Christmas at the Edge of the World

“Because you called us that last night,” Zac interjected somewhat sourly.

Archie threw back his head and laughed. “So I did. And with my gun pointed at you as well. I gave you the full treatment.” He shook his head, still laughing, and, doing her best to see the funny side of it, Laurel managed a small smile. “Right,” Archie said again. “We’ll take the Rover.”

Laurel and Zac pulled on their coats and boots as Archie did the same, the dogs lifting their heads from the beds before dropping them back on their paws.

Then Archie was marching ahead, half fairy godfather, half taciturn farmer, hopefully ready to fix, well, everything. Laurel exchanged an uncertain look with Zac before they both followed him out into the still-frigid morning.

Chapter Five

Outside, Laurel and Zac followed Archie to the side of the farmhouse, where an impressive amount of wood was neatly stacked under a weather-beaten tarp.

“We’ll load up the back of the Rover,” Archie said, and Laurel looked at him, startled.

“You mean…all this?”

“You’ll need it.”

“Oh, but…I didn’t…” Laurel stammered uncertainly, before blurting out, “We’ll pay you, of course…”

Just as she’d expected, Archie bristled, his shoulders drawing up, his chest thrust out. “Nonsense. I’ve given Eilidh firewood every winter for twenty years or more. I can do the same for her family.”

“Oh…well, thank you.” Feeling both awkward and grateful, Laurel held out her arms as Archie began to load her up with wood. And load her up he did, so the stacks of logs went past her head, and she couldn’t see anything in front of her.

“Off you go,” he said, and she tottered in the general direction of the Rover, hoping she wasn’t about to fall flat on her face.

They worked in silent symmetry for a quarter of an hour, loading up with logs and then stacking them in the back of the battered Land Rover. Archie, Laurel realised, could work twice the rate of her or Zac, his movements brisk and efficient, barely breaking a sweat. This was nothing to him, and yet Laurel’s arms already ached. At least he didn’t make any comments about them being city slickers, although Laurel suspected he was tempted. She was tempted.

“Right, hop in,” Archie said once the boot was filled to the roof with logs. “And we’ll sort out the Rayburn.” He slanted Laurel a smiling glance as she climbed into the passenger’s seat. “You did talk nicely to her, I hope?”

“Er…I tried?”

“It makes a difference.” He almost sounded severe.

“Okay…”

Archie laughed to himself as he started down the bumpy track at a fast clip, causing every bone Laurel had to feel as if it were rattling around in her body. The Rover’s shock absorbers, she suspected, were long gone.

Five minutes later, he was parking behind Laurel’s car, and then they were doing the reverse of what they’d done before, unloading the firewood and stacking it in the lean-to. It gave Laurel a warm glow of satisfaction to see it there, ready to be used.

“Now for the Rayburn,” Archie said, turning inside.

Laurel felt guilty for keeping him away from his proper work, but she was desperate to have heat.

Once inside, Zac disappeared to his bedroom, clearly having had enough socialising for a while, and Laurel stood uncertainly in the kitchen while Archie stripped off his coat and boots and then crouched down in front of the Rayburn as he had last night.

“Ah-hah. Erm. I’ve got it now…” He continued to mutter to himself as Laurel stood there, feeling like an utter lemon.

When he lay down on his stomach so he could reach into the Rayburn’s ancient innards, Laurel edged backwards, strangely transfixed by the sight of his holey jumper riding up, so a thin band of tanned, toned back was revealed. Surely she couldn’t be ogling Archie MacDougall. How utterly ridiculous.

He continued to tinker and mutter while Laurel decided to make herself useful and unpack some of

the boxes and bags she hadn’t got to last night. After that, she wiped down the worktops and table, and then dusted the sitting room, plumping the sofa cushions and draping a crocheted blanket over the shabbiest bits, pleased at how the cottage was starting to feel homey.

More and more, Laurel was realising what she’d loved about Eilidh’s cottage, and it wasn’t the quaintness, the low, beamed ceilings or the cosy fireplace. It was the memories, the people who had shared the space with her, the sense of belonging and love, safety and warmth that she’d felt there. And that, she told herself, she could get again, no matter how shabby the place was. No matter how much it hurt to remember how it had all once been.

“I think it’s sorted.” Archie stood in the doorway of the sitting room, a streak of grease on one cheek, his hair sticking up in a dozen different directions. Laurel hadn’t thought it possible, but she feared his jumper had several new holes.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate all you’ve done…”