He gazed at her, and a curious expression crossed his face. “Is your husband joining you over the holiday?”
Her thumb fiddled with her wedding band. “I lost him two years ago.”
Elliott looked deep into his cognac as if trying to extract a thought. “Did he die or did you misplace him?”
Her jaw dropped. She tilted her head, staring at him. At first blush, the comment was offensive. As the words seeped into her brain, she recognized the pain that laced the words together and knew he spoke from his own reality.
“I don’t mean to be cavalier,” he continued. “Holidays are not an easy time for those who have lost loved ones.” After a moment, he said softly, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
When he didn’t ask additional questions about her husband, she swallowed relief. “Thank you. Holidays are hell. I try to stay busy. Right now, that’s not hard to do.”
Elliott nodded.
Silence had a language of its own and often spoke in a way that tensed her neck and shoulders. She rolled them slightly but didn’t get any relief. The subtle undercurrent in the room even carried its own scent. Musky. Natural. Erotic. She swallowed the rest of her drink in a long gulp. Then, she stood, saying, “It’s been a wonderful evening, but I have a busy day tomorrow and need to turn in.”
In spite of his injury, he rose from the chair with remarkable strength and agility. She guessed him to be close to fifty, and she appreciated his obvious commitment to staying physically fit. He had the physique of an endurance athlete. Sexy and, if she had to guess, ripped.
“Does that include another trip to the Archives?” he asked.
She quit visualizing him shirtless, wearing either biker or running shorts, and collected their drinking glasses. “Day two starts early.” She set the glasses in the sink at the bar and tidied up.
“How far back are you researching?”
She grabbed her coat and purse off the chair. “Mid-seventeen-hundreds. Why?”
Elliott flipped off the lights. The room went dark, leaving them standing in the shadow of the hall’s yellow light. “There’s a Fraser family mystery dating back to that time.”
“So you have an interest in genealogy, too?”
He followed her toward the elevator. “I wouldn’t put it on my top-ten list, but I’m interested in this particular story.” The door opened as soon as Elliott pressed the up arrow. When they stepped inside, his hand hovered over the control panel. “Two, right?”
She did a double take. “Yes.”
He gave her a mischievous, yet endearing grin. In that grin, she caught a glimpse of the young man he had been before stress and age etched character lines around his mouth and eyes.
“We’re the only holiday guests. We’re neighbors,” he said.
“You really do know all of Louise’s secrets.”
“Lou’s very trusting, loyal, and extremely protective,” and with a nod he added, “Occasionally bitchy.”
A pang of sadness spread through Meredith’s heart. Other than Cate, she didn’t have anyone else she could say that about. “You’re lucky to have her.” The elevator began its slow ascent. “What do you know about your family mystery?”
“Only that a Fraser was born on the wrong side of the sheets around 1750. No one in the family has been curious enough to find out what happened.”
“Except you.”
“Except me.” The elevator stopped on their floor. “Seems more important now.”
She held the door while he hobbled out into the hallway. “You’re more than welcome to join me. I could show you where to start your research.”
“What time are you going?”
“I have a nine o’clock reservation in one of the research rooms.” They strolled down the hall. The rubber-tipped crutches made soft thuds against the carpeted floor. “It’s a large building. A wheelchair might be easier to use than crutches.”
He stiffened. “I get along fine with these sticks.”
Stubborn. Just like her late father, Elliott would rather suffer blisters and inconvenience than show any sign of weakness. The thought stung a bit because maybe, just maybe, she would, too.
When they reached her guest room door, Meredith gazed into his warm eyes. A fuzzy sensation trickled down to her belly. Find a good-looking Scotsman and have fun.
“Have dinner with me tomorrow night,” he said.
Wisps of hair had escaped her butterfly clip and hung freely around her temples. She finger-combed the strands, stalling, not to think of an answer to his question, but just to think at all. Finally, she said, “Are you inviting Evelyn and Louise?”
“You don’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve, do you?”
No, she didn’t, but the thought of spending an entire evening alone with him twisted her belly into a bushel of single knots. “They’re your friends.”
“And they’ll enjoy a quiet evening alone. But if it’s important, I’ll invite them.”
Meredith unlocked her door. “I hope they’ll go.” She pushed the door ajar yet lingered in the hallway for a moment. “Well, goodnight.”
He leaned in with a slight tilt of his head. She brought her left hand to her face and fiddled with a loose curl. He gave her a wry smile and straightened. “I’ll call for the car to be here at eight-thirty. Are you going for a run before breakfast?”
“A short one—five miles.”
He tugged on the loose curl she’d abandoned. “Best way I know of to clear your head and focus on what’s important.” He tugged again on the curl. “Be careful. The sidewalks can get slick. We don’t want you needing a wheelchair.”
“I’m always careful,” she said, brushing her fingers against his as she reclaimed the curl.
Before she could change her mind and accept the kiss she sensed he wanted to give, she slipped into her room and closed the door.
If he had kissed me, would I have kissed him back?
Chapter Eleven
Louise’s B&B – December 24
THE ALARM ON Elliott’s cell phone beeped, waking him from a night of unsettling dreams. The images and emotions were beyond his grasp, yet he felt weighted down by them. He lifted the covers and searched for the phone. What a sorry-ass bedmate. When was the last time he had something in his bed that didn’t bark, meow, beep, or ring?
He found the device then scrolled through two dozen new messages that had queued up overnight: An update from Doc letting him know the hearse still hadn’t arrived, another one from Harrison telling him the insurance company sent a claims adjuster to the farm, and several others from shareholders expressing sorrow and disappointment. Their anger would come later, while his continued to gallop down the track. The last email was from Sandy. She attached a copy of the press release written exactly as he had dictated.
He eased his naked body out of bed, picked up the crutches, and hobbled to the window. Fixed shutters covered the lower portion, providing privacy. The sun wouldn’t rise for at least an hour, but street lamps provided enough light to see that a layer of snow already blanketed Edinburgh. There was a trail of footprints from the B&B to the private park across the street. Only one set heading out. That meant Meredith hadn’t returned from a snowy morning run in a strange city. He’d question her sanity if he hadn’t done the same thing in places all around the world. Runners were a hardy lot. If he could turn back the clock, he’d be out running with her. But he would never run again. The pain in his leg provided constant reminders of that fact.
I wonder if she’s Live Tracking on MapMyRUN.
As OCD as she appeared to be, he doubted she went anywhere she couldn’t be found. He hobbled over to the desk where he booted up his laptop, logged onto the MapMyRUN website, and plugged in her name. Sure enough, GPS tracking showed her on her way down Great King Street. A slow smile of satisfaction eased onto his face.
He returned to the window and waited. A couple of minutes later, she jogged across the street toward the B&B dressed in skin-tight reflective running gear. The jacket’s ne
on yellow color provided a stark contrast to the cold, gray stone buildings lining the street. Her warm breath appeared as a stream as it hit the cold Midlothian air. When she reached the sidewalk, she removed her gloves then pulled her phone from a pouch strapped on her waist. After tapping on the device, the live tracking session ended.
He stood at the window long after she’d entered the house, lost in holiday memories.
Chapter Twelve
The National Archives – December 24
ELLIOTT SAT NEXT to Meredith in the backseat of the limo, sending text messages while she replied to a series of emails on her iPad. On the other side of the tinted windows, snowflakes meandered from the sky, swirling about the imposing façade of the National Archives like dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. If only it were summer. The New Year’s anniversary of Sean and Mary’s deaths would be behind him. His leg would have healed from surgery, and the fallout surrounding Galahad’s death would have settled. Will I even have a job? Situations like the one he faced typically needed a scapegoat.
No need to go there. Yet.
Getting through the next few days would be a start toward surviving the next six months, and enjoying Meredith’s company was the best way to get through today.
He pocketed his phone and refocused on her. The corner of his mouth turned upward as he studied the look of concentration on her face. Her pursed lips held an air of familiarity. Had he grown accustomed to her facial expressions or was he just bewitched by her lips—a damnable temptation he’d resisted, barely. He would have to dance his way around her, one artful step at a time.
“Done.” She flipped over the iPad’s cover and slipped the device into her purse. A small line formed between her brows. “The catering company I hired had a dozen questions. Most of them I can’t answer until I decide on the food and wine pairings. That’s at the top of my list for next week.” She slipped on a pair of leather gloves, snugging them around her fingers. “Are Louise and Evelyn joining us for dinner?”
Captivated by her long fingers encased in kid leather, he didn’t respond to her question, thinking instead of how erotic it was to feel the heat of a woman’s hand through her glove. He blew breath out through his teeth and rerouted his thoughts. Yes, ditching the girls had been his plan, but pleasing Meredith won out over pleasing himself. It was Christmas after all. “I made reservations for four at the Rhubarb.”
Her mouth formed a perfect O. “They have an award-winning wine cellar. I’ve always wanted to go there. And the girls are going, too.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for working it out.”
The touch of her soft, moist lips lingered long after she drew away. Her response was well worth his sacrifice. One artful step at a time. “The owner’s a friend. I’m sure he’ll give you a tour.”
“Those are magical words to a vintner,” she said.
Elliott reached for the door handle, thinking he had something much more magical to entertain her with than an old wine cellar. “Shall we go?”
David exited the vehicle, hiding his crew cut beneath a driving cap. He handed Elliott his crutches. The Aviator glasses David wore even on overcast days hid the disapproval Elliott knew he’d see in the former Army captain’s eyes.
“Stay close in case I need you.”
With a magician’s finesse, David slipped pills into Elliott’s jacket pocket. “Eleven o’clock meds. Don’t let the pain get ahead of you.”
Elliott snapped his pocket closed, securing the tiny envelope containing the pills. He’d taken his eleven o’clock meds at eight-thirty, but David didn’t need to know that. He settled a good hold on the crutches then stepped aside to make room for Meredith to join him on the sidewalk. “Let’s take this slow and easy.”
Meredith slung her bag over her shoulder. “There’s a lift on the other side of the building if you’d rather not take the stairs.”
He judged the distance across the icy sidewalk to the lift, comparing it to difficulty of negotiating two dozen wide steps, and made a quick decision. “Let’s take the stairs.”
At the bottom step, he blew out dread on a long breath. Making it to the first landing would be worse than pulling fingernails. He could get through it, but hiding his agony from Meredith might take an Oscar performance. If he rattled her, maybe she wouldn’t hover and notice his distress. He hobbled to the first step covered with fresh snow.
“Why do you still wear your wedding ring?”
She stumbled, barely grabbing the stone railing in time to remain upright. “That’s twice today I’ve almost fallen.”
He managed a grin. “Hope to hell you don’t get yourself killed.”
She gripped the railing, too wide to wrap her hand around. “That’d put a damper on your dinner plans.”
“Aye.” And much more.
They reached the first landing without Meredith answering the ring question. Elliott stopped, readjusted his grip, and fixed his eyes on a bronze statue of Wellington mounted on a rearing horse. His thoughts went to Galahad—
“I took it off once,” she said, “but I felt like I was running naked.”
Running naked? Her comment jolted him back to his question. “So you’re one of those OCD runners who check their Garmin every five minutes?” He’d never worn one, enjoying the freedom of running without being tethered to a watch or smart phone. But he’d always mapped his run afterwards to check the mileage and log the run in his notebook.
“I know it’s good training to run without a Garmin, trusting your instincts and listening to your body, but not wearing a watch drives me nuts. That’s the way I felt without the ring. I put it back on my finger.”
“If you’re wearing a wedding ring so you won’t feel naked, won’t any ring work?”
“Another ring wouldn’t stop men from hitting on me.” She chewed on her bottom lip, averted her eyes.
Her obvious embarrassment at exposing herself gave him smug satisfaction. “How’s that working for you, m’lovely?” He placed his finger under her chin and turned her head toward him.
She tempered her glare with a slight smile. “Not so good.”
To him, women were unfinished jigsaw puzzles without a picture to use as a guide. His only hope of figuring out complicated creatures was to find the corner pieces first, then pray for inspiration. He had one section identified: obsessive-compulsive.
“Then why?” he asked.
While no longer chomping on her lip, a flicker of tension appeared around her mouth. He let go of her chin. “I don’t see myself as a widow,” she said. “Society placed a label on me that I can’t accept. I’m not old, or a grandmother, or short and dumpy.”
“Nay, yer none of those.” At that moment, he spotted another corner piece: insecurity. “Reality often doesn’t match perception.” The cripple he’d become didn’t jive with the image of the man he carried in his mind. He nodded toward the entrance. “Let’s get out of the cold.”
Meredith flashed her reader’s ticket at the door, and Elliott purchased a temporary pass to access the research rooms. With their search passes in order, they maneuvered through the shop area. Meredith appeared subdued, chewing on her bottom lip again. He wanted to snatch the plump, glossy tissue from her incisors. At the rate she was gnawing, she wouldn’t have any lip left for him to kiss.
“Loss is forever. Acute grief isn’t. Although I’m not in the acute stage now, loss—” she sighed, “—is forever.”
Meredith wasn’t telling him a new story. He had a collection of forevers arranged in straight lines on a memory shelf. “What happened to your husband?”
“He died two years ago from a stroke. In hindsight, I should’ve made him take better care of himself.”
Elliott wiped sweat from his brow. “Guilt’s like wearing an old pair of boots. Too familiar to throw out but too worn to do any good.”
“Is that an Elliott-ism?”
“No. It was one of my grandfather’s.” Elliott swept his hand toward a chair. “Do you mind if we
sit?”
“You sure you don’t want a wheelchair?”
If she thought of him as an invalid, she’d never see him as a lover. Crutches presented enough of a challenge to his masculinity. “No. Just give me a minute.” He sat, but he got little relief from the pain. Thankfully, he had more medication. The current dosage was too low. He swallowed the pills David had given him. “Tell me about the rest of your family?”
She sat in the chair next to him. “There isn’t much to tell. My parents are dead, and I don’t have any aunts, uncles, or cousins.”
The way she spoke, the way she gazed at him, touched him in a familiar way. He wanted to pull her into his arms and protect her as he’d never protected anyone, except Kit. But he couldn’t stand and hold Meredith, and any attempt while sitting would be awkward and clumsy at best.
“I’m the last Montgomery,” she continued, “and that’s a perfect segue into why I’m here—to find my ancestors.”
He shot a quick glance toward the top-lit domed rotunda. “You think they’re in this room?”
“I doubt it, but it’s beautiful in here, isn’t it? They call this the Adam Dome Room.”
He glanced around, smirking. “Where the hell are the old musty books?”
“The documents in this building are computerized.”
“I’m disappointed. I wanted to blow dust off books that haven’t been read in centuries.”
“We can find those in another building.” She pointed toward a doorway. “When you’re ready, the Reid Room is that way.”
He stood, gritting his teeth, and looking everywhere but into her eyes. He didn’t want her to see his pain. Kevin and David didn’t have to look into his eyes. They could hear it in his voice and see it in the slope of his shoulders—subtle signs that were noticed only by those close to him.
“When I get into those old dusty books, I’ll have to hire someone to transcribe the documents I need,” Meredith said.
He hobbled along beside her. “I’ll do what I can to help you. My grandda taught me how to read that old handwriting. He insisted the skill would teach me patience.”
The Last MacKlenna Page 7
