Page 59 of A Scottish Island Summer

Chapter Thirteen

After a half-hour drive from Portree the next morning, we arrived at An Corran beach.

‘You’ll feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of Jurassic Park.’ Logan’s eyes glittered with glee. ‘Just watch your footing. The rocks can be very slippery.’

Logan jumped out of the truck and I followed, wriggling my rucksack to a more comfortable position on my back.

Around us was a tangle of rocks laced with a crochet of seaweed in a rainbow variety of different shades of green.

‘The tide’s out, so we should get a good view of the dino prints,’ said Logan, pushing on ahead with those long, muscular legs of his. ‘Just don’t do any filming or take any photos just yet, please. I don’t want you slipping and hurting yourself.’

I blinked at his broad back, encased in his dark fleece. ‘Steady there, Burns,’ I joked. ‘Anyone would think you were starting to care about me.’ The words flew out of my mouth without thinking.

Logan halted on a cluster of rocks and turned to face me, the sea sliding about in the far distance. His expression was soft. ‘I know. Crazy, eh?’

We exchanged a prolonged look before Logan set off again, with me following.

To fill the sudden silence, I pulled up the song ‘Walk the Dinosaur’ by Was Not Was on my phone and started to play a clip.

Logan slowed and turned. He gave me a faux withering look. ‘Is that the best you can do?’

Then he took me by surprise by starting to dance along to it. He had good rhythm and a set of gorgeous snake hips.

Oh, he would have, though, wouldn’t he?!

Flustered, I jabbed the music off.

Offering me a glimpse of a teasing smile, Logan started walking again. The East coast of the island was quiet, with An Corran beach sheltered by a wavy hillside.

The water was a rustling line of steel grey under the nest of clouds.

‘You’ll have to look carefully,’ advised Logan over his shoulder, his deep Scottish accent spinning into the breeze. ‘The dino prints aren’t easy to spot at first.’

I angled my feet this way and that in my walking boots, thankful that Logan had persuaded me to ditch my love of fashion for something far more practical – and safe.

Logan’s head was bent, and every so often he would crouch down to examine something, before springing back up and setting off again.

He angled round and beamed over his shoulder. Then he pointed down at his feet.

I could see a huge dinosaur print studded into the rock. It almost didn’t look real. ‘Blimey!’ I gasped, conjuring up images in my head of a rampaging T-Rex. I raised my camera strung around my neck and took a selfie, with Logan and the dino print behind me.

‘One hundred and seventy million years old.’ Logan sighed in wonder. ‘Talk about feeling insignificant.’

I continued to take some photos of the dinosaur print, positioning myself as I balanced on the rock. I fiddled with my camera, shifting my feet for a better angle.

‘You’re going to slip,’ warned Logan, as I shifted around on the wet surface. ‘Please pay more attention to what you’re doing. Darcie!’

As though I were moving in slow motion, all at once my right foot seemed to take on a life of its own and I found I was struggling to get a grip on the slick surface.

I watched as my right leg flipped up into the air and I let out a panicked screech. My body tensed, bracing itself for the inevitable pain and injury of crash landing on the unforgiving rock surface.

But my eyes popped in surprise when the pain never came … because Logan had managed to bound over to me in a couple of strides and his hands had grabbed me and kept me upright.

The next thing I knew, I was gazing up into Logan’s gorgeous, but concerned, stubbly face.

We stayed like that, oblivious to everything else, with the moody steel-grey sky shifting above our heads.

I appreciated the fullness of his lips and the tilt at the end of his nose.