Welcome to today’s installment of our Eight Lady Serial, based on Jilly’s short story The Laird’s Legacy.
Kay was inspired to add to the story by this set of Friday writing prompts: a character who faced a challenge, and the words equipment, belly, aimless, baffling, noise. bloke, fuzzy, clever, beekeeper, footwork, glass, dream, corduroy, setup, lump, artist.
Let’s see what’s next for Jenny and Jordy.
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And Now, Twins
Jenny handed the fuzzy bunny to the drowsy baby Elspeth and hoped to high heaven that the twins would fall asleep and dream the dreams of babies, whatever they were.
She was exhausted.
How had she ended up here? It was baffling. One minute she’d been walking along the Scottish cliffs admiring the view, and the next, evidently, she was mothering homeless twins.
Not that she had a clue how to do that.
But somehow Maeve, the village maven, seer, and chief beekeeper, had decided that they’d make a great family with Jordy MacHugh, Canadian ex-pat, budding opera house impresario, and all-round great bloke. Jordy did indeed seem to be a nice guy, not to mention cute, but this setup screamed trouble with a capital T, no matter how much fancy footwork you put into the dance.
Jenny had to admit her life had been aimless before now, even though she’d been overbooked with commitments to others.
Jordy, on the other hand, was an artist. Right now, he was down at the festival site, overseeing construction and, no doubt, testing the acoustics and whatever other equipment they were installing. The village had given him a temporary house until the manor was ready, and she’d moved right in, mainly because the twins had nowhere else to go and needed her to take care of them.
She was uncomfortable with the arrangement, although that Maeve thought she was so clever to push them together.
Her belly grumbled, making enough noise to wake the sleeping Elspeth and Isla, and Jenny left the tiny nursery and went downstairs to the kitchen. She made a sandwich for herself and Jordy, who’d be coming back for his lunch soon, wiping her hands on her corduroy slacks. They were already grungy from twin spit-up; having kids sure made a mess of your clothes.
She put the plates on the table and poured a glass of milk for herself and ale for him and then looked out the window to see if he was coming down the lane. Usually, he was as regular as clockwork. And there he was, the sun glinting off his red-gold hair like fire on the mountain, his broad shoulders looking strong enough to carry all of them to safety.
She fought down the lump in her throat.
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I hope you enjoyed that!
Join us tomorrow for Part 4