“It’s not what I expected,” she mutters. “But it’s a change.”
Back on dry land, she ruffles Jacob’s ears. He grins up at her in only the way a collie can, wide smile, floppy pink tongue. Cartoon caricature in real time.
“He’s not mine either,” I admit. “Got a new neighbor. She’s elderly. I take him on some longer hikes.”
“I suppose we should try an introduction again,” she says with a smirk. “My name’s Katie Clark, arrived here a few months ago.” She shakes her head as if remembering something funny. “And what a few months I’ve had.”
No idea what compels me to offer, but I hear myself say, “I have quite a bit of experience with animals. If you want, I could help.”
Her eyes narrow playfully. “What did you say your name was? For all I know, you could be an outlaw.”
“Major Lance McDonald, ma’am. British Army. Reasonably safe to be around.”
Her grin blooms, bright and wicked. “Well, Major, how can a lady refuse that offer?”
After rounding up all the four-legged troublemakers, we head toward Eden House. The owners are incredibly private. People in town whisper all kinds of nonsense—drug deals, trafficking, you name it. What people don’t understand, they invent.
We arrive at Katie’s little cottage. The second we step inside, I’m hit with warmth and calm. Flames crackle over wood, something mouth-watering simmers on the stove, and bright cushions are scattered everywhere.
Then I see the painting.
Hell.
A man railing a curvy woman over a table. Graphic. Sexy. And the bloody detail…
I blink. “Did you paint this?”
She flushes, cheeks turning magenta pink. “No, it’s inspiration.”
“Inspiration?”
“I’m an erotic novelist. I look at pictures of people fornicating to get going.”
“Get going?” My brows rise.
“To write, you dipshit. Don’t be a dirty bastard.”
I laugh, like really belly laugh. I can’t help it. She’s damn chaos wrapped in sugar. Totally dangerous.
“I’ll believe you, ma’am,” I say with a wink.
“So, Major McDonald,” she teases. “Tell me about yourself. Been in Aviemore long?”
“Aviemore born and bred, ma’am.” I pretend to tip an invisible cap. “Only left to serve her Majesty.”
The mugs clink as she pours the tea.
“Signed up for the British Army at eighteen. Sandhurst. Back here soon after, met Ainsley, and we had Hannah. Iraq was meant to be my last tour.” I swallow. The next part hurts. “Came home in July, found Ainsley with my so-called best friend.”
“Shit,” Katie blurts. “What a cow!”
Her bluntness makes me chuckle, the self-pity evaporating.
“Did you box the guy up?” she demands. “I hope you cut his dick off, fucking prick. Knobscratcher cheated on me countless times. Nothing fucks you up more.”
“Knobscratcher? Who the hell is Knobscratcher?” I choke out.
She wipes the tears from her eyes. “My ex-husband. Twenty years I wasted with that good-for-nothing bastard. He doesn’t deserve a name.”