by Camille Eide
Emily popped a CD into the Jeep’s stereo and U2’s Bono crooned that he still hadn’t found what he was looking for.
Careful what you wish for, man. You might be better off if you never find it. Ian held his breath, fighting the urge to switch off the song.
Before long, Emily lowered the volume and turned to him. “Maggie is amazing.”
Ian grunted. “How do you figure that?”
Emily shrugged. “She does everything around the farm by herself, manages the berries, the chickens and all that. And she’s always baking. She sounds amazing.”
Try living with her. Ian rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. What was the best way to describe the old woman who impressed Emily and drove him insane? “Maggie needs help, but at the same time, she needs to feel independent. Giving her the help she needs while staying out of her way takes some ... creativity.”
“Really? Like what?”
He took a deep breath. “Like the telephone. She won’t have one in the house. She complains that estate agents will ring all hours of the day and night. Which is probably true. They come round to discuss turning farms like ours into self-catering crofts. Maggie thinks they can spy on her through the telephone line.”
Emily chuckled. “You never know. Maybe they can.”
“Well, just between you and me, I needed a land line, so I had one installed to the old cottage. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He smiled.
She studied him for a moment, then leaned back against the headrest. “You’re a very wise and patient man, Ian.”
He huffed out a laugh, eyes on the long stretch of empty road. “I’m neither. If I have a scrap of wisdom or patience, it’s some kind of miracle.” When Emily didn’t respond, Ian glanced over.
She aimed a warm smile at him.
That smile captured his attention for several long, heady seconds. He should really look where he was driving before—
A startled deer froze in the road.
Ian hit the brakes and swerved into the left lane.
The deer doubled back, bolted along the shoulder, and bounded into the woods.
Heart pounding, Ian steered the Jeep back into the right lane, took a deep breath, and eased it out slowly. “That was close.”
“I’m sorry, Ian, I should have warned you about the deer. That happens a lot out here. Are you okay?”
“Aye. Better than him.” Ian aimed a thumb at the spot where the deer had disappeared into the woods.
“Um, actually, that was a her.” She covered her mouth but a grin peeked out. “No antlers.”
“I know that. I didn’t mean—okay, so this is how you are, then. You’re laughing at me.”
Emily stopped grinning, her face instantly mortified. “Oh no! I wouldn’t—”
“We have deer in Scotland, you know. Smart ones. Ours look both ways before they cross the road.” He glanced over.
Another smile curved her lips, and she shook her head. “Sorry, but I’m not sure I believe that.”
“Nah, didn’t think you would.” Ian focused on the road, but couldn’t hold back a grin.
They drove in silence for several miles. After a while, Emily said, “I keep thinking how strange it is that, even though we just met, it seems as if we’ve known each other forever.”
“I was thinking the same thing. From all those letters. But, I have to admit, I had you pictured wrong.” ALL wrong.
“I had you pegged wrong too.” Emily laughed. “But that was totally your fault.”
“My fault? How?” Ian kept his eyes trained on the road, but her gaze burned into him. He turned and caught the rising glow in her cheeks. “How did you picture me?”
“I always pictured you ... short and chubby with crazy red hair and a big, bushy beard.”
“What? How did you figure that?”
“Umm.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m pretty sure it was something you said in a letter. Something about being a hermit.”
The sweet absurdity of Emily sitting at her tiny kitchen table thinking she was writing kind, gracious letters to a hairy little fat man made him burst out laughing.
Emily laughed too, then slapped a hand over her mouth as if she could somehow hold in laughter with her hand.
Ian laughed even harder.
In spite of the hand, her laughter tumbled out and mixed with his. She snorted and gasped, then burst out laughing so hard she could hardly breathe.
Ian laughed so hard he almost had to pull over.
When she could speak, Emily wiped tears from her eyes and said, “Okay, so how did you picture me?”
“I expected you to be a plain, little spinster, tottering alongside Aunt Grace with a bag of knitting or something.”
“Close.” She chuckled. “Except I don’t knit.”
Ian stole a glance at her. When Emily laughed, the light in her eyes danced like sunlight on water, stirring up something familiar, something long ago banished and forgotten.
They drove for a while in silence.
Ian slowed to cross a railway track, and as he checked both ways, he sneaked another look at the woman beside him.
She had to know how beautiful she was, didn’t she?
He brought the Jeep back up to highway speed.
It made no difference to him whether she knew she was attractive or not. It was not his concern.
Don’t be an idiot. You’re a man. You’re spending the weekend with a warm, kind, attractive woman.
So? It wouldn’t be a problem. He was not an animal; he’d proven that. He’d made the mistake of falling into a couple of shallow relationships after Katy, but those had left him feeling so dreadfully empty he’d sworn never to do it again. And over time, as hatred had blighted his heart, he’d vowed never to get involved with anyone. Ever.
And he’d had no problem keeping that vow.
No, you’re not an animal. You’re a deeply flawed man who has no business getting tangled up with any woman, especially one like this. So just keep your eyes in your head.
As they approached the ENTERING TUMALO sign, Emily’s heart sank.
They slowed to pass through the little town.
“My dad lives here,” she said quietly. Maybe her dad would be interested to know she was passing through.
Yeah, right.
“You see him often then?”
“Not really.” She turned to the window and let the town dissolve in a passing blur.
“But you’d like to?”
“Yes. But ... it’s complicated. Losing my mom changed him. He ... has a hard time seeing me.”
“Why?”
Good question. She kicked herself inwardly for bringing it up. An old ache inched fingers around her heart and squeezed. What her dad had become was hard to explain and even harder to understand. All she knew was her heart broke for him every time she saw him. “I don’t know. Maybe I remind him of her.”
Ian blasted a deep sigh.
Like a shot, it hit her—Ian had also lost his wife. How thoughtless of her to bring up a dying wife. Her mind raced to find something else to talk about, anything.
“She was very special,” he said quietly.
Startled, Emily twisted around and stared.
“Your mum.”
“Oh. Yes, she was. Mom was a very kind, caring woman. She was the best.”
“What happened to her, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Her fingers clasped together in her lap, as if squeezing them tight would keep the images of finding her mom on the bedroom floor that day from becoming too vivid. She was blue. Cyanotic, as Emily had later learned.
Much too late.
“She died of a heart attack. She was thirty-five.”
“That must have been very difficult. How old were you?”
“Fifteen.” Her throat tightened. Emily had only seen her mom’s fainting and tiredness. She hadn’t seen the other symptoms that might have pointed to a fatal illness. No one had. What Mom had called “butterflies” were probably heart p
alpitations. Over the past year, Emily had searched for a possible connection between the sudden, early deaths of her mom and her grandma and pieced together enough of the puzzle to spell it out.
Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy, a genetic form of heart failure.
“She saw a doctor but the treatment he gave her didn’t help. Dad wouldn’t accept that, so he took her to more doctors. I think someone told her it was stress and to get more rest.” The memory of her dad’s increasing frustration and mounting panic sent a sharp pang to her chest. “Dad kept trying, but after a while, Mom made him stop. She was afraid she was—” she forced the words past the sudden constriction “—missing out on my life.”
Ian let out a slow breath. “Must have been agonizing for your dad. A man needs to be doing something. He wants to fix what’s wrong. Or at least be allowed to try.” His lips tightened. “Feeling helpless when someone you love is dying is the worse torture there is. But I suppose you already know that.”
Unable to breathe, she nodded. The hollow ache in his words reminded Emily why she was taking no chances on dating. If the disease was hereditary, how could she ever inflict that kind of torture on anyone? “Dad was very devoted to her.” Emily swallowed a lump of sadness at the long-forgotten image of her dad so clearly in love. “Mom was always the strong one. Her faith was steady. She prayed every day and leaned on God right up to the end. But Dad lost his faith. I think he felt cheated.”
Ian’s jaw went suddenly rigid, his lips tight.
Emily stared at her pale, clasped fingers. Oh, excellent shot, Em. Why not just go in for the jugular now.
After a few miles of silence, Ian asked, “Do you have any other family?”
“Besides Aunt Grace? No.”
“But you and your dad are still a family, right?” He frowned. “He must know how lucky he is that he still has you.”
Lucky? He can’t forgive me for breathing, so no, he probably doesn’t feel all that lucky.
“Time is precious,” Ian said. “Once it’s gone, you can’t get it back.”
She kept her eyes on the giant pines picketing the roadside as they whizzed past her window and waited for the tightness in her throat to let up. “I know. You’re absolutely right. I should see him more often. It’s just ... it’s hard to do that when I can see how much it upsets him.”
“I was thinking of what he’s throwing away, Emily. Not you.” His voice was quiet. “One day, he’ll regret it.”
Would he?
Ian drove in silence as another half mile passed. “So let’s stop and see him.”
She turned to study him. “What? You mean now?”
“Why not?” He glanced at her. “We’re here. Why waste the chance?”
We? Emily searched his face, still not sure what he was offering. Did Ian intend to come with her? If so, why? Was he aware of the painful memories a visit with her bitter, widowed father might stir up from his own life? “I don’t know, Ian. It’s really nice of you to want to help me, but I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
Ian glanced at her. “What do you have to lose?”
Good question. Could her dad possibly hate her any more than he did already? “I guess I’m more concerned about you.”
“Me? Why?”
“My dad is not very friendly.”
Ian shrugged. “I don’t need a friend.”
The steady stream of evergreens counted the miles like a clock ticking off the passing minutes. She took a deep breath, eased it out. “Okay, but why don’t we do it tomorrow, on our way back? He’s more likely to be home on a Sunday anyway.”
“Tomorrow, then.” He turned to her with a faint smile. “I think you’ll be glad you did.”
Emily couldn’t help smiling in return as her heartbeat quickened. How many other ways would this man surprise her before the weekend was over?
After a couple of hours on the road, a gas station and mini-market offered a welcome break. When Ian returned to the Jeep after paying for a couple of waters and a sack of chips they called Jojos, he found Emily had returned from the lav and stood near her vehicle, flanked on either side by two young men. From the look of her, she didn’t much fancy their company.
Ian quickened his steps, assessing the men as he approached.
One soft-looking lad, about mid-twenties, grinned like an idiot while his mate, a lean, wiry lad of about the same age spoke to Emily. Both wore jeans, work boots, T-shirts, and ball caps, the latter of which sported a logo that seemed to be a brand of beer.
“You sure there’s no party?” the wiry one drawled, close enough to Emily’s ear to boost Ian’s pulse a few notches.
Emily caught sight of Ian and a look of relief passed over her face.
He took a deep breath. “Hey. Ready to go, then?” He deliberately squeezed between the lad and Emily and tossed the bag into the backseat, catching another trace of her familiar perfume.
The two men moved a few feet away and leaned against the towering four-wheel-drive truck at the next pump.
The wiry one raised his voice. “Arrre ye rrrrrrready, then, wench?” He rolled out a ridiculous, guttural burr.
Bad Scottish imitation. So dreadful it wasn’t even close to bad.
The soft one snickered and said something juvenile about what Emily was ready for.
Ian stiffened and glanced at Emily, who, by the look on her face, had clearly heard it. The lads were just being young and stupid. They weren’t worth the energy. He brushed it off and gave Emily a nod. “Let’s go.”
As he reached for her door, one of them raised his voice and said, “So dude—Rob Roy—where are you and the little lassie headed?”
He straightened and caught a hint of unease in Emily. Taking a deep breath, he forced back the adrenaline. “Edinburgh,” he said over his shoulder. “Are we on the right road?”
They snickered.
Emily climbed into the passenger seat.
A moan of approval and some whistling followed.
“Duuude, did you see those legs? Hope he can keep at least one hand on the wheel.”
Ian froze again, but this time, he let the adrenaline run its full course. He closed her door with a firm click.
Through her window, Emily caught his eye. “Sorry,” she said, cheeks aglow.
His jaw tightened. “You’ve done nothing to be sorry about.”
“How do you know that?”
He studied her face. “I know.”
Emily searched his eyes, then offered a faint smile.
One of the idiots hooted. “Awww, check that out. I know what she wants. Aw, yeeah.”
The other one went on with a description that turned Emily’s cheeks even more pink.
Blinding white heat seared through Ian’s veins. He leaned in the window and spoke with a quiet calm that surprised him. “Close the window and lock your door. I’ll be back.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stunned, Emily watched the scene unfold like a Chuck Norris movie. Ian marched toward the guys with long, brisk strides, aiming for the thinner one.
The pudgy one wasn’t laughing anymore. The thin one stiffened. His mouth twisted into a smirk, but his eyes looked guarded.
Ian spoke in tones too low for Emily to hear. Though he stood with arms at his sides, his stance looked rigid, braced.
Heart racing, Emily held her breath. Ian had put himself in harm’s way on her account. She should’ve found a way to brush them off, should’ve done something to prevent this.
Ian thrust a thumb over his shoulder in her direction and talked to the thin one, whose expression had gone from wary to angry.
If Ian got hurt, it would be entirely her fault. Emily couldn’t stand not knowing what was going on. She cranked her window down.
“—until your giggling, wee mate there doesn’t recognize you anymore. Do you understand me now, laddie? Or is my accent getting in the way?”
The other man spit out a string of profanities about how he wasn’t apologizing to anybody, then told his
buddy they were leaving and climbed in the truck. The four-by-four spit gravel and dust as it fishtailed out of the lot.
Ian stared after it as the truck disappeared down the highway, hands clenched into fists. Then he spun and stormed back to the Jeep.
Emily released a gust of pent-up air.
Ian jumped in, slammed the door, and started the Jeep without a word. He threw a glance over his shoulder, pulled onto the highway, and floored it. As they picked up speed, he hissed under his breath.
Emily tried to force away the sickening sensation. She pressed a palm against her churning stomach and took a deep breath. “Sorry—”
“No.” He shook his head, eyes on the road. “If anyone should apologize, it’s them.”
“I know. That was totally inexcusable, the way they treated you.”
“Me?” He hacked out a hard laugh. With a frown, his gaze flicked over her and shifted back to the road. “You all right, then?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s no big deal.” Except for the lingering tingle of alarm that he could have been hurt. At least it had ended without a fight.
“Idiots. They should have apologized to you.” His lips clamped tight.
She studied his profile. When was the last time anyone had cared about her like that? And what was she supposed to do with her growing admiration for him?
He turned, frowning. “What?”
“Thank you.”
Ian gave her that probing look of his, nodded, and shifted his attention back to the road. He said very little for several miles.
If he kept up this sullen mood, Emily would be a bundle of nerves by the time they reached the coast.
After a few more miles of silence, she turned to him. “Tell me about your time in Portland,” she said.
“Ah. Portland is ... weird. Did you know the people there actually take pride in that? Bumper stickers and billboards say ‘Keep Portland Weird.’ But it’s also interesting. College students and coffee shops on every corner. Not a single petrol station—which I found out the hard way.”
Emily smiled. “People are meant to travel on foot or by bike downtown. It’s an unspoken rule.”
Ian puffed out a nose laugh. “Now you tell me. Anyway, I spent the week interviewing an old friend, Janet Anderson.”
