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“I’ll carry him,” Archie offered. “He’s away with the fairies now.” Before Laurel could reply, Archie had hefted a near-comatose Zac onto his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and started up the stairs. Zac startled awake, mumbled something, and then fall back into a stupor. Lovely.
Laurel followed behind them, anxious and uncertain, as Archie laid the boy in his bed, took off his shoes, and pulled a blanket over him.
“You might want a bowl,” he advised. “Just in case.”
“Oh… right.” She went back downstairs and came up with a plastic mixing bowl, which she positioned near Zac’s head. Asleep, he looked so young—fair lashes on pale cheeks, a shadow of peach fuzz above his upper lip. She let out a sigh, and then exchanged a wry glance with Archie. He smiled, his expression seeming almost tender, and making Laurel want to… she didn’t even know what. Cry? Throw her arms around him? She’d make do with yet another thank you.
After another beat, they both headed downstairs again, Archie making for the front door.
“You’ve rescued me again,” Laurel said with a funny little laugh. “This is starting to become a habit.”
“I don’t mind.” He smiled at her again, and something strange leaped around low in Laurel’s belly, making her jolt. She wasn’t… she couldn’t be… no, of course not. It was just this was a weirdly intimate moment.
“Why don’t you bring the lad over after breakfast?” Archie suggested. “And you can collect him at suppertime, if you like.”
“Shall I bring something over for supper, then?” she suggested. “As a thank you?” Belatedly she realised how presumptuous she was being, inviting herself over. Archie might have plans for the evening, and yet she realised she wanted to be involved. To see him again.
“If you’re not bothered,” he said. “That would be grand.”
“All right, then.” She smiled, and he smiled again, and the moment spun on a second or two too long, before he finally opened the door and headed out into the darkness.
Laurel remained in the hall, her head spinning a little. She’d seen a lot of Archie MacDougall for one day, and she’d see even more of him tomorrow. The thought made her feel… well, she didn’t know how she felt, but she was smiling as she turned back to the kitchen.
Chapter Nine
“What? No. Way. I am not going.” Zac glared at Laurel over the remains of their breakfast, his arms ominously folded, his eyes bloodshot. He’d been sheepish this morning, until she’d told him about Archie’s grand plan.
“Yes, you are, Zac,” she said as firmly as she could. Now that she’d committed to it, she knew she couldn’t back down. “If you think you can scarper off to a pub and get drunk without any consequences, you are mistaken.” She met his gaze even though she was positively quaking inside. “Archie needs help on the farm and you’re going to do it.”
“Archie is weird,” Zac snapped. “I’m not spending the day with him.”
“He is not weird—”
“He pointed a gun at us—”
“There was a reason for that. He’s been very kind to us, you know—”
“I could call Childline over this,” Zac threatened, and Laurel wondered if he had a point.
Kind as he was, Archie was still a stranger. Was she crazy to be considering this? Committed to it? And yet Archie had known her mum, and Eilidh, and everything he’d done so far had been incredibly kind. All right, yes, he was a wee bit eccentric, perhaps, but so what? Wasn’t everyone, to one degree or another?
“You’re going,” she said flatly. “Get dressed. I’ll drive you over in ten minutes.”
Somewhat to her amazement, Zac was ready and sulking by the front door when she came down to take him to Archie’s farm.
“Thank you,” she said, and Zac grunted. Laurel supposed it was better than nothing. Five minutes later, they were pulling into the yard in front of Archie’s farmhouse, dogs barking and circling the car before Laurel had turned off the ignition.
“Aon, Dha, Tri!” Archie barked as he strode out of one of the barns. “Heel!”
The dogs fell back, and Laurel gave Archie what she hoped was a sunny smile. “We’re here,” she said unnecessarily.
Zac slouched out of the car, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his skinny jeans. He wasn’t, Laurel realised, dressed in appropriate attire for the occasion, but she could not see him wearing the sort of gear Archie looked as if he’d been born in.
“And I’m verra glad you are,” Archie said, his Scottish brogue more pronounced than ever. Laurel wondered if he put in on for Zac’s sake. “Come on, lad, we’ll get you kitted up.”
“Wait—what?”
“You canna muck out a barn in that!” Archie exclaimed with a laugh. “You’ll split your breeks, first off, and those sannies look like they cost a fair bit of dosh.”
