The morning after the fire, Lake was gone. In fact, everything was gone. The very worst had happened to Kirsty and the world hadn’t ended. With resolve she wouldn’t have believed possible, she began to pick up the pieces of her life. The strange thing was, because she’d built her life from scratch once before, it wasn’t that scary doing it again. She thought it would be, but she was wrong. It would just be hard. Very, very hard. Especially without Lake.
Christmas came and went with no word from him and Kirsty’s hopes that he would return began to fade. She told herself that it was pathetic to pine after him, especially since he’d run off without even saying goodbye. As New Year’s Eve approached, Kirsty wondered when she’d see the “for sale” sign on Lake’s shop. She’d been expecting it since the Monday after the fire and it hadn’t appeared, which made everything even more confusing. To add to her suspicions, Betty wasn’t talking. And Betty always talked.
Betty’s silence didn’t stop the speculation, though. The rumours were flying in Invertary. The local pub had become a hub of gossip and intrigue, mainly because Caroline wouldn’t tolerate it at the library and no one wanted to hang around the bakery. Kirsty was perfectly aware of the talk. She could hardly miss it, seeing as the women of Knit Or Die gave her almost hourly updates.
“I hear he’s joined the foreign legion,” Jean said in a conspiratorial tone. “It was all that testosterone. Far too much for a wee town like this.”
The women nodded.
“A man like that needs an outlet, he’s better off in a war.”
“I don’t know,” said her mother. “I think he’s gone to find his sister.”
Shona nodded as her lips pursed.
“Word is that she fell pregnant to that young Alastair and went mad with the thought of all that responsibility.”
“Oh,” Heather said. “I heard that she killed her parents in a fit of rage and was on the run.”
Jean’s eyes went wide.
“Nobody’s seen the parents since the night of the fire,” she said in a stage whisper.
The women gaped at each other.
“Seriously?” Kirsty said, mainly because she’d had enough of listening to them. “Rainne killed someone? Rainne who talked about peace and recycled underwear? The girl who made the traffic stop so a hedgehog could walk across the road. That Rainne?”
This was the problem with living with her mother—she was constantly surrounded by a group of gossiping middle-aged women and there was no space to think. That and the fact she now slept on faded Barbie sheets and looked at old Take That posters when she couldn’t sleep, which was all the time.
“Now that you mention it,” Shona said, “she’s really not the type for violence, is she?”
“Oh, oh, oh.” Jean bounced on the old wooden chair, making the round table rock and mugs of tea spill. “I know what happened!”
The looks around the group said that no one believed that for a minute. Kirsty grabbed a cloth from the tiny kitchen at the back of her mum’s shop and mopped up the mess.
“I bet,” Jean said, “that Betty killed the parents and pinned the murder on Rainne!”
“We all know she’s capable of murder,” Shona said as she considered the latest theory.
Kirsty looked towards heaven and silently asked for more patience.
“Why would she kill Rainne’s parents?” she asked her mother’s loony friends.
“Why? To get Lake all to herself, of course,” said Jean.
“We all know she thinks of that boy as a son,” Shona said.
“Or as her evil prodigy,” Heather said with a nod.
They looked at Kirsty for a minute. Heather blushed.
“Not that he’s evil,” she said quickly. “Just that Betty would like him to be. You know, so she can start an empire and take over the town.”
There was nodding. Kirsty had heard enough. Any more of this and she was going to move back into her stinking flat. She didn’t care if it was dirty, smelly and had holes in the floor. It was better than this torture. This was adding insult to injury. She’d been attacked, lost her business and home, Lake was nowhere to be found and now she had to suffer the insanity of Invertary’s gossipmongers. Her head was going to explode if she listened to much more.
“I’m going for a walk,” Kirsty told her mother, who was serving a customer at the front of her shop.
“It’s snowing,” her mother protested.
“Excellent,” Kirsty said. “That means I might get some peace to think.”
She wrapped herself in the ugly fur coat that had been a gift from her mother. It summed up her life that one of the few things to survive the fire was the coat she hated so much. She pulled on a borrowed woollen scarf, and borrowed woollen gloves, and went out into the high street.
The snow was coming down thick and fast. The hills around Invertary were shrouded in heavy cloud as fat snowflakes covered Kirsty’s world. As she came to a stop in front of the burnt-out shell that used to be her home, she noted that the white frosting made even the desolation seem pretty. Kirsty stared at the mess before her. There was literally nothing left, and instead of despair, all Kirsty felt was a strange kind of acceptance. She hadn’t had one panic attack since the fire. She’d spent nights lying in her old bedroom, listening to her mother snoring, as she tried to figure out where the panic had gone. Eventually she’d come to the conclusion that the source of her panic attacks was fear. Fear that everything she had would disappear. Now that it had actually happened, there really was nothing left to fear. She was still standing. She was still living day after day. As gut-wrenchingly awful as everything was, she actually felt hope.
“Staring at it isn’t going to change anything,” Betty said as she came up beside her.
Kirsty kept her eyes on the mess as the snow coated her from head to toe.
“Is he coming back?” she asked at last.
“Of course he’s coming back, stupid lassie,” Betty said.
“Is he staying when he comes back?” Her heart beat fast at the thought of it.
“I don’t think it’s my place to talk about that,” Betty told her.
Kirsty turned towards her.
“Since when do you care about butting into other people’s business?”
“That’s a good point,” Betty said. “But the man has a plan and I don’t want you to ruin it, so I’m keeping my trap shut.”
Kirsty grunted. She recognised the stubborn look on Betty’s face and knew she wouldn’t get the information out of her. Not without threatening her, anyway. She thought hard. Maybe a bribe?
“I’ll buy you pies for a month if you tell me what’s going on.”
“Ha!” Betty said. “With what? You don’t have any money. You don’t have a business and you don’t have a home. You didn’t even have the sense to stop the police taking all those diamonds. It’s pathetic. I mean, look at you—you don’t even have a decent coat.”
Kirsty looked down at the ugly fur coat her mother had given her, and then back to Betty’s smug wee face. Something went pop inside of her, like a pin to a balloon. The colossal screw-up of her life was suddenly a black comedy. Without being able to stop it, she started to giggle. The look of surprise on Betty’s face made her laugh harder. Betty started to chuckle, and together they held each other and laughed until tears were streaming down their cheeks.
“Well,” Betty said as she wiped her face. “This is a bloody mess.”
“And I have no idea what to do about it,” Kirsty said with a grin.
“At least you’re cheery,” Betty said, and they started to laugh all over again.
“I think it might be hysterics,” Kirsty said through her tears.
That made them laugh harder.
At last, gasping for breath, they calmed down. Kirsty felt lighter than she had since the fire.
“When you talk to Lake,” she told Betty, “tell him that as far as I’m concerned the war isn’t over.”
Betty’s eyes sparkled.
&nbs
p; “And how exactly are you going to fight?” she said.
“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” Kirsty said. “Tell him that if he doesn’t come back and fight like a man, I’ll take that as a sign of surrender and will broadcast to the world that I won the war.”
Betty grinned widely.
“Anything else you want me to tell him?” she said.
“Yep,” Kirsty said as she stamped warmth back into her toes. “Tell him that cowards run and hide. Tell him that there’s unfinished business here and I expect him to finish it.”
“I’ll do that, lass,” Betty said.
“And you can also tell him that I’m seriously cheesed off with him,” she added for good measure.
“You know,” Betty said thoughtfully, “when you get rid of all the outward stuff, you and me are a lot alike.”
That almost made Kirsty start laughing again.
“I don’t see it myself,” she said.
“Well,” Betty said mischievously. “We both like a good fight. We both don’t have a clue when we’re beaten. And we’re both pretty stubborn.”
Kirsty smiled with surprise.
“I guess you could say that,” Kirsty said. She thought about it for a minute. “But I’m not evil,” she said as an afterthought.
“There is that,” Betty agreed before she tottered back over the road to Lake’s shop.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Caroline said.
Even though it was New Year’s Eve and technically a day off work, Caroline was still dressed for her job. She marched primly over to where Kirsty was sitting beside the loch. Kirsty was huddled under a blanket while sipping tea from a flask she’d brought with her. She offered it to Caroline, who shook her head.
“I couldn’t stand the noise any more,” she told her friend. “It’s like living in a cage of budgies. I never realised how much those women talk until I was forced to live my mother’s life.”
Caroline produced a plastic bag from her handbag and placed it on the log next to Kirsty before she sat down. Then Kirsty had to wait while Caroline adjusted her grey woollen coat, which she wore over her grey woollen suit. It occurred to Kirsty that her friend was practising for being a spinster. A classic one from the 1950s. Next there would be cats and crocheted tea cosies. Actually, now that she thought about it, she couldn’t see anything at all wrong with that life. Maybe she’d join Caroline and they could embrace it together. Because it didn’t look like her love life was going anywhere. There was still no sign of Lake.
“I have news,” Caroline said.
She beamed at Kirsty.
“You secretly took out insurance on my shop and I can rebuild?”
“No.” Her face fell.
Kirsty squeezed her hand, regretting her flippant words.
“Okay, what’s the news?” she said.
“Well,” Caroline said, her eyes sparkling again, “my phone has been ringing off the hook.”
There was a pause. Kirsty was confused.
“That’s the news?”
Caroline frowned at her.
“No. The news is that there are magazines, and shops and models all interested in your new lingerie line.”
Kirsty sat up straight. She suddenly didn’t care that her bum was beginning to freeze on the old log.
“I don’t have a lingerie line,” she said. “Everything went up in smoke. My work, my sketches, my ideas. Everything.”
“Not everything.” Caroline motioned to the ugly fur coat.
“No, not this.” Kirsty stopped dead. “The lingerie from the show is still in the caravan.”
Caroline nodded excitedly.
“We forgot all about it. Now you have something to start with. Plus, Helena called. She spoke to the fashion editor at one of the women’s magazines and showed her the photos from the fashion show.” She grinned widely. “They want to run a spread on you and your work.”
“Holy moly!”
Kirsty stood up because it seemed the right thing to do. People liked her designs. They wanted to do a story on her that didn’t revolve around her mishaps. It blew her mind.
“I got calls from two shops wanting to know how they can order the lingerie,” Caroline said as she stood beside her. “I didn’t know what to tell them. I didn’t even know the name of the design label or what you called the tartan range.” She paused as she told Kirsty off in a look. “I felt really stupid. If I’m going to keep getting these calls then you need to give me information.”
“I don’t have any information,” Kirsty said as she threw up her hands in exasperation. “I told you, I don’t have anything at all.”
“Nonsense,” Caroline said. “You have the tartan lingerie. You have the photos from the show and the information on your website. You have a brain and a memory. Now all you need is a sketchpad, a pencil and a phone to make some calls. Your mum and the women in her group will donate materials and a sewing machine. I don’t see the problem.”
From the look on her face, she really didn’t. Kirsty beamed at her and pulled her into a tight hug.
“You are fantastic,” she told her friend.
Caroline’s face turned a deep shade of beetroot.
“It’s not me. All I did was answer the phone. You’re the one with all the talent.”
Kirsty nudged her with her shoulder before looking out over the loch. It was a start. A good start. She’d been so focused on what to do with the shop and where to live. Heck, on what to tell the bank when they opened in the new year. She hadn’t once thought about the lingerie from the show.
“You deserve it, you know?” Caroline told her. “You work so incredibly hard and you keep bouncing back after all the terrible things you go through. You really are the most courageous person I know.”
Her eyes teared up, which made Kirsty do the same.
“Courageous?” She smiled at the word.
Caroline nodded sombrely.
“Always have been,” she said. “I wish I had half your courage.”
Kirsty really couldn’t get her head around that.
“I’m so proud,” Caroline said, and Kirsty gave her another hug just for good measure.
“Now.” Caroline cleared her throat. “What about a name for your designer label? Or are you just going to call it Lingerie by Kirsty Campbell?”
Kirsty shook her head. A new start needed a new name.
“Okay.” Caroline sat back down on her plastic bag. “What about Phoenix?” She looked pretty excited. “Underwear that rises from the ashes.”
“As in underwear so hot it burns your boobs? Or lingerie that stinks of smoke?”
Kirsty looked out over the pale grey loch that blended into a pale grey sky. More snow coming.
“What about Highland Hotties?” she said in triumph.
Caroline shook her head.
“It sounds like a range of pies.”
Kirsty was stumped. She wrapped an arm around her friend.
“It’s going to be okay,” she told her.
“I never thought otherwise,” Caroline said.
They stared out over snow-covered hills. All the colour had been bleached out of Invertary.
“There’s something else,” Caroline said. “Because of everything that happened, we never finished the fashion show properly. Dougal and I have been talking and we think that it would make a good New Year’s Eve event.” She took a deep breath. “The dance school will perform the routine they never got to do and we’ll announce the winner of the Battle of the Bras. We want you to be there for the announcement.”
“No way,” Kirsty said. “What difference does it make who won? And I, for one, don’t want to relive that night.”
“You won’t be reliving it,” Caroline said. “You’ll be finishing it. Think of it as closure.”
“I already have closure. The shop is very much closed. I don’t need any more closure.” Kirsty glared at her friend. “Plus, no one cares who won.”
“Everyone cares,” Carolin
e said. “People are asking Dougal all the time.”
“Fine, let him tell them.” Kirsty turned back to the loch. “I don’t see why I have to be there. Lake won’t be there. I doubt he cares about who won the fashion show either.”
Caroline patted Kirsty’s hand.
“He’ll come back for you,” Caroline said. “I know it.”
“You are such a romantic, Caroline Paterson.”
Kirsty, on the other hand, had learnt the hard way to be realistic.
“We need you there for the announcement or it won’t make sense,” Caroline said.
Kirsty twisted on the log to look at her friend.
“Let me get this right,” she said. “After everything I’ve been through, you want me to go out on Hogmanay, sit in a crowd and listen while Dougal tells the world that I lost a fashion show?”
Caroline’s cheeks flushed rose.
“What makes you think you lost?” she demanded.
Little alarm bells went off in Kirsty’s head. She stopped dead and stared at her friend. Caroline wouldn’t look her in the eye.
“What’s going on really?” Kirsty said.
“Nothing.”
Caroline had the same look on her face she’d had the few times Kirsty had talked her into skipping school to go shopping.
“Nothing?” she said suspiciously.
Caroline talked to her feet.
“We just think that it’s right that you’re there for the announcement,” she said.
“Even though I could be humiliated?”
“That won’t happen. I promise.”
Caroline clamped her lips tight so that no other words would escape. Kirsty had seen this before. She was up to something and she was rubbish at hiding the truth. All Kirsty had to do was wait until her guilty conscience got the better of her, then she’d confess.
“And this was Dougal’s idea?” she said.
“Well, it wasn’t mine,” Caroline told her.
That answered the question. It wasn’t Caroline’s idea. And it obviously wasn’t Dougal’s, or Caroline would have said so. That left only one option.
“You know what?” Kirsty smiled sweetly. “I think you’re right. I think I do need closure.”
“So you’ll be at the pub?”
“Oh yes, I’ll definitely be there.”
It looked like the war was still on after all, and that made Kirsty grin.
“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this,” Lake told Betty.
“What are you whining about now? You look grand.”
“Yeah, right.” He turned to Dougal. “Won’t I get struck by lightning for wearing this thing?”
“You’re offending Scotland, son, not God.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Lake said with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t see why I have to dress up.”
Betty and Dougal shared a look.
“We know,” Betty said. “That’s why you need us. This is a special occasion. You can’t go out there in your birthday suit—as much as you like to flash it every chance you get.”
“What kind of tartan is this?” he said as he felt the fabric.
“McCloud,” Betty told him. “Welcome to the clan, son.”
Excellent, thought Lake. There would be no getting rid of her now.
“How’s Rainne?” Dougal said, interrupting his thoughts.
“She’s okay,” was all Lake said.
He’d found her sharing a flat with about a million other people in Glasgow’s West End, while waitressing at one of the cafes on Byres Road. She was miserable, but stubbornly refused to return with him to Invertary or to go to their parents. He wasn’t sure if he admired her for that or not. He’d wished that Rainne would stand on her own two feet, and now that she’d done it, he didn’t like it one bit.
“Alastair hasn’t said a word to anyone since he came back,” Dougal said, fishing for gossip.
He wasn’t going to get it from Lake. Alastair had enough to deal with in losing Rainne. The last thing he needed was the town poking its nose in. Glasgow had been ugly for Alastair. Rainne had refused to even talk to the boy. In the end, Lake practically had to manhandle him to get him home. It wasn’t pretty.
“Stop fidgeting,” Betty said.
“I can’t help it. I don’t feel comfortable.”
“Get a grip. You ran through Invertary half naked and strutted your stuff on a catwalk. This is nothing.”
“I’m wearing a skirt. It isn’t nothing. Englishmen don’t wear skirts. It’s the reason we had an empire. It’s the reason Scotland is part of the UK. Real men don’t wear skirts.”
Dougal and Betty stared at him, open-mouthed.
“If it wasn’t for Kirsty, I’d walk away now,” Dougal said in disgust. “You’ve been here months and you haven’t learnt a thing. There’s a right way to do things in Invertary. Something of this importance can’t be handled over a quiet cup of tea. It needs flair. It needs drama. Kirsty is an Invertary girl. She wouldn’t be happy with anything less. We’re trying to make sure you don’t make a fool of yourself.”
“By putting me in a skirt?”
Betty whacked him in the stomach. Lake raised an eyebrow at her. Really? You think that will hurt? She narrowed her eyes and kicked him in the ankle. Now that did hurt. He rubbed the spot while glaring at her.
“Grow up,” she commanded.
She tugged down her trademark tartan tent, patted her hairnet and checked to see if her teeth were still in place.
“I feel like I’m in the remake of Highlander,” Lake grumbled.
“Terrible movie. Bad Scottish accents, and to have Sean Connery play a Spaniard was an abomination. Honestly, what were they thinking? The only decent accent in the whole movie and we’re supposed to think he came from Spain? And don’t even get me started on the guy who played the hero!”
He was sorry he’d brought it up.
“This is what’s happening,” Dougal said. “I’m going to make an announcement and you’ll come on stage.”
Lake held up a hand.
“I gave you the plan, remember? I’m the one in charge here.”
The two of them took a step towards him. For the first time, Lake began to think there was something behind the Romans’ reasoning when they built Hadrian’s Wall to keep the Scots out of England.
Kirsty knew as soon as she entered the pub that it was some sort of setup. The place was packed like a sardine can and yet, miraculously, there was a free table beside the stage just for her. She followed Caroline, her mother and the women of Knit or Die to the table, and they squeezed in around it. The women were all dolled up for the party. Each one of them trying to outdo the other with glitter, hairstyles and cleavage. Kirsty felt quite dowdy beside them. She was wearing a plain blue dress that her mother had made for her. It was gorgeous and she loved it, but it was hardly up to the standards of New Year’s Eve in Invertary.
“Don’t you feel underdressed?” she asked Caroline.
Caroline looked down at her pale green retro dress and back to Kirsty.
“I thought I was dressed up,” she said.
Kirsty patted her hand. She was dressed up. For Caroline. In fact she looked gorgeous with her strawberry-blond bob and Doris Day dress.
“You’re gorgeous,” Kirsty told her.
Caroline beamed at her.
“I still feel underdressed,” Kirsty said. “You can count the number of people in here that aren’t wearing tinsel on one hand.”
Caroline looked around.
“I can nab you some if you like,” she offered.
Kirsty shook her head. From the corner of her eye she could see her mother empty her bag. Out came a Dundee cake, a tiny bottle of whisky and a piece of coal. She placed them all on the table in front of her.
“For good luck,” she announced.
“Aren’t you supposed to take that to someone’s house when you first-foot?” Caroline said.
“Better safe than sorry,” her mother replied.
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Kirsty and Caroline shared a look, then shrugged. This was what Kirsty’s life had come to. She was spending New Year’s Eve in Invertary’s only pub, wearing her only dress and partying with a woman who had coal in her handbag.
People were jostling them and the noise grew louder the closer to midnight it became. On the TV in the corner of the room a generic magazine programme counted down the minutes to midnight. In front of her was a long, thin stage. Kirsty hadn’t seen it before and assumed it’d been made for the evening. There were posters on the wall behind the stage advertising the local dance school. Suddenly Dougal appeared. He tapped his microphone. There was a squeal of feedback. People shouted. Dougal signalled to someone before tapping the microphone again.
“Welcome to Invertary’s famous Hogmanay get-together, here at The Scottie Dog,” he boomed.
There was a cheer.
“This year we have a special treat. Please welcome the Invertary Dance School senior class. Remember to behave yourselves—some of these girls are up past their bedtimes.”
There was more cheering as Dougal disappeared. Lights flashed on. The music changed and eight kilted teenage girls started dancing the Highland Fling. As the girls performed the classic dance, Kirsty scanned the room. No sign of Lake yet, but she knew he was there somewhere.
She narrowed her eyes and waited.
Lake peered out through the small glass window in the door that led to The Scottie Dog’s kitchens. The place was jumping. He was pretty sure that everyone in Invertary was in the room. There was a plethora of clashing tartans, sparkling sequins and gold lamé. It honestly hurt his eyes to look at them. The music had changed and the girls were now performing a modern number. The loudspeakers blared out ‘80s rock band Run Rig, who were singing in Gaelic. People cheered and raised glasses full of whisky or warm Scottish beer. Lake nabbed another sausage roll from the tray beside him and Betty followed suit. In a nod to the occasion, she’d finished off her look with a cheap plastic tiara and a length of pink tinsel around her neck.
“That’s your third sausage roll,” she said. “Are you nervous?”
“No, I love humiliating myself in public,” Lake said drolly.
“I figured as much. You do it a lot.”
He gave her a look that had very little effect on her.
“There she is,” Lake said, and felt his stomach lurch.
Stupid. He’d done far scarier things than this in his life.
“How’s she looking?” Betty said. She wasn’t tall enough to reach the window in the door.
Breathtaking, he thought.
“Good,” he said.
He saw Dougal pushing his way through the crowd, dressed in his usual assortment of ill-fitting tartan waistcoat and luminous shirt. This one was silver. Lake briefly wondered if the man made his own clothes.
“Wasn’t that fantastic?” he shouted over the sound system. “It’s great to get together to farewell the old year and see in the new. It’s been an interesting year in Invertary, and it’s right that we’re here together.”
There was a slightly tipsy roar of approval.
“Now, before you’re all too far gone to pay attention,” Dougal told the room, “we have a few bits of business to attend to.”
There was a loud groan. Dougal blithely ignored everyone’s complaint.
“After the fashion show, we were a wee bit distracted.” He looked down at Kirsty just as someone remembered there was a spotlight. It snapped on above Dougal. “We’re all awful sorry about the fire, lass,” he said. There were shouts of agreement, while Kirsty nodded her thanks. She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. For a moment Lake wondered if she was on to him.
“Anyway,” Dougal continued. “As I was saying. After the fashion show we were all too busy to announce the winner of the Battle Of The Bras.” He tugged at his waistcoat before carrying on. “It’s very important that we deal with the issue of who won, because I hear that there was a bet involved.”
Kirsty sat bolt upright in her seat. Slowly, she looked around the room. Now Lake knew for certain she was on to him.
“A bet,” Dougal continued, “that was sealed on a handshake. And unlike the English—” Lake cleared his throat loudly and Dougal cast a nervous glance in his direction. “Unlike most of the English,” he amended, “we take that sort of thing very seriously. In fact, I believe it still carries weight in the courts. Isn’t that right, Officer Donaldson?”
“Aye,” shouted the police force.
“You can see how important this is, then,” Dougal said.
“Get on with it,” someone shouted. “It’s nearly midnight.”
Dougal glared in the general direction of the voice.
“I have in my hand the result of the vote from the fashion show.” Dougal waved a gold envelope and waited.
There was silence. Dougal frowned. There was fumbling and a drum roll played over the loud speaker. Slowly, Dougal ripped open the envelope. Lake watched Kirsty as she frowned at the unofficial town mayor. It was hard to tell what she was thinking.
“And the winner is...” Dougal said, pausing for more drum roll. “The winner is,” Dougal shouted again, “our very own Kirsty Campbell.”
Kirsty stilled. Slowly, she pursed her lips into a thin, suspicious smile.
Kirsty smiled at Dougal as the crowd roared with applause and cheers of congratulations. She’d won the show? She’d won the bet? She didn’t think so. She’d been right. Lake was back and he was up to something. This whole setup screamed his involvement. If there was a chance to be centre of attention he jumped at it. And, as usual, he’d roped her in too. Kirsty didn’t care what he was up to; she had no intention of being a puppet in Lake’s show. Although her betraying heart didn’t agree. Her betraying heart did the happy dance inside her chest at the thought of seeing him again.
“Kirsty,” Dougal called to her. “Come on up here.”
Her mother nodded her encouragement and Caroline wouldn’t look her in the eye. They were both in on it. Kirsty had no other option than to step on the stage and stand beside Dougal.
“Congratulations. It was a close contest, but in the end, you won the Battle Of The Bras by three votes.”
Three votes was very close. It was possible she’d won after all. She saw the crinkles at the side of Douglas eyes and knew it was a scam. She gave him a cynical smile to let him know she was on to him.
Dougal cleared his throat and looked away from her.
“Now, to the matter of the bet,” he said.
Kirsty’s stomach lurched. She remembered quite well what her part in the bet was, she just wasn’t sure if Dougal knew and if he was going to broadcast it to the pub. She held her breath.
“For that, we really need the other party,” Dougal said. “Lake Benson, come on out here.”
The spotlight swung away from the stage and, after wobbling across the ceiling, wall and part of the bar, it steadied on the door to the kitchen. The door swung open and out walked Lake. The wind went out of Kirsty in one almighty whoosh. She had to remind herself to breathe. He was dressed in traditional Scottish garb, from his black waistcoat and tie, to his green tartan kilt, down to his kilt hose. He was stunning.
Stunning. Cocky. Arrogant. And up to no good.
He swaggered to the stage, waving at the crowd and behaving as though he paraded around in the limelight every day of the year. His eyes sought her out and his look burned. Kirsty’s mouth went dry. Then her eyes narrowed. This little setup he had going wasn’t over yet, and she didn’t want to end up the brunt of Invertary jokes until next New Year’s. She glared at him, which made him grin. Damn man.
“Lake,” Dougal said once the spotlight had found him again. “I’m sorry you lost the competition. Now you might like to sort out that bet.”
He handed the microphone to Lake.
“Nice of you to come back,” Kirsty said—aware that without a microphone, pretty much only he could hear her. “A phone call would have been nice too.??
?
“I’ll explain later,” he said, forgetting about the microphone. The crowd hushed, scared they would miss something.
Lake looked at the packed pub and took a deep breath.
“Kirsty Campbell,” he said. “As per our bet. I have something to give you.”
There were wolf whistles. Dougal grabbed the mic for a minute.
“Get your minds out of the gutter,” he ordered the crowd, then signalled Lake to carry on.
“I have here,” Lake said as he reached into the pocket in his waistcoat and came out with a white envelope, “the deed to my shop. It’s now yours.”
There was a moment’s silence before the screams of approval deafened them. Lake held the envelope out to Kirsty. She wasn’t daft enough not to take it. She snatched it from him. His lip did that thing where he tried not to smile.
“You didn’t keep it in your sporran?” she said.
“This thing?” Lake pointed at the sporran with his mic. “I thought it was a penis warmer.”
Unfortunately the mic picked up the end of his sentence and hysterics ensued. Dougal tried to call order. Eventually people were quiet. Dougal grabbed the mic, giving Lake a look that told him he’d abused his privilege and wouldn’t be allowed to hold it again. Lake grinned and rolled his eyes at Kirsty, which made her take a turn at swallowing a smile.
“Perhaps you would like to explain for the town what this means?” Dougal said.
Then he shoved the mic under Lake’s nose, because he wasn’t going to risk handing it over again.
“It means that I no longer have a business, or savings. The plans I had are no longer possible. It looks like I’m stuck in Invertary.”
Caroline gasped and clasped her heart. She always was a soppy romantic. Kirsty gave her a look that told her she’d deal with her so-called best friend later too. Caroline hung her head in an admission of guilt. Kirsty signalled that she wanted the mic. Dougal held it in front of her.
“Why thank you, Lake,” she said loudly. “It’s the least you could do. Now, tell me, what exactly will you be doing now that you’re stuck in Invertary?” She smiled sweetly as she waved the contract. If he thought he was getting it back, he had another think coming.
The mic went back to Lake. Dougal looked like he was about to burst and answer the question for Lake. It seemed like everyone knew what was going on except Kirsty. Lake gave her that lazy smile that famously wooed women out of their knickers. Kirsty pretended it didn’t affect her. His eyes sparkled at her.
“I thought,” he said lazily, “that I’d settle down and marry the new owner of the business.”
There was screaming, singing, whistles and the odd whoop from the crowd. Lake gave her a confident grin that said he had everything under control. Kirsty was not impressed with his presumptuous attitude—even though the thought of marrying Lake made her knees turn to jelly. She grabbed the microphone from a beaming Dougal.
“What if the new owner doesn’t want you, hotshot?” she shouted to be heard over the noise.
There was silence again as everyone turned to Lake. He folded his arms and grinned at her. That smug grin that said he knew better. It made her flush in places that, thankfully, people couldn’t see.
“You’re not exactly a catch any more,” Kirsty carried on. “You don’t have any money, or prospects. You’re homeless too, unless you plan to move in with Betty. Not to mention you’ve been gone since before Christmas, without even a phone call. What woman in her right mind would want that?”
“Me!” several women shouted at once.
There was laughter and calls that this was the best New Year’s ever. Her mother was trying to tell her off with a look and Caroline held her head in her hands with shame.
“Plus, lest we forget,” Kirsty carried on, “you’re English.” She pointed at his kilt. “The disguise didn’t work.”
Kirsty opened her mouth to say something else, but Lake leaned towards Dougal.
“We tried it your way,” he told him. “Now I’m doing it my way.”
He strode towards Kirsty with a gleam in his eye. There was no time to run. In two long steps, he was in front of her. He grinned, bent over, scooped her up, threw her over his shoulder and jumped off the stage.
Kirsty still had the microphone.
“Isn’t someone going to do something?” she demanded.
There was laughter and applause.
“Isn’t someone going to save me from the English?”
“Enjoy it, lass,” someone called. “It’s not every day you get an English invasion that looks like that.”
Kirsty growled into the microphone.
“Caroline,” she shouted. “Do something.”
Her best friend shrugged helplessly. As they reached the doors, Kirsty tried one last time.
“Whose side are you lot on, anyway?” she demanded.
“Lake’s side,” was the unanimous roar.
Then she was outside in the freezing night air, being carted up the high street by the man she loved.
EPILOGUE
The first day of a new year