The Highland Fling(38)
“Looking for a notepad and fun pens.”
“Aye, right this way.”
She walks out from behind the counter and guides me down a small aisle, past the fruits and vegetables, past the meat and dairy cases, and into a small section stocked full of household items.
Pots, pans, kitchen utensils, greeting cards, wrapping paper, toys, and school supplies.
“Here ya go, lass. We have a few notebooks that might tickle yer fancy.” She lifts one up from the little stack on the shelf. “This has a goat on it—reminds me of Fergie, the old man. Take this one—it will bring good luck.”
“Okay,” I say, glancing at the others and noticing they all have goats on them. Gives me something to share with Fergus. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.
“And fun pens . . . well, all we have are these Flair pens. A pack of black, red, and blue. I can put in an order for some other ones if you’d like.”
I take the familiar pens along with the notebook. “These will be just fine, thank you.”
“Of course. Do you need anything else? We just got a fresh shipment of Curly Wurlys, and they’re quite divine, if you’ve never tried one before.”
“Is that a pig’s tail?” I ask, the only thing coming to mind at those words.
She chuckles and shakes her head. “Nay, it’s Cadbury chocolate with caramel. Everyone in town loves them, so I always stock up. Best you get some now before those Murdach boys find them. And MacGregor too—he’s been known to buy a handful at a time.”
“Rowan likes them?”
“Aye. How those boys all stay in shape despite their massive Curly Wurly intake is beyond me. Here.” She pulls me up to the sugar shelf and grabs a few long, white-and-purple-wrapped treats and sets them in my hand. “You won’t be sorry.”
“Okay, yeah.” I stare down at the candy. “I’m going to have to start running if I keep eating the way I have since I’ve been here.”
“Isla’s shortbread?” she asks as we head to the counter.
“That and the Dundee cake. Although I ate a dozen shortbread cookies without even realizing—so I think that’s more dangerous than the cake. At least that I know how to pace.”
“’Tis all right to indulge, just keep up on your fitness. Take the Hairy Coo Footpath every morn. That’ll do ye just fine.”
“The Hairy Coo Footpath?” I ask. What an adorable name.
She rings up my purchases and puts it all on my tab. Thank God. I still don’t have the hang of the whole foreign-money thing yet.
“No one tell you about the hairy coos? They’re our Highland cattle. They roam about the grasslands. Cute fellas, if you ask me. There’s a two-mile path that loops around their feeding area. A few years ago we laid down a dirt path to help with tourism. Give visitors more to see than just Fergus and the Boaby Stone.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea. Do a lot of people hike it?”
She shakes her head. “Only locals. Not many people know about it.”
“Oh, well, that’s a shame.” Another potential attraction for tourists that’s not living up to its potential. There is so much charm in this town, and it’s all overshadowed by a penis rock.
“’Tis pretty, though, and a bonny morning walk. The path starts right past the Boaby Stone entrance, tucked into the hills. Can’t miss it. Marked well too.”
“Thank you. I’ll walk it tomorrow morning.”
“Enjoy.” She hands me a paper bag of my items and gives me a small wave.
I came in for a notepad and some pens. I’m leaving with a bribery tool—the Curly Wurlys—and a new way to curb all the calories. A successful trip to the Mill Market, indeed.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Dakota asks as she jogs in place in front of me.
Yes, Dakota has been running every day since she got here. She found a challenging trail she really enjoys and has been tracking her times to watch for improvement. Besides her brilliantly creative mind, she’s also very math oriented. She loves data and solving problems. So this behavior doesn’t surprise me in the least. I’m also not surprised that her slowest time so far happened on the day we shared half a Dundee cake.
I was also sluggish that day, but I wasn’t sorry about it.
“Positive. You go train for the Olympics, while I take a leisurely walk with the cows.”
“Okay, have fun. You remember where the trail is, right?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And you have your cow-poop barometer ready?”
I nod. “Yup. Going to sniff it out to see if it’s a suitable running trail for you.”
“You’re the best. Meet you back at the cottage.” She takes off, and I watch her set the time on her watch before she heads into a run.
I walk up to the entrance and marvel at the stick arch that marks the start of the footpath. It reminds me of what you see at the end of a driveway in Texas, welcoming you to a ranch. Straight ahead are rolling green hills spotted with heather and gray slate rocks. Behind the hills are even taller mountains, jagged and peaked to points, which I heard from a local the other day usually have snow on the caps during the winter. Unfortunately, no snow for this walk, but it’s still breathtaking.