Page 20 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

‘I was talking to the lady and the lamb,’ he joked.

I guessed that was his punchline, so I laughed. I ruffled Pirate behind one ear.

Evan jumped in and asked for a pint of Guinness. He turned to me. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Just a fresh orange juice, please. I’m driving, remember?’

‘And your friend?’ persisted the barman, gesturing to Pirate. ‘Would he like a baaa supper?’

The barman chuckled at his own joke. I pushed out a smile. Pirate was providing this middle-aged man with an endless supply of chronic one-liners that I’d expect to find in a Christmas cracker.

While the barman fetched our drinks, I ignored the quizzical looks from a few other punters. I nudged Evan. ‘My purse is in the front pocket of my bag. Can you fetch it for me, please?’

Evan shook his head. ‘This is on me, even though you’ve made us late getting to our accommodation because of Shaun here.’

‘Thank you. I think. Oh, and it’s not Shaun. It’s Pirate.’

Evan offered the lamb a withering look. ‘Stupid me. Yes, of course it is.’

The barman set down Evan’s pint of rich brown Guinness and my orange juice, complete with a paper straw. He accepted Evan’s credit card and put it through the machine.

‘I wondered if you might be able to help?’ I asked him, adjusting the dozy Pirate in my arms.

The barman handed Evan’s credit card back to him. ‘Yes, I’ll try to help if I can.’

I took a gulp of the fresh orange out of the straw. It was cold and zingy as it hit the back of my throat. Pirate wriggled in my arms for a closer look at my liquid refreshment before blinking wearily again.

‘I found this little fella alone by the side of the road, not far from here.’ I pointed at his wriggly tail. ‘He’s got a blue daub of paint, which looks like either the letter S or the number eight.’ I turned Pirate around in my arms, so the barman could see. ‘I don’t suppose you might know which farm he belongs to?’

Evan took a long, satisfying pull of his pint. ‘Please, sir. Tell Daisy you do know, otherwise I think we could end up as a threesome on the way to Scotland.’

I scowled up at Evan, whose face was deadpan. Then he winked down at me. ‘I’m not interested in threesomes,’ he whispered across at me. ‘I’m too selfish.’

My face flooded with colour. My mouth pursed. ‘I can assure you, I’ve got absolutely no interest whatsoever in what might or might not float your boat.’

I hugged Pirate tighter but managed to throw Evan what I hoped was a disdainful expression.

That made Evan’s eyes glitter with amusement, which made me even more bad-tempered.

The barman leant across and took a closer look at the blue smudge on Pirate’s curly white coat. ‘Sorry, Miss. I’ve no idea. There are a fair few farms around here, so he could belong to any of them.’

‘I don’t want to say I told you so,’ murmured Evan from behind his pint glass.

‘But no doubt you will.’

Oh bugger. What if we couldn’t locate the farmer who Pirate belonged to? I wasn’t prepared to just leave him here to fend for himself.

Observing me with a growing look of concern, Evan set down his Guinness on the bar. The pub lights shone behind him. ‘Don’t tell me you’re thinking of bringing him along with us to the bed and breakfast?’

I jutted out my chin. Pirate snuggled against my chest. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

Evan raised his beer to his lips again. ‘I’m staggered you’d prefer the company of a walking woolly jumper than a tall, dark and rugged journalist.’

I cradled Pirate and took another sip of my orange juice through the paper straw. ‘I think that speaks volumes, don’t you?’

Evan’s eyes sparkled at me.

‘Excuse me?’