“Nick,” Isobeille said softly, laying her hand on his arm. “I will be fine. Go. Save people.”
He still looked doubtful, so she raised up on her toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Go. And I will be waiting for ye, hale and hearty, when ye return.”
“Promise?” he said, unable to help himself.
“Aye,” she smiled shyly. “I promise.”
Cheek still tingling, he forced his feet to carry him out the door.
Chapter 9
The morning passed quickly; he and Carlos were called out several times. As it got closer to Christmas, more and more people were heading into the city, which meant more accidents, more injuries, more heart attacks from the stress of it all. Thankfully, most of them weren’t life-threatening, but it certainly made for a busy shift. It was past noon when he finally got the chance to call Isobeille.
He held his breath, counting the four rings until his machine picked up. So far, so good; Isobeille was doing exactly as he told her. It made him worry a little less, in any event.
“Isobeille, it’s Nick. It’s okay to pick up the phone.”
Back at his apartment, Isobeille dutifully removed the handset from the base unit.
“Isobeille?”
“Yes?” she spoke, looking toward the unit.
“Isobeille, you can pick up the handset. It’s Nick.”
“I did. ‘Tis in my hand right now,” she said, yelling a bit. Mayhap you had to talk especially loud into these things to be heard, she reasoned.
A few moments of silence ticked by, then Nick chuckled as he realized what was probably happening. “Isobeille, press the green button on the left of the handset.” She quickly located said button and did as instructed.
“NICK!” she yelled.
Nick held the phone away from his ear and laughed. “You don’t need to yell. Just talk normally and I’ll hear you.”
“Oh, my apologies.”
He was so glad he called; just hearing her voice was already improving his mood. “No problem. My bad – I should have shown you how to use it.” He took modern technology for granted; it was easy to forget that this was all new to her. “Is everything going okay?”
“Oh, aye,” she said, and he could picture her smiling. “I took a verra long shower. I hope ye doona mind. I must say, ‘tis so far my most favorite thing of yer time.” She was quick to add, “Weel, besides ye, of course.”
He grinned, ignoring the little tug in his gut that was becoming as common as the tightness in his groin. “Surely you didn’t spend the entire morning in the shower?”
“Nay,” she said, with a light laugh that made him wish he was there so he could see her eyes sparkling, too. “Yer neighbor stopped by. Did ye know she was of Scottish ancestry? She invited me over for coffee. Can I go?”
The idea made him nervous; he was feeling quite protective of Isobeille, but she sounded so excited that he didn’t have the heart to say no. Besides, Mrs. Anderson was a really sweet lady. Isobeille would be safe with her.
“No, I didn’t know that. Of course you can go over to her place for coffee. Just... be careful. Mrs. Anderson is a nice lady, but she’s a woman and a mother, which means she’s nosy by nature and will probably ask you lots of questions.” Like where she came from and how she met Nick. “Best to keep to our little story, I think.”
“Doona fash. I ken how te keep a wee secret or twa, aye?”
The silly-assed grin was still on his face several minutes after he disconnected the call. He loved the way she talked to him, the things that she said. Four hours left in his shift, and he was already anxious to get home. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but then, he usually didn’t have much to go home to, either.
“Isobeille is still at your place, I take it?” Carlos guessed when Nick rejoined him in the truck to head out for their next call. Nick had been edgy all morning, but after one mysterious phone call he was grinning like an idiot. It wasn’t exactly rocket science. There was only one thing that could adjust a man’s attitude that quickly, and in Nick’s case, it came in the form of a curvy little redhead with big green eyes and a smile that could light up the city at night.
“Yeah.” That one word and the smile that went with it said it all.
Carlos grinned. He knew it. He just wondered when Nick would figure it out.
Nick almost turned around and walked back out to re-check the number on the apartment door. He thought he was going into his place, but something didn’t seem right. The moment he opened the door, he walked into comfortable warmth, soft light, and the most delicious aromas.
“Isobeille?”
He found her in the kitchen, stirring something in a big pot on top of the stove. “Isobeille?”
She turned and saw him, the smile on her face setting off a series of little explosions in his chest. “Nick! Ye are home!”
He rubbed absently at the center of his torso. There was something about seeing her there in his kitchen, so pleased to see him that was making him feel like he just sucked in sunlight. “What are you doing?”
“Ah, weel, I got te thinking ‘twould be nice te have something for ye when ye got home.”
“You cooked?” The last time Nick had a home-cooked meal – one he hadn’t made himself – was when he went back to his mom’s for Thanksgiving a few weeks earlier. He couldn’t remember when the last time was before that.
“Aye.”
“But where did you get all this?”
“That cold box right there,” she said, pointing at the refrigerator. “I hope ye doona mind.”
Nick had forgotten the frozen packages of stuff his mom had sent him home with. Twenty-eight years old and his mom was still giving him care packages like he was in college. Not that he minded. It was nice to have someone who cared enough to do so.
“Are you kidding?” he said, his stomach growling in anticipation. “It smells fantastic.”
Nick took what had to be one of the quickest showers in history, then changed into his most comfortable jeans and pull-over. Re-entering the small kitchen area, he glanced around at the variety of dishes she had prepared, at the table settings, the candles. He had candles?
“All this was really in my kitchen?” he asked incredulously. It seemed hard to fathom.
“Aye.”
“You figured out how to work the stove alright, obviously.”
“It wasnae so difficult,” she said, spooning a ladle of something heavenly into a bowl before him. She was serving him, too? His inner caveman – the one he had only recently discovered – grunted in appreciation. “‘Tis a lot harder te cook over a fire, ye ken. Ye doona have the same control. And I did have a wee bit of help - Mrs. Anderson seemed verra glad te show me.”
That first bite melted in his mouth, so good that Nick closed his eyes to savor it. “This is fantastic, Isobeille.”
She blushed and averted her eyes, which he thought was adorably sweet, but she was obviously pleased. That made two of them. He hadn’t realized how nice it could be to come home after a long, hard day and share a meal with someone. It was something a guy could get used to pretty easily. No wonder his dad always made it a priority to be home from work in time for dinner.
“I hope you weren’t too bored today,” he said in between mouthfuls. Damn, she was a good cook.
“Bored? Nay,” she shook her head. “I had plenty te keep me busy, and Mrs. Anderson is a lovely woman, verra kind.”
“Did she ask you lots of questions?”
“Och, aye, but doona fash. I dinnae lie, but I was careful aboot what I said. I told her that ye were verra kindly letting me stay with ye for a wee bit. She took it upon herself te fill in some of the details; I saw no reason te contradict her.” When Nick raised an eyebrow in question, she shrugged and added. “Weel, it would have been verra rude.”
Before he could ask exactly what those “details” entailed, Isobeille said, “I would much rather hear about yer day. Tell me, Nick Peterson, of yer brave and noble deeds
this day.”
Nick felt the color rise in his cheeks again. If it had been anyone else besides Isobeille uttering such words he would have felt certain they were mocking him, but one look into her big green eyes and he knew she meant every word of it.
And so, over the delicious meal, he told her all about the calls he and Carlos had made. About the multi-car pileup on the interstate. The drive-by downtown that left a fourteen-year-old innocent bystander fighting for his life. The woman who ended up delivering twins in the back of a taxi stuck in gridlock.
Throughout it all, Isobeille listened with rapt attention, asking questions and praising all the good that he and Carlos had done, the positive differences they’d made in so many lives. It was good for his ego. By the time he’d eaten his fill, he could almost believe he was at least partially the hero she made him out to be.
As they put the leftovers away – Isobeille had made enough to feed several hungry men, Nick had had enough of talking about himself. As nice as it was, it felt strange; usually he was the one listening to someone else, not the other way around. Nick wasn’t comfortable talking about himself or his job, but Isobeille made it so easy. She was an excellent listener, and seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say.
It was different. And... nice.
“Hey,” he said, as they put the last of the dishes away. “How’d you like to get out of this box for a little while? There’s something I’d like to show you tonight, if you’re up for it.”
That quickly, her eyes lit up with excitement, and Nick found himself grinning as well.
Outside it was cold, but not unpleasant, especially with Isobeille’s hand tucked neatly into his. Like before, he told himself it was only to keep her from stumbling or wandering off, but that excuse was wearing thin. If he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he just plain liked the feel of her hand in his. It made him feel good, he was discovering, like so many things about her.
It took a bit longer than expected to make it down to the square. Isobeille was easily distracted, pausing to admire window displays and decorations every few feet. Nick didn’t mind so much, though. Watching Isobeille, seeing her joy, sharing her sense of excitement and discovery, made it worthwhile.
About half a block from their final destination, Nick made Isobeille close her eyes. He led her up to the square, then positioned her very carefully before telling her to open them again.
Isobeille popped her eyes open and immediately gasped. Before them stood a fifty-foot spruce lit with thousands of tiny lights and adorned with shiny glistening ornaments and shimmery ribbons.
“Oh, Nick,” she breathed, taking in the scene before her. “’Tis the most glorious thing I have ever seen! What do ye call it?”
“A Christmas tree,” he answered, smiling back at her. “Don’t you celebrate Christmas?”
“Och, aye. ‘Tis a time of great celebration and Holiness. I have heard of a few lairds having small evergreens placed in the Great Halls amidst the feasts, but more often ‘twas boughs of holly adorning the door. Nothing like this, ye ken. ‘Tis enormous! Like the trees in the ancient forest!”
“Tell me more about Christmas in your time,” Nick prompted, slipping his hand over hers again. It was the first time he had asked her to share anything about her prior life since the night of her arrival, and hoped he was not making a mistake in bringing up her past.
“Weel, some things are the same, I think,” she said after a moment or two of consideration. “The womenfolk spend days baking, like yer neighbor, but instead of cookies they make Black Buns and Sun Cakes.”
“Black Buns and Sun Cakes?”
“Aye. The more modern families make the Black Buns or the Twelfth Night Cakes. ‘Tis a verra rich cake, quite solid, with fruit, almonds, spices, and copious amounts of whiskey,” she grinned. “The ones who follow the ancient ways prefer Sun Cakes. They are baked with a hole in the center and lines around like the rays of the sun.”
“Which do you prefer?” he asked.
“I made both,” she told him with a twinkle in her eye. “Albeit, the Sun Cakes were more popular. ‘Twas common te receive the Black Buns as weel-meant gifts, but most became treats for the goats, ye ken.”
Nick laughed too, telling Isobeille about the similar stigma of fruitcakes in the modern world.
“We doona have lights like ye do,” she continued as they walked along, hand in hand, “but on Christmas Eve, one and all would light candles in the windows to welcome and draw a stranger or twa. ‘Twas called Oidche Choinnle, or the Night of Candles.”
Applying modern thinking to the ancient tradition, Nick couldn’t imagine openly inviting strangers into a home like that, not even in the quiet, rural community in which he was raised, let alone the city (present company excluded, of course). “Sounds dangerous. Why would you do that?”
“By honoring the visit of a stranger inte yer home that night, ye honor the Holy Family, who searched for shelter the night of the Christ child’s birth.”
When she said it like that, he felt a little ashamed, though Nick sincerely doubted they had the kind of crime rate in medieval Scotland that was so prevalent today.
“And most of the menfolk had really big swords,” she added with a wry grin. “Only a fool would even think te enter another mon’s home with a foul purpose on such a holy night.”
Isobeille looped her arm through Nick’s as they ventured further about the square, checking out the other decorations. He didn’t even think about stopping her; it felt far too good to have her on his arm.
“The biggest celebration comes after Christmas, though,” Isobeille continued. “Hogmanay, ye ken. Four days of reverie to mark the New Year. There’s the Redding of the House, and First Footing, of course. Then there’s the Fire Festivals and group Sing-A-Longs. ‘Tis all very festive.”
She turned to find Nick grinning at her. “What?”
“Your eyes. They light up like that Christmas tree when something excites or pleases you.”
She lowered her eyes and blushed, and Nick felt warmth spread through him like good liquor.
“Hey. Don’t be embarrassed.”
“’Tis just... ye say the loveliest things. I dinnae expect ye te have such a honeyed tongue.”
Honeyed tongue? Him? He had never been good at saying the right thing when it came to women. It was one of the reasons he let them do most of the talking. But with Isobeille, it was so easy. He didn’t even have to think about what to say; it just kind of came out on its own.
Then again, it seemed everything was different with Isobeille.
Nick was deep in those thoughts when he felt Isobeille slowing beside him, her gaze locked upon something deep in the shadows of the alley. Nick tightened his grip on her protectively; after living in the city for several years, Nick knew that it was best to keep his eyes to the front and his feet moving forward past such areas, but he hadn’t had a chance to teach Isobeille those kind of urban survival skills yet.
“Isobeille,” he warned quietly. “Come on.”
She obeyed, but slowed again once they had taken several steps past the alleyway. “What was that mon doing?” she asked.
Nick didn’t have to ask what man she was referring to. He had followed her gaze to the dark figure huddled in the corner carefully arranging flattened pieces of corrugated cardboard.
“He’s probably homeless,” Nick said, his voice holding none of the mirth it had only minutes before.
“Homeless? Ye mean he has nowhere te live?”
Nick shook his head. “Probably not. It happens. People lose their jobs, have a turn of bad luck, find themselves out on the streets. Then there are those who lose everything because of things like drugs and alcohol.”
Isobeille frowned, no doubt thinking of her own father. “He has no kin? Nowhere te go?”
Nick shrugged, uncomfortable with the empathy he saw in Isobeille’s eyes. “Who knows? It’s different for everyone. But the city does have shelters where peo
ple can go when it gets too cold or when they need a hot meal.”
“Like the ones ye told me aboot,” she frowned.
“Yeah. But sometimes the shelters are even worse than the streets. And some people are too proud to ask for help. They’d rather tough it out on their own.”
Isobeille was quiet for a few minutes. “There must be something we can do, Nick.”
He studied her face, saw the determination and hope in her expression, and exhaled heavily. “Yeah, you’re right. Come on.”
An hour later, Nick and Isobeille walked out of the alley. The man she had seen earlier now had a blanket, three pairs of socks, a scarf, a pair of Nick’s old boots, a thermos of Isobeille’s stew and fifty bucks. For as long as he lived, Nick would never forget the look on the man’s face when they showed up with the box of stuff, or the way he had grasped Isobeille’s hand and called her an angel of the Lord.
It seemed that, in meeting Isobeille, Nick had finally met someone who was an even bigger sucker than he was. The thought warmed his heart.
“Come on,” he said, tucking her a little closer. “I know this place that has the best hot chocolate...”
Chapter 10
Things quickly settled into a comfortable routine. Each morning Isobeille would rise at the same time he did and prepare him a hot breakfast (she really got the hang of the kitchen quite quickly). While Nick was working, Isobeille found plenty to keep herself busy. She cleaned and tidied Nick’s apartment – something Nick repeatedly asked her not to do. It was the only time Isobeille did not acquiesce, insisting that it was the very least she could do since he was providing her with food and shelter until they figured out something else. In truth, neither of them was trying really hard to make progress on that front.
For at least an hour each afternoon, Isobeille would have coffee with Mrs. Anderson. The two women seemed to take to each other immediately, and for that, Nick was glad. In his older neighbor, Isobeille had found a friend and someone who was happy to share all kinds of information with her. Even more important to him, Nick felt much better about leaving Isobeille during the day, knowing that Mrs. Anderson was there and keeping an eye on her.
Maiden in Manhattan: A Time Travel Romance (A Timeless Love Book 1) Page 7
