Page 15 of Love Bomb

Dougal glanced at the long roster, pinned to the wall at the end of the bar. “Flynn Boyle by the looks of it. He should be in any minute.”

“I’ll hang around and give him a hand,” Bain said.

As there was no taxi service in Invertary, the townsfolk took it in turn to ferry late residents home after a night in The Scottie Dog. There were usually enough volunteers that people didn’t have to take on the job more than a couple of times a year, but if anyone was in the bar at closing time, and still able to drive, they normally pitched in to help.

Although there was the odd person who needed a lift because they were too drunk to drive, usually the unofficial taxi was used by people who either didn’t have a car or had aged out of driving. The pub acted as a kind of community hub, a gathering place for people who wanted a bit of company. Or, in winter, for some elderly folk who wanted to keep the cost of their heating bills down.

For the latter, Dougal provided free tea refills and an endless supply of bar snacks. He’d also been known to use them as guinea pigs for his new menu items, providing warm—and often creative—food in return for help deciding what might work with paying customers.

Dougal had a soft heart, and he cared about the community. He also looked like a cross between Elton John and Santa Claus. His recent marriage to the head of the local Knit or Die group hadn’t changed his fashion sense. In fact, his new wife seemed to take delight in furnishing him with even more outlandish shirts and bowties. Tonight, he was dressed in luminous orange, with a purple plaid bow tie.

Dougal placed a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of Bain. “So,” he boomed because Dougal only had one volume setting. “You met Tom then?”

“No.” Bain sipped at the chocolate. It was good. “He was in the shower.”

To his bewilderment, Dougal’s head turned red, and he bellowed, “In the shower?”

Okay, that was weird. “Uh, Dougal, the guy’s allowed to get clean. That’s why you provide bathrooms for your guests.”

“I explicitly told her to keep him out of the shower. He’s going to clog my drains and then I’ll have to spend a fortune on a plumber.” He nodded, as if coming to a decision. “I’m adding the cost to her bill.”

Bain pinched the bridge of his nose. Now, he was really sorry he hadn’t met the mysterious boyfriend. What the hell kind of state was he in if he could clog drains?

“He’s a mucky guy then?” Bain asked, feeling his way into the situation.

“What?” Dougal waved a dismissive hand. “I’m sure he keeps himself clean. It’s the hair. It goes everywhere. I should never have let her keep Tom in her room.”

Hair? Was Rona dating Sasquatch? This sounded worse by the minute.

“Where should she have kept Tom?” Bain asked carefully. “You’re the only hotel in town. Sure, there are a couple of bed and breakfasts, but you’ve always had a soft spot for Rona. I assumed you’d want her here.”

“Of course I want her here,” Dougal said. “She always stayed in the hotel when her parents were out of town. Well, after that first time when they forgot her, and your family took her in. She was like a daughter to me.”

“I know she was,” Bain said.

“I tried to keep in touch after they moved to Edinburgh, but her parents blocked my attempts. They didn’t like being associated with a publican. I was beneath them.” Dougal shook his head, clearly horrified at the thought. “I was beneath them. Can you believe it? They might have had money, but they were despicable people. I mean, what sort of parents forget their only child? They never showed any interest in Rona whatsoever, and then they took her away from her support network and isolated her in that awful boarding school. Poor girl never had a chance. It’s a wonder she turned out as well as she did.”

“At least somebody was watching over her in boarding school,” Bain said.

Although, he had to wonder how a girl who’d grown up running wild in the highlands, and doing pretty much whatever she liked, had coped with suddenly being locked up. Must have felt like prison.

“Aye,” Dougal said with a scowl. “In England.” He said the last word like it might as well have been in hell.

Bain couldn’t have agreed more. “Back to Tom. You can’t stop a guy from having a shower, no matter how hairy he is. When people pay for the rooms they expect the basic amenities. You can’t just take the guests you don’t like outside and hose them down. Especially in this weather. He’d freeze his bits off.”

Dougal blinked several times. “What on earth are you talking about? Of course, paying guests have a right to use the facilities. But I’m letting Rona keep that cat in the room as a favor. This hotel has, or I should say had, a strict no pets policy. If it wasn’t Rona’s cat, I wouldn’t have let it through the door.”

“What’s this got to do with the cat?” Bain was utterly confused now.

Dougal studied him. “How many beers did you say you’ve had? You better hand over your keys, son. You’re in no fit state to drive.”

“I had two beers,” Bain said. “And I’m pretty sure they were of the lite variety because Darach’s on another health kick.”

Sharing a house with Darach and Kade had some perks—like there was always food in the fridge or someone to play poker with. But it also had its downside, as in there were always people in his business, and sometimes the food was salad. Thankfully, when it was a salad day, he’d just ring up Conall who still lived at home, and he’d bring over some home-cooked takeaway.

“Look,” Bain said. “All I’m saying is that you can’t stop Tom from showering.” Although, why he was defending a weird hairy guy whom he’d never met, he didn’t know.

“No,” Dougal said. “But Rona should. Cats aren’t meant to have showers. They clean themselves. God designed them with a built-in washing mechanism. A gross one, to be fair, but it’s not right to mess with nature.”