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Lucas turned to Angus, who sniffed with artful knowledge. “Ya no goanae spend time with a lady ’til ye’ve earned the right.”
“And you happen to be the one to determine the checklist of requirements?”
“Feel free to add to it.” Angus winked. “The moor, the better.”
Lucas discovered a new level of respect for the elderly Scot.
“You know,” Lucas said, turning a burger on the grill. “Both Grant and I feel the same way about skirt-chasing Scots wanting to spend time with our mom.” He glanced over the raised hood of the grill toward Bernadette who was laughing with Pinkie.
“As ye should,” Angus said, chin high and undaunted, despite sitting in a wheelchair. “Hand me yer list, and I be knocking it out afore dinner.”
Mia pulled Oliver to the side to show him one of her birthday presents from the Pinkie Posse. A tripod stand with a phone holder and ring light in case she had any interest in making more TikTok videos.
While Oliver and Mia were distracted, Lucas nabbed the opportunity to pin down the Scot on a certain oath he gave.
Putting the last of the grilled meat onto a platter. He leaned against the picnic table as he wiped his hands on a towel. “So, if you remember, you said if I brought Birdie back to Wayward, you’d share important things about her, with or without her permission.”
“Aye,” the Scot said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Marshall covered most of me speil wif ’is note.” Angus scanned the backyard as he navigated his wheelchair closer to Lucas. “That be said, I do ken, the lass would like a bairn of ’er own.”
Lucas considered that piece of information as he watched Birdie cooing at Cindy Wahim’s baby boy. She had never mentioned wanting children. Then again, they had just returned home and dove right into planning for Mia’s party. They’ve had little time to discuss their next meal let alone the possibility of having a baby. Or getting married, for that matter. “She told you that?”
Angus bobbed his head to the left and right. “In so many words, mind ye.”
Lucas would’ve bet money it was Angus who was eager for another child to raise. And to teach the basics of sword wielding and beard growing. Assuming it was a boy.
Angus stroked his beard, more gray than red these days. “Yer goanae want to go ahead an git started,” Angus said with a serious countenance. “Could take a weel.”
Lucas restrained a grin. The man might be relegated to a wheelchair, but it was a temporary condition. “Yes, sir.”
His mission complete, Angus called after Oliver, suggesting the boy pitch his wee pocketknife and replace it with a dirk. He happened to have one in his room and offered to show him the weapon’s superior attributes.
At the same time, Lucas caught Birdie chatting with Mary-Lou. Probably sharing their shared discontent with Mia’s wily nature.
Staring at Birdie’s soft smile, her green eyes full of joy, he waited for the feeling of having everything he wanted close in on him. For anxiety to set in. So close to having her and so close to suffering the pain of ever losing her again.
At one time, the thought of taking the risk of losing another person he loved felt like toxic waste penetrating his skin, melting his insides and doing whatever it was that dangerous pathogens could do to compromise your soul and destroy your peace of mind.
The dire feeling of loss he had loosely assigned to financial terms that allowed for a more disconnected approach to relationships. Concepts and coping mechanisms to protect him from the pain of losing someone. He waited for them to set in and take over.
Nothing. No creeping dread of potential life-altering loss. No painful anxiety similar to someone squeezing him by the jugular and him working to find an ever so small pathway to breathe.
Just blissful calm.
Add on top of that, a rather crafty Scottish caretaker, who would literally die for Mia and who was now looking out for Bernadette. He was feeling pretty damned stress-free.
Handing the large platter over to Cora Leigh, he spotted Flynn standing awkwardly to the side with a red Solo cup in his hand, likely filled with sweet tea.
Placing a package of hotdogs on the grill, he waved Grant over to take his place so he could speak with his new employee and maybe introduce him to a few people.
“Hey, Flynn,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Having a good time?”
He clearly wasn’t.
“Oh, yes, sir. Thank you for including me.” He took a nervous sip, gazing at the intimidating crowd over the rim.
“Have you met everyone?” Lucas asked. “Working as my assistant will require you get to know the constituents of Wayward.”
“Birdie was kind enough to introduce me to our fire chief, a Mr. Hollis Walker, and his wife, Lorraine. And Herschel, a bartender at the Wayward Whiskey House who was kind enough to offer me a drink on the house on my first visit.”
