Page 122 of A Scottish Island Summer

They’d lodged themselves inside my heart.

And as I sank into my seat and the coach glided its way out of Portree, past the higgledy-piggledy cottages and thrusting pine forest stippled across the mountain ranges, I wiped at my teary eyes and slipped into a dejected sleep.

* * *

‘You bloody eejit! What the hell do you think you’re playing at?!’

I shot upright in my coach seat and swiped at my mouth. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. I hoped I hadn’t been dribbling.

There had been a shower, and outside the coach windows the raindrops were chasing each other like silvery pearls down the glass.

How long had I been asleep? It felt like ages. I hitched up the sleeve of my coat and looked at my watch.

I’d been on the bus less than an hour, but it was as if I’d been slumped in my seat for days.

My addled head was brimming with tiredness and pictures of Logan.

The driver’s furious voice continued to remonstrate with someone. Now, he was shaking his fist through the windscreen.

I stretched out my back. The coach wasn’t moving. I peered out my window at the swathe of billowing fields, and then leant across to the elderly couple opposite. ‘Excuse me? Do you know what’s going on? Why have we stopped?’

The gentleman set down his newspaper on his lap. ‘Looks like some nutter is blocking the road.’

The man’s wife, who looked like she’d been concentrating on a crossword puzzle, toyed with the pen she was holding. ‘I wondered if it was roadworks, but I can’t see anything.’ She angled her head against the window and let out a frustrated sigh.

There was an eruption of activity further down the coach aisle where the driver was, and everyone’s heads, including mine, jerked to see what the commotion was.

I could hear the driver continuing to have a heated exchange with someone, the man’s face growing redder and more frustrated by the second.

Then there came the sound of the person the driver was arguing with. It was another male voice. ‘Please, sir. Just give me five minutes. I have to talk to her.’

It took a few moments for the deep, Scottish drawl to register. No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t him. I must be imagining it.

My heart went into a tailspin.

Logan?

I shot out of my seat.

It was him.

Logan was ignoring the protestations of the driver and was studying the assorted faces of the groaning passengers from the bottom of the coach aisle. He raked a frustrated hand through his dark brown hair.

Then he spotted me.

Our eyes locked.

There were a few moments where we just stared at one another in disbelief. Then he started to stride towards me, his eyes never leaving my face.

‘Darcie?’

What was going on? Why was this here?

‘Now look, sir.’ The driver came barrelling up behind Logan. ‘I’ve got a schedule to keep.’

Logan whirled round to him. ‘Please. Just five minutes, that’s all I ask. Then I’ll leave.’

The gaping passengers exchanged more murmurs as they eyed the situation with juicy interest.