Here Comes the Rainne Again (Invertary 6)

The huge, taciturn American grinned at Betty.

“Seriously.” Matt leaned across the table towards Lake. “Why?”

The town’s only cop had known Betty his whole life. He spent most of his time trying to avoid the woman, or jail her, whichever was easiest.

Lake snorted. “Like I had a choice. It was this or she wanted to be father of the bride. Seeing as I actually want to marry Kirsty and she would kill me if I suggested Betty step in for her dead father, that narrowed the choice down.”

“You made the right decision, son.” Betty patted him on the head, like he was her dog, and then she waddled off towards the buffet table the pub’s owner Dougal had laid out.

Lake grinned after her. It’d been three years since he’d inherited her along with the shop he’d bought, and he still got a kick out her. It was like having his own gremlin. Entertaining but kind of scary.

“Your relationship with that woman is sick and twisted,” Josh McInnes said from the other side of the booth.

Lake couldn’t argue with the American singer, so he said nothing. He was well aware that he was possibly the only person on the planet who appreciated Betty. He’d long thought her talents were wasted in the Scottish Highlands. If she’d been born elsewhere, or in a different era, she’d have been ruler of her own regime—or have given Mata Hari a run for her money. Under her tartan tent and hairnet was the mind of a criminal genius.

“Are we just going to sit around here and eat all night?” Mitch asked.

Josh’s manager and best friend was one of the few unattached men in attendance. His idea of a party was living it up in Las Vegas, not eating chips at the Scottie Dog.

“Betty has entertainment planned,” Lake said.

There was a unanimous groan.

“No,” Harry, the resident boy genius, protested. “It will be fun. You’ll enjoy it.”

“What did you do?” Harry’s brother, Flynn, said with a sigh. “What did Betty con you into this time?”

“Hey, I resent that.” Harry glared at his brother. “I didn’t do anything, and Betty isn’t capable of conning me.”

They all stared at him.

“Fine.” Harry’s shoulders slumped. “But I’m older and wiser now. I know to be suspicious of everything she says.” His eyes went wide with sudden panic and the men groaned. He had totally fallen for another con. “No,” Harry said. “I checked out everything she said this time.”

“And?” Flynn prompted. Like the rest of the men, no one was appeased by Harry’s conviction.

“All she wanted was to use my credit card to book strippers. See, now the surprise is ruined.” He threw up his hands in disgust. “They’re coming up from Glasgow.” He checked his watch. “Should be here any minute. They’re probably delayed because of the weather.”

Everyone looked out of the window at the snow. It was coming down thick and fast, almost obliterating the view of the streetlights glinting off the black loch.

“Wind’s picked up,” Matt said.

“Blizzard,” Flynn said. “Weather forecast said it was coming. Said it was the worst to hit Scotland in decades. They advised we all stay indoors.”

Mitch’s head hit the table in front of him. “Just when I think this can’t get any more lame, we start talking about the weather.”

Lake’s lip twitched at Mitch’s pain. The guy was right. This was the worst bachelor party Lake had ever attended. The fact it was his own was kind of amusing. Apart from his friends, the pub was empty, as people had stayed home because of the snow. In all honesty, Lake would be home too, wrapped up with Kirsty, if he could. He’d been hassled into having a stag party, and only the fact Kirsty was holed up at the castle with the women kept him from staying home.

“Caroline will kill me if I watch strippers,” Josh said.

“If Jena was here, she’d join in. She’d get up on one of the tables and dance for us.” Matt obviously missed his wife as much as Lake missed Kirsty. “She’s a great dancer.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “But maybe not on the tables. Dougal’s still upset about the last time.”

“It wasn’t her fault she fell off and people got injured. She can’t help that she’s accident prone.”

“Maybe if she stopped wearing stilts for shoes, she wouldn’t fall over so much,” Harry said.

Mitch hit his head on the table again. “Now we’re talking about shoes. Why don’t we braid each other’s hair and get this over with? Betty is right. She has more testosterone than the lot of us.”