by L. L. Muir
The idiot was gone. Probably out to the lighthouse, if he was smart. It was the most intact building on the island, besides her cottage. Maybe she should have told him that…
Stroma was a beautiful place, and she loved it dearly, but when God wanted to wear his feet, he used them to stamp on anything that lived here on this rock. And thanks to the fresh bout of rain pounding on the slate roof, it sounded like God intended to stomp around all night.
She sighed and stroked Fergus’ head, determined not to harbor any regrets about coming to the island. It didn’t matter than she was alone now, when she hadn’t planned to be. Things had worked out fine. The research she’d turned in had been appreciated and was publishable. A success in any book. Now all she had to do was decide how much further she wanted to take her theories.
But it sure had been nice, if only for an hour or two, to talk to someone who could speak back.
Her spine straightened as if her body rebelled at her whining. Nice? Nice to talk to someone who called her a wench and accused her of trapping him here? No, she was better off on her own. The research was all that was important. And if she had to be alone to get that done, then so be it.
Even though she hadn’t intended to be alone. Don’t think about it, she warned herself. It won’t help anything to think about it.
She liked being on her own! This island was a dream come true. Back home, she was always surrounded by people—people who wanted things, people who pushed her around, people who pretended to care about her until they didn’t. When she moved here with Tom, she had hoped for a simpler life. Quieter, and less full of disappointment. And that’s exactly what she got. This island was a place of freedom from heartache and sadness.
And now, with Tom gone, she was truly in her own little world.
So… So why was she having so much trouble forgetting what it felt like to be so close to that Scotsman? She had been standing there, staring at him, and…
Dammit! I’d been wishing he would kiss me!
She closed her eyes and groaned, which woke up at least three dogs and earned her a couple of snorts and another groan in return. “Sorry,” she whispered into the darkness, then closed her eyes. She did have one last thought, however, before she drifted off to sleep.
She really shouldn’t have called him an asshat…
Penny awoke to the sound of clattering from the main room. And since there was, presumably, only one other human being on her island, she felt safe in assuming it was Moodie. Stretching, she smacked her lips and gasped at the horrific taste of morning breath, and unfortunately, it was hers. She had fallen asleep without brushing her teeth.
Once she’d escaped the nosey mutts trying to follow her, she slipped across the hall, barred the bathroom door, and frantically cleaned herself up. After scrubbing the smell of dogs off her face, she glanced in the mirror and froze.
“What am I doing?” Was she really making herself more presentable for that ogre? She scowled and pointed at herself. “Stop it,” she said. “You hear me? Stop.”
Hoping she could heed her own advice, she opened the door and walked down the hall, proudly sporting the same clothes as the day before. As she entered the main room, all pride dissolved when she was struck with the most delicious smell. It was back bacon, no question, and the snapping and popping noises told her it was almost ready.
“Good morning,” said a deep voice from behind her.
She jumped and screeched. “Geez, don’t do that!”
Her heart had a hard time calming down even after she turned to face the Scot. The corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile so sexy she didn’t even mind that he was laughing at her. He was still dressed as a castaway, but this morning, he was a much cheerier one.
“Apologies, lass. I didnae mean to startle ye. I was checking the bedrooms to see if ye had a tablecloth. Or napkins.”
Penny cleared her throat. “Yeah, I don’t have that stuff. When it’s just you, you keep it simple, you know?”
“Aye, I would do the same, if it were my cottage.” He shrugged. “It isnae important. Looks as if the storm has finally gone, aye?”
She stepped into the kitchen and was so surprised by a miraculously cleared table she almost missed the bacon and eggs on the stove. “So… what’s, um, what’s all this?”
“Breakfast. Ye eat it, aye?”
“Oh, I know what to do with it, all right. It’s my favorite.”
“I presumed as much, considering the quantity of eggs and bacon I found in the larder. So I thought I would make ye a proper apology for my behavior last eve.”
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “An apology?”
Moodie turned his back to her and picked up a spatula. “Aye,” he said without turning around. “I should have realized it isnae yer fault that ye cannae help me with my task. It is my own responsibility, aye? And if it is meant to be, Fate will provide.” The kettle gave a rattle and Moodie turned to pour her a cup of tea. “Please, sit.”
She sat. She kept her eyes on the table and tried to calm her heart, which beat fast at the idea of an apology from the burly Scot who was currently bustling around her cottage. She refused to like him, she reminded herself. She would only suffer if she liked him.
Working hard to clear her thoughts, she spread her hands wide across the table, trying to remember the last time she had cleaned it off. “Where…um…” She tapped the clean surface.
“I laid out yer crafts in one of the other rooms. I hope ye don’t mind. Eggs and bacon are a feast that demands a seated breakfast.”
She didn’t mind at all, especially since she had abandoned her quilt-making plans a long time ago. There was no use trying to impress a man with her domestic skills when he wasn’t around anymore. She’d also stopped wasting a lot of time on cooking, so it was nice to have a reminder of how mornings could be again, if she could just be convinced that she was worth making the effort for herself.
She had to admit the coziness that filled her little home at that moment made it hard to feel anything but affection for the Scotsman standing over her stove, but she did her damnedest to believe it was the bacon she was loving, not the cook.
She grimaced. “Most mornings, I try to do the Scottish thing and choke down some porridge. It also keeps the dogs from losing their minds when I’m not in the mood to fight them off. That was…before we turned them out on their own.”
Moodie handed her a steaming cup of tea and turned back around to fill her plate with eggs and bacon. He thumped the plate down in front of her, then filled another before he sat down and winked across the table. “No standing on ceremony, lass. Tuck in.”
She did as she was told. The eggs were just the way she liked them; runny on the inside, cooked over easy on the outside. He’d even added a little salt and pepper to the top, and used a generous amount of Kerrygold butter. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation of eating food—delicious food—cooked by someone else.
“So… You said your name is Moodie. But I can’t just call you that. Do you have a first name, maybe?”
“Aye,” he said around a mouthful of bacon. “Ethan.”
“Ethan? Okay. That’s easier.”
He nodded, unable to speak around all the eggs being shoveled into his mouth. She had to look away, afraid to discover he wasn’t bothering to chew much. If he didn’t have to slow down and chew the bacon, his food would have been gone in less than a minute.
“It’s delicious,” she said, blowing on her tea. “Thank you. You, uh, are forgiven.”
Ethan nodded. “Thank ye, lass. It may sound odd, but I am out of practice with conversing. With other people, that is.”
“Now, that’s something I can understand I think.” She smiled, continued to eat, and pretended not to notice he was coveting her bacon. They smiled at each other whenever their eyes met. I could get used to this…bacon! I could get used to this bacon!
Her spine straightened. No. No, no, no! There would be no getting used to this! She was not
enjoying this gruff Scot’s company. In a few days, he would be gone, and she would be on her own again. And she could cook bacon every morning if she wanted it. After all, it wasn’t as if the man brought it with him.
Her silent, one-sided argument was interrupted by the sound of a Skype call. She brought her mug with her to the computer set up in the corner between the rocking chair and the front door. Leaning over the desk, she noted who the call was from, and took a deep breath before answering it.
“Tom,” she said, without emotion.
Her ex stared up at the top of his screen, seemingly looking at something besides her, which made it easier. “Penny, do you still have my—” His eyes flew wide. “Who’s that?” Tom’s image pointed over her shoulder at Moodie, who was clearing the plates from the table, his abs peeking out beneath the too-short sweater.
“That’s…a friend of mine. Ethan.”
Tom snorted. “Since when do you have friends?”
Classic Tom. Such a nice guy. “What do you need, Tom?”
“Do you know where my… is he wearing my clothes?”
She shrugged. “His got wet. Since you left them here, I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
“Well I do mind. He’ll stretch them out. Look at him.”
Ethan walked around the bed and approached the screen, leaned down and scrutinizing Tom. She tried to see her ex from the Scot’s perspective. He was tall, though not as big as Ethan by half. He had cropped black hair that he kept perfectly coiffed. Handsome, but detached, like a clothing model, when he didn’t speak.
She’d always thought him more attractive when he said nothing. And now, compared to her guest, she suddenly found Tom unimpressive.
Her lips twisted into a half-smile at the thought. Tom had been her white whale for a long time; it was nice to see him from an outsider’s perspective. It made her feel like she had at least a little bit of power back.
“I’ll take the clothes off then, shall I?” Ethan shouted at the screen. Tom winced as the increased volume sounded through his speakers, and Penny touched the big man’s shoulder, patting him, smiling at him, and making sure Tom could see her do it.
“You don’t have to shout,” she whispered, biting back a laugh. “And you don’t have to take off the sweater…unless you want to.”
Ethan laughed, but gave her a discreet, confused look. “I’ll finish cleaning up, aye? Ye talk to yer…er, friend.”
She nodded and smiled for the audience, then gave Ethan a breathy, Marilyn Monroe “Thank you,” with just the slightest pucker to her lips. It took all her control to keep from bursting out laughing.
The Scot patted her gently on the shoulder, then bent and kissed her on top of her head in such a non-aggressive, affectionate way it warmed her all the way to her toes. When he walked away, his fingers dragged along her shoulder like they didn’t want to let go. And though she knew he’d also been playing for the audience, it made her heart flip out.
She turned and watched him go. He really was pretty dreamy, if you thought about it...
Tom’s gasp interrupted. “So what? You’re sleeping with this guy now?”
Penny’s attention snapped back to the screen and she blinked a lot more than necessary. “What? No.” She intentionally made it sound like a lie. “And even if I were, it would be none of your business.”
Tom leaned close, demanding her attention, but as usual, he was looking in the wrong place to make that happen. “I disagree. If you’re sleeping with someone, that’s very much my business.”
The clatter of pans from the kitchen reminded Penny that Ethan could probably hear their entire conversation, even with their voices lowered, which meant she could only torment Tom so far before the castaway would get the wrong idea. And for the first time, she cursed the size of her living space.
She, too, leaned close to the laptop and pointed her finger at the small camera. “You listen to me, Tom. You left. You decided you didn’t want to be here with me. You gave me this whole spiel about how you wanted to take this adventure together, how we would write and learn together, and then…”
“And then I found out you were a prude,” Tom said with a snort.
The words were a slap in the face. Penny sat in silence for a moment before whispering “How dare you?”
She tried to keep the lump out of her throat. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry. He’s not worth it. He was never worth it, and he proved that to you long ago.
Tom sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m done with this conversation,” he said. “Like, it actually bores me. I called because I’m looking for my Movado watch. Have you seen it? I’m in Edinburgh for a few days, so—”
“You mean the watch you made me buy you for your birthday?”
“The gift. Yes.”
She widened her eyes innocently. “Gosh, I haven’t seen it.” She knew right where it was, in a box, in the storage room.
“Penny—”
“And if I do find it, I will pitch it into the sea.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s just childish. You can’t throw away a two-thousand-dollar watch—”
“Well, I dunno. I may be just that childish. But seriously, don’t call here again,” she said. “I don’t want to hear your voice or see your face. Bu-bye.”
“Penn—”
She clicked the “end” button and Tom’s obnoxious face disappeared.
For a moment, she sat in front of the blank screen and thought about the weasel she’d once loved—or maybe she’d just convinced herself she’d been in love. He’d been sweet at first. Understanding. He’d admired her, he’d said, for her strength when standing up to her family.
Her parents had lost custody of her when she was twelve—drugs, mostly, and some other bad decisions. She’d worked hard, drifting from foster home to foster home, trying to keep her head down and dodge the friendly hands of two not-so-well-meaning father figures. And when she finally graduated from that hell, her full scholarship to Dartmouth had been her finest accomplishment.
Tom thought so too, and she’d loved him for believing in her, for being the first non-teacher to believe in her. Every person she’d ever cared about, every person she had allowed close to her heart, had let her down. But then suddenly, she was in college with a supposedly understanding boyfriend.
The world was supposed to be her oyster when the two of them finished their first big research project. Tom promised to hold her hand and together, they would take the world by storm.
Hold her hand. Right.
Penny rubbed her face, trying to center herself in the here and now. Tom was long gone, and good riddance. And yes, she was alone here most of the time, but she also wasn’t crying about it. At least, not often.
She jumped to her feet and called into the kitchen nook, “Ethan, I’m going out to check on the storm damage and let the dogs loose.” Escaping Tom memories was the goal, but she suddenly didn’t want to do it alone. “Would you like to join me?”
Her castaway appeared, wiping his hands on a towel. “Aye,” he said, his voice overly gentle. She tried not to feel angry at the undertone of pity she heard there. “That would be lovely.”
Chapter Seven
With her boots, coat, and hat applied, and a stretchy cap and scarf for him, they set out on their walk in a slight breeze that was a mild and distant cousin to the howling gales of the night before. Their feet sank deep into the wet turf of the island, and Moodie felt an overwhelming sense of belonging. He glanced at the woman beside him and noted the deep breaths she took as she ate up the ground with confident, fluid strides. He suspected she felt the same.
“How often do ye roam the island like this?” he asked.
“Every day,” she said. “Getting as much sunshine as possible is important living this far north. Besides, I love the feeling of walking across the land, all open and wild. I take notes on the pack dynamics in this,” she waved her notebook in the air.
“What sort of notes?”
“Oh, the
interactions between old dogs and young ones, or older members of the pack versus the new rescues. I’ve developed an algorithm based on a numerical code for each dog.” She stopped for a moment and opened the book to show him. Moodie squinted down at line after line of numbers.
Penny watched him and laughed at the look he gave her. “Confounding, is it?”
“Och, aye.”
“See here,” she pointed at a line. “This dog was a year old when I brought him here, that’s one point, he’s male, that’s two points, he’s a bigger dog, that’s one point, and he’s considered a less aggressive dog, so that’s zero points. So his total is four.”
“Four what?”
“Four indicator points. The higher the number, the more likely there will be trouble when there’s a new dog brought in. Younger dogs are easier, so I gave him less credit there. Older dogs would garner two or three points, and aggressive dogs have higher point counts, too.”
He slipped the notebook from her hands and flipped through the numerous pages that all looked similar to the first. “What use is this information?”
“I compile everything once a week and put it into a computer program I developed. It also tracks the number of fights, but only the ones I witness. I record if the pack splits into multiple groups and try to figure out why, things like that. Columbia University is really interested in the outcomes and bestowed a grant to keep it running. We were hoping to get private funding, since the data could be more broadly applied to dog group dynamics and training, but...”
Her voice trailed off and she swallowed as if she had a lump in her throat.
“But?”
“But that funding was contingent on Tom’s participation.”
Moodie harrumphed to make clear his opinion of Tom.
Penny blinked. “He, uh, left kind of suddenly, and I haven’t really had a chance to contact anyone. I just hope the woman will reconsider, even if Tom’s no longer attached to the project.”
