Page 54 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

My stomach lurched. It was happening. My past was catching up with me. It felt like Flower Power was beginning to spin.

Not appearing to notice my stricken expression, Zach’s bright, dark eyes shone out of his chiselled face as he went on. “He’s going to ring me back later this afternoon with more information. Sounds like our party princess is enjoying life tending the land.”

It took a few moments for me to process what Zach had just said. What? My throbbing heartbeat was pounding in my ears. “Sorry? What did you say?”

Zach glanced around him at my clusters of red and green plants and the twinkling Christmas lights. He lowered his deep rumble. “According to this caller – and he seemed very sure of himself – there’s a woman who owns some farmland just outside of Heather Moore. She’s blonde, well-educated and has a penchant for flashing her cash.” Zach looked like the more he considered this notion, the more the jigsaw pieces were slotting together. “I think she could well be our missing Lady Anastasia McLaren-Kerr. The description fits.”

I opened and closed my mouth, before ramming it shut. What was he talking about? Who was he talking about? Farmland? It took a few moments for me to join the mental dots. Oh God. No. It couldn’t be. Realisation dawned.

He was talking about Joan Webber, who lived up in McShand Lodge. I conjured up an image of Joan, with her long, hippie-style, dirty-blonde hair, sea shell necklaces, and penchant for chasing anyone from her property with a cocked shot gun.

I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, be pleased, or offended! Who the hell thought she could be me? That she was the so-called Bollinger Babe? Who was this guy who’d called him, convinced Joan Webber was the Bollinger Babe? Joan hadn’t been near a bar of soap for years. Why would someone think that?

My mouth formed a series of odd shapes. Talk about barking up the wrong tree. More like the whole forest. “That’s a good call,” I stuttered, fighting a sudden, relieved urge bubbling up inside me not to laugh. “I know you reporters don’t usually name your sources, but I wonder who called you about Joan?”

One of Zach’s black brows arched. “He told me he wouldn’t give me his real name. Scared of repercussions, he said. He told me to call him Mark Darcy.”

Mark Darcy? I didn’t know anybody of that name, apart from a character in Bridget Jones. My mouth did that weird, popping open thing again. Mark Darcy.

My eyes widened. No!

I almost laughed out loud, but managed to turn it into a cough when Zach slid me a curious look. Bloody hell! It couldn’t be. Could it? Marcus had rung Zach and deliberately set him on the path to Joan Webber?! The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like too much of a coincidence. Marcus’s favourite movies were the Bridget Jones ones and he’d always harboured a crush on Colin Firth.

Joan Webber was a bit of a mysterious, reclusive figure around these parts. I concealed an emotional smile as memories of the two of us being greeted by Joan, Hettie, her late father Sandy, and their two-family sheepdogs, Lachlan and Lauder, wavered in front of me.

As children, Marcus and I managed to endear ourselves to Hettie whenever we came to Heather Moore, even though they were a family who didn’t tend to mix with the rest of the locals and she would even let us assist Joan in pouring in the double cream when she was making her delicious golden butter.

A glow of emotion lit up inside me. Even though he had his own troubles at the moment, my big brother had made time to look out for me and throw Zach on a wild goose chase. It must be him. It all fitted together.

It wouldn’t deter Zach long-term – as soon as he found out that Joan had lived here all her life with her family, he’d know she wasn’t me – but maybe it would buy me a little more time, and take some of Zach’s attention away from Ezra and his long-lost daughters, and whatever scandal surrounded him.

“Can you excuse me for just a second please, Zach? I have to make a quick call to one of the suppliers. Then I’ll be with you.”

“Sure.”

Grabbing my phone, I darted up to my office and clattered the door shut behind me. I pulled up Marcus’s number. He barely had time to say hi. “Are you Mark Darcy?” I gushed.

There was a rumble of laughter down the line. “What do you think?”

I let out a gasp. “I knew it!”

“Has it worked?”

My head popped with thoughts. “Yes. Well, for now.”

Marcus dropped his voice. “Glad to help. But be careful, ok? Love you.”

Back on the shop floor, Zach’s voice broke through my thoughts. He looked a little awkward, which wasn’t like him at all. “I actually came by because I could do with your help.”

“Oh, yes?”

“I’m looking for a present for someone. A plant or bouquet.”

“Sure,” I replied. “Who’s it for?”

“A friend. She’s a special lady.”

She?