“More friggin’ bagpipes! Jane Turner pressed her dirty gloves to her temples, trying to get the sound to stop. At first, it had been a call on the wind early in the mornings when she tended the plants in her nursery, so distant she assumed one of the new Scottish guys who’d moved into town was playing in their mansion on the hill that overlooked Green Vallis. Who else would suddenly be playing bagpipes if not the local Scots? She’d seen some of the MacGregors around town in kilts, and Scotti...sh descendants always seemed to take a lot of pride in their heritage. She could handle morning band practice. It was actually kind of relaxing and unique while she worked in her gardens. But then the music became more insistent, filling her mind at all hours of the day, becoming louder until she was humming along to a tune she couldn’t possibly know. It dug into her brain like a singing earworm she couldn’t get out. She’d walked the perimeter of the small piece of land that held her two greenhouses and gardens, trying to see where the men practiced.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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