"Right." Rhys says as he starts to lift.
Regretfully, I push off and get myself standing up in the ditch. Thank goodness for the wellies because there's at least two inches of water here.
Rhys turns and scrambles up to the road. I wait to follow him to enjoy the wet and muddy backside view.
No harm in just looking right?
We get into position again and without another incident we get The Golf Cart back on the road.
"Alright, let's have a look." Granny pops the hood and leans over the engine. "Ah ha. Simple fix."
We watch as she pulls a paperclip from her pocket and uses it to twist two wires together. She closes the hood, dusts off her hands, and turns to us. "Shona, Michael, Delilah, you're clean enough to get in the car. Duncan, Rhys, you're walking."
"I umm have Clyde." Rhys glances at the white Clydesdale who is happily munching on some weeds.
"I'm sure he'll follow you." Granny says as she climbs into the front seat.
I look at Rhys and shrug. "C'mon, it's not a terrible walk, and I'll get you a change of clothes."
Chapter six
Rhys
A New Tune
Thelittlecarrumblesoff down the road and I'm left with Duncan and Clyde.
We're quiet as we start our walk and my brain registers the rhythm of our footsteps against the pavement mixed against the clop of hooves.
It's two quick steps of our feet and a clop-clop repeated as we make our way down the lane.
I couldn’t sleep last night. I told my parents it was the jet leg.
I told myself it was the predicament my love life is in.
I told lies.
Every time I tried to force sleep a pair of rain-spotted glasses above a wide, warm smile appeared. My neck would heat, my mouth would go dry, and I’d flip my pillow hoping for relief.
I know I look haggard and rough.
Duncan looks fresh and full of life with his slightly rosy cheeks. It’s mud splattered glasses this time but the same, electric smile consumes my attention.
I’m not sure how much time passes but, without the highland drizzle barely misting, it’s long enough for the mud caked on my pants to dry, making them stiff.
But I won’t admit it to Duncan, I’m sure he’d have a field day with that comment. I can’t believe his dad joked about mud wrestling. And I can’t believe how much my body liked the idea.
I’m still a fragile heartbroken mess.
Aren’t I?
I’m supposed to be.
Instead I’m fixating on the veiny hands and muscular forearm peeking past the cuffs of his waffle knit shirt.
"So decided to start your day on horseback this morning?" Duncan’s slightly sassy leading question interrupts my mental thirsting.
"Don't make this an upstairs downstairs thing."
