Golden Luckenbooth

Three

"Come on, lassies. Let's wash off those paws," I grasp the hosepipe, allowing the trickle of water to rinse the muck from my wellies along with Piper's and Shortbread's feet. They'd been a tremendous help and had gotten plenty of exercise at the dairy, but now we're all fairly close to exhausted. Finding myself irrationally angry that Harry has left the lights on in the house, I huff at the dogs, "The bloody popstar thinks we're made of money."

Removing my wellies, I wearily open the back door to the house. "Let's find out if I can make another egg sandwich to match the one Harry made for me this morning, shall we?"

"Oh, I thought you might want something different," the bloody Englishman states from my sofa where he's sat alongside Boomer as though they belong in those exact spots.

I fight the pleasure that blooms in my tummy when I hear his voice, instead choosing to present as angry. "What are you – why are you –" Then I sigh, unmotivated to continue. "I wish I could say I'm surprised to see you, but you've quickly become a bad penny."

"I think you mean a lucky penny," Harry smiles, "but don't worry. I'll leave now." He rises from the sofa, Boomer following him. "I only stayed for four reasons."

"Oh?" I query, thinking how fresh and fit he looks while I'm a wilting and smelly plant – like that corpse flower. Despite the shoulder gloves and coveralls I wear, there's no way to keep the smell of cow shit away. "Pray tell."

Kneeling on the floor, I invite Boomer to come to me, and he approaches willingly. "How are you, lad? Feeling better after your misadventure last night?" After a cursory check, I can see that the deerhound has suffered no ill effects from his temporary master's mistake.

"One. Your heat is on. The repairman said he'd send you the bill, but that it wouldn't be much. He had to replace a small part. He did say that you should have someone in to do a thorough cleaning of the system before it gets worse."

For the first time since stepping in the door, I realise that the house is warm with no fire in the hearth. What a treat! Who knew something so simple could make me happy? Standing, I brush my hands on the seat of my jeans and grin at him. "That's amazing news! Thank you so much, Harry."

While we've been talking, he's moved closer to me, and I try not to catch my breath at the sight of him. His curls in front have flopped over onto his forehead, and he reaches up with his right hand to brush them back so they fall with the rest of his hair.

"Two. I've taken some messages from people who came or called looking for you." He leans towards me, and I'm struck by how I could easily brush those curls from his forehead for him next time. Just to see if the hair is as silky as it appears. No other reason. Reaching behind me, he grasps some pieces of paper on the counter. "Mr. Gibson thinks his cat might be pregnant," he reads. "Mrs. Finn says her dog swallowed her wedding ring, and she'd like to get it back without having to go through the poo. Eloise Boyle thinks her sheep is having an allergic reaction. And...uh, Mrs. Cockburn says her cockapoo has itchy, red skin around his, uh, cock."

By the time he finishes the sentences, I'm clutching my stomach in laughter. "How many cocks in that sentence?"

Harry's face is beetroot red as he glares at me. "More than enough."

"The really sad part is that the cock of the Cockburn cockapoo probably does burn." Howling now, I bend over to try to stop my stomach muscles from hurting as I can't seem to stop laughing.

Shifting uncomfortably, Harry reaches towards the front of his trousers. "It's not funny, Anna. Poor creature."

"It's probably a yeast infection. I'll put the Cockburn's on tomorrow morning's schedule first thing. None of the rest of those sound serious so I'll call them tomorrow." Tilting my head upwards, I squint at him. "You didn't have to answer the phone, you know. I've got voice mail."