Читать книгу Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered - Kerry Barrett - Страница 17

Relieved it was all over, and with no ill effects as far as I could see, I decided to leave Mum and Eva to it and go out for some fresh air. I bundled myself up in my thick coat and decided to go for a walk round the loch.

Wrapping my scarf round my neck, I tramped across the stony beach to the water’s edge and looked across to the other side. Claddach was a small loch, a puddle really, compared to some, so I could see the far end clearly. It was said to be as deep as it was long, however, and I believed it. The water was still and peaty black at the centre. At the edge, where I stood, small waves lapped at the shingle and further out, the water was being whipped into small peaks by the wind. The mountains were purple against the bright blue frosty sky as they loomed over the loch. It was bleak but it was beautiful.

I picked up a flat stone and skidded it across the waves. It jumped once…twice…three times then sank into the murky water. Rubbish. I’d lost my touch. I tried again…four…five…better.

Behind me, the shingle crunched and suddenly another stone flew past my arm. I watched as it skipped five, six times.

‘Yes!’ said a voice and I turned to see who had gatecrashed my game.

It was a man. A rather handsome man, actually. He was wearing running gear and because he was higher up the steeply shelving beach than I was, my eyes were level with his toned, tanned thighs. Thighs that told me this wasn’t a local man – this must be Chloé’s hot American.

‘Sorry,’ he smiled and his eyes crinkled up at the corners in a way that made him look like a preppy George Clooney. ‘I can’t resist a bit of competition.’

‘You won,’ I pointed out, still annoyed at his interruption.

‘I always do,’ he said. I didn’t doubt it. He looked like he’d spent his life winning.

The American stuck out his hand for me to shake.

‘Brent Portland,’ he said.

I shook his hand.

‘Esme McLeod.’

‘Going this way?’ he nodded in the direction of Mum’s house. I thought of a reason to go the other way – I was no fan of small talk at the best of times – but came up with nothing.

‘I am,’ I said. We began walking back up the beach to the road. Brent was nice looking, couldn’t deny, though he wasn’t my type. He was an all-American, clean-cut guy with tousled dark hair, good skin and startlingly white even teeth.

He was fairly short for a man – about 5’9 or 10’ – but he still towered over me.

‘So Esme McLeod,’ he said as we walked. ‘I’ve been in town for about two weeks now. How come today is the first time we’ve met?’

‘I just got here myself,’ I said.

‘So you’re a stranger here too?’ He gave me an eager grin. ‘How are you finding it?’

‘I’m not exactly a stranger,’ I said. ‘I grew up here. My mum runs the café – back there.’ I pointed back the way we’d come.

Brent’s eyes widened.

‘I love that place,’ he said. ‘It’s so cute. And the cakes – wow!’ He patted his very flat stomach. ‘I need to stay away from those.’

His over-enthusiastic response to everything was beginning to grate on me so I was pleased to see the path I needed to take.

‘I have to go,’ I said. ‘Enjoy your run.’

Brent was already bouncing on the spot, ready to jog off. He made me feel weary just looking at him.

‘Nice to meet you Esme McLeod,’ he said over his shoulder as he took off at a cracking pace. ‘See you around.’