Page 20 of Highlands Homecoming

“Absolutely,” said Melissa. “I found a discount vendor for the basics, and I’ve been in touch with the gallery down the street. What about local artists’ work hanging on the walls?”

“Great idea! And maybe maps and photographs.”

“Stags, Highland cows, sheep, sights that people can see in the area.”

“Lovely,” said Sydney.

“This is so much fun. Thank you for having me. I’m so grateful for the opportunity,” said Melissa.

“We’re glad to have you. You’ll join us for the menu tasting this afternoon, won’t you?”

“I’d be honored,” said Melissa.

Lindsay’s father,Sandy, parked his car in front of the snowy sidewalk outside the MacAlister Inn just as Melissa was coming outside to feed the parking meter. A golden retriever on a long leash, walking ahead of a woman about Sandy’s age, walked past them.

Melissa took off her gloves to pet the dog.

“Hey there,” said Melissa. “What a good dog.”

“Oh! Wait! Stop!” said the woman as she caught up with them.

Melissa was surprised to see Margaret Douglas, the realtor who had helped her file the paperwork for her home.

“Margaret! Hello!” said Melissa.

Just then, the dog grabbed Melissa’s glove.

“Oh, I’m too late,” said Margaret, exasperated. “I’m so sorry.”

“What? There’s no trouble, and that’s a fine dog,” said Sandy.

“I would’ve warned you, but?—”

“But I’m fine. She didn’t bite,” said Melissa, showing her hands.

“She doesn’t bite, but she is a menace.”

Sandy was completely baffled.

“What in blazes is the problem?” he finally asked.

“The glove,” Margaret said. “I’m afraid once that dog has got someone’s glove, that’s the end.”

“Nonsense,” said Sandy, looking down at the dog’s innocent brown eyes and wagging tail.

“No, it’s true. She’s partial to gloves. I don’t understand why, but she takes them everywhere like a security blanket or a stuffed animal. I can’t get them away from her.”

“Aye ma auntie,” said Sandy.

“What?” inquired Melissa curiously.

Margaret's face lit up with a smile. “It's just another way of sayingnonsense, but I can assure you that dog will not let go of that glove.”

Margaret reached for the glove, and the happy-go-lucky golden retriever suddenly growled. “See?” said Margaret.

“It’s like a two-year-old with a toy they won’t give back. You just trade them for something they’ll want more,” Melissa suggested. “Maybe a stick, or a bone?”

Margaret shook her head. “Tried it.”