempt hair brushing his devastatingly broad shoulders. He squatted to display cords of firm muscle that was difficult to look away from. His shorts riding up didn’t help matters, thighs golden and hair-dusted, with dried dirt spattering his lower calves.
Foot. Dad’s sweaty foot with its swollen green-blue ankle was the thing Rae was supposed to be concentrating on. She all but threw the bag of ice at Struan. It dropped in front of him with a thud – right on Dad’s injury.
‘Jesus Christ, woman!’ Dad bellowed out. ‘By all means, make sure it’s really sprained, aye?’
‘Sorry!’ Rae grimaced.
‘She’s just making sure you’re not faking it.’ That ever-friendly grin still graced Struan’s features, even as he shifted the ice to prod at Dad’s joint. ‘How’s that feel? Tender?’
‘Well, if it wasn’t before, it is now!’ Dad groused, batting away Maisy, the most boisterous of the two Springers, when she tried to lick at his toes.Ick. Attraction successfully forgotten.
‘You’re lucky it isn’t broken,’ Struan said.
‘Aye,lucky.’
A crease of concentration etched itself between Struan’s brows as he rooted through his backpack propped beside him. ‘I’ll bandage it up to keep it supported. You should be able to put a bit of weight on it once the swelling goes down tomorrow. I am a bit concerned about how you fell, though. Did you really not see the ledge?’
Dad’s pursed lips snagged all of Rae’s attention. She’d thought Struan had been joking about the long walk off a short cliff.
She hoisted up Maisy to keep her away, ignoring the slobbery tongue on her cheek. The mud caking the dog’s underbelly soon smeared over Rae’s arms. ‘You missed a step?’
‘It was nothing. The heat just made me a wee bit dizzy.’ Dad had inherited Gran’s nonchalance – except when it came to Rae. The first time he’d caught her drunk, he’d hit the roof. In fact, Struan had been there that night, too, driving her and his sister Martha home not a few weeks after getting his license. It would have been far worse if they’d crashed at Martha’s, her mum already struggling with the loss of her husband, so Struan had brought them here, surprisingly patient for a mourning eighteen-year-old forced to handle two raucous, giggling teenage girls giddy from their first house party.
Gosh, she hadn’t thought about that night in so long. She’d barely called Martha at all over the last few months and had a chain of unanswered WhatsApp messages lurking on her phone. The longer it got, the guiltier she felt.
‘Dizzy?’ she repeated, alarm sharpening her tone.
Struan met her gaze without warning. She’d forgotten how pretty his eyes were, round and muted hazel so that the green was only visible if you really took the time to notice. Which Rae had never, ever done, even if she was reminded now of how disarming it could feel to be their sole focus. He was two years older than she and Martha, had snuck toilet jokes into every conversation, had once carried the pervasive smell of weed with him, and was always listening to bands that screamed rather than sung their depressing lyrics.
