Hannah Reed [Reed - Be Still My Bleating Heart

BE STILL MY BLEATING HEART

by

Hannah Reed

And come he slow, or come he fast, it is but death who comes at last ~ Sir Walter Scott

Chapter 1

Squirreled away in my favorite corner of the Kilt & Thistle Pub, I was vaguely aware of the hum of conversation in the background, reminding me of the soothing warm vibrations flowing from a Scottish harp. Usually the pub brings forth normally creative juices and, as a romance author, contracted and with deadlines to meet, this place has been as important to me as the setting of my stories is to my readers. However, the blank laptop screen in front of me was a serious indication that a cloud of dreaded writers block had descended. It had happened as quickly as fog on a Highland moor.

Home these days is a cottage on a working sheep farm, where I happily retreat whenever possible. During the day, a tucked-away table at the Kilt & Thistle serves quite nicely for my current work-in-progress. Before arriving in Glenkillen, I was an orphan, adrift and lonely, if one can still be called a waif at thirty-eight years old. Sadly, my mother and father are both gone and I have no siblings. Here in the Highlands, Ive finally found my place with close friends, distant family members on my paternal side, and work I love.

So why the block?

I had my suspicions. Perhaps a symptom of my lack-luster personal life with the consequences being nothing exciting to transpose to the written page. Or maybe I simply needed a break from writing. Id finished and submitted two books in the Highland Love Series back-to-back and needed to turn in book number three by the end of the year. A few weeks off during the flowering month of May might do me some good.

As I pondered the dilemma, a text message, announced by a piano riff, came in from my state-side best friend. Ami Pederson, bestselling historical romance author, pounding out one best seller after another. Shes happily married, wealthy, and extremely pushy in a loving sort of way. Ami was the reason for my arrival in Scotland.

Any hot new sex scenes smoking up your story, soon-to-be famous Eden Elliott? she queried.

I couldnt lie about the non-existent scenes because then shed want to read them.

Been busy on a case, I lied instead, referring to my unusual part-time position as a special constable, aka volunteer police officer. Yes, the position really exists in Scotland as well as in the whole of Great Britain. I serve at the pleasure of Inspector Jamieson, or rather, in spite of his displeasure. Although, lately he has been less prickly, a hopeful sign that he finds my assistance acceptable.

Hed been pressured from above to accept a special constable and, after barely arriving in Glenkillen, I happened to be standing over a dead body and seemed his best choice at the time. Regardless of the initial circumstances that brought me to his small investigative team and my ongoing first-timer jitters, the position gives me a nice balance, grounding me in the complexities of reality when Im not writing romantic fiction.

A very complex case, I texted to Ami, digging deeper into the deception. Ill tell you about it later.

A text came back immediately. How about your own love life? Have you consummated with that lovely Scot yet?

I groaned. Once Ami locks onto an idea, she cant let it go. Leith Cameron is a good-looking man. His exceptional attributes figure prominently in the romantic love interests I create. And hes kind and thoughtful, his inner beauty matching the outer.

But see that was the thing. The big BUT . Leith has never given me so much as a hint that hes interested in romancing me. And Id much rather have our friendly relationship than risk losing it by pushing for something more. If I can accept that, why cant Ami? Of course, she claims that Im missing the signs, that hes signaling, and Im too slow to pick them up. Shed say anything to further her match-making scheme.

One thing she might be right about, although Ill never admit it to her, is that my imagination seems to have run out of titillating love scenes. Ami has claimed in the past that Ill have to immerse myself in a romance at some point or the well will run dry. Had the well stopped flowing? Or did I simply have spring fever?

The days are longer now. Birds are singing and building nests. Clusters of bluebells, which are also known as Fairies Thimbles, grow in vibrant violet-blue clusters on heathlands and verges. Id walked among them recently. Locals might blame this block on me, claiming Id displeased the fairies from the ancient legends.

I shook that ridiculous thought away, sighed, and slid the phone into my pocket without responding to Ami. Then I closed the laptop, concealing the wordless screen, and glanced up to see Bill Morris and his nephew, Andy, at a table nearby. Id been so absorbed in thought that I hadnt even noticed them come in.

Not that their appearance was extraordinary. Bill is a common fixture at the pub. He owns The Whistling Inn next door, but as far as I can tell, he does nothing to keep it going, though he occupies one of the rooms on a permanent basis. The inns success is due to his daughter, Jeannie. Andy was the latest relative to join the staff after his parents sent him from Oban to help out.

After careful observation, Ive decided that there are pros and cons to living next door to a pub. Bill certainly doesnt have to go far at closing time and doesnt have to get behind the wheel of a car. On the other hand, he strolls over from the inn, starts drinking early, and usually passes out, at which point Jeannie, or now Andy, has to come and haul him away.

Bill had started on his first pint. Andy, although of legal drinking age, was responsibly nursing a bottle of Irn-Bru, the national soft drink a sweet concoction, loaded with additives, and not a personal favorite of mine.

Andy seemed a bit surly, judging by the set of his jaw, his patchwork of freckles a bit more colorful than usual, probably not appreciating having to babysitting his uncle.

One is the limit ffer ye, I heard Andy say, with a hint of a stammer, which I had noticed when hed first arrived. His stammer seemed to become more pronounced if he became excited. And then its bback tae the inn tae help out.

Says yerself? Bill asked.

Says Jeannie, Andy went on. Ye been killing yerself slowly and it has tae stop she says. I shouldnt o let ye ttalk me intae even this one.

Bill snorted. Try tae stop me, ye wee scarecrow.

If I had to pick sides in a wrestling match, Id bet on Bill, who had at least a hundred pounds on his nephew. But before I could decide on a hefty monetary amount for my imaginary wager, Sean Stevens entered the pub and zeroed in on my table.

I dont mean tae bother ye, he said, taking a seat across from me.

Interrupting was exactly his intention. Those more thoughtful give me a wide berth when Im in writing mode, respecting my space. Not Sean. Or rather Police Officer Stevens, the newest addition to the force, who wore his uniform with brimming pride. Today his slight form sported the standard white shirt, black tie, and peaked cap of the local cops.

Are you here on official business? I asked, which is the only explanation Id considered worthy of an intrusion by Sean. Granted, Id been absorbed in pretty much everything except writing, but still.

Nothin such as that. I have some spare time. Besides, a wee burdie told me yed need company since Leith isnt around tae entertain ye.

His silly smirk reminded me that Sean was also in on the Leith-is-the-one-for-you conspiracy.

He continued, Takin care of business out on the sea in his fishing guide boat, he is. We wont see hide nor hair o him for weeks. Any spare time he gets, will be taken up by that daughter of his.

Leith does keep busy. Arranging fishing expeditions on his boat named Bragging Rights, growing barley at his croft farm for distribution to the local distilleries, and co-raising his six-year-old daughter, Fia, from a failed relationship with the childs mother.