“Not like I can help it.” Her voice was smooth and crisp. English. She glanced back at the engine that was likely as old as the car.
Fantastic.
“Have you called a tow truck?”
“Nope. One won’t come out on a Sunday. I’ll be as quick as I can.”Right. Water ran off her back in sheets, down her bare legs, soaking her pink cowboy boots.Oh jeez. This girl was more clueless than I was. If I left now, she’d probably stumble through the field, right off the edge of the cliff.
“Guess I’ll call one then.” I yanked my phone from its holder. Kinleith didn’t have a garage, but there was one in a neighbouring village that was sure to be open. Rural as Skye might be, this wasn’t Middle-earth. Rumour had it, the pub in Kinleith now stayed open past nine p.m.
The phone signal was shit all the way out here, and it took a minute for the search results to load.
“Well?” she finally called.
“Closed.”Christ, it was like I’d fallen into a time machine.
“Like I said,” she hummed, not even turning around to speak to me.
“Look, you obviously don’t know what you’re doing,” I said, trying not to sound pissed off at her smug tone. But she was the one holdingmeup. “Is it worth getting soaked to your skin? Get back in your car, I’ll call you a taxi.” Then I could be on my way, guilt-free.
Apparently, it was, because she ignored me.
I watched as she kept tinkering uselessly. “Look, lass—” I started. The English adored that nickname, didn’t they? Because of that stupid time-travel show.
“Don’t ‘lass’ me, all right,Braveheart? I’m getting really tired of men thinking they can dictate my life, so just keep quiet and enjoy the show.”
Well, colour me fucking told.
Lips pursed, I rolled up the window.Could I really just sit and wait?
The wind tore her hood back, revealing honey-blonde hairthat quickly soaked to a dark brown before she yanked it back into place. My fingers twitched toward the door handle.
Don’t do it.
Don’t do it.
Your shoes are Italian leather.Just don’t look.
Then a startled cry left her lips.
“I’m a moron,” I muttered, throwing myself into the driving rain. Mud immediately squelched around my feet. I tried not to wince, grabbing the umbrella from the back seat.
As I got closer, I finally saw that the tiny car was loaded up with bin liners and boxes spilling with clothes. In the front seat, a small girl, no older than my seven-year-old twin nieces, sat quietly in the front seat, playing on an iPad.
Her sister? Cousin?
The woman didn’t seem old enough to have a daughter. Maybe the wee girl was a kidnap victim, and I was about to aid and abet a criminal.
Funnily – or not funnily, I suppose – it wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to me this year.
The tourist was shorter than I expected up close. Her head barely grazing my shoulder as I settled beside her, angling the umbrella to shield us both. “I’ll have a look,” I offered, taking a quick inspection of her.
A thick braid curled over one shoulder, the end disappearing into her jacket. I could only see the lower half of her face beneath the brim of her hood. But it was enough to note her pale skin and full lips that naturally turned up at the corners in a constant smile.
“You know about cars?” she asked
“A little.”Nothing. I wouldn’t have even known that in a tiny car like this, the engine was located in the back. “But I’m a doctor.”
“A doctor of cars?”
