Almost Elinor: A Jet City Novel

by Gina Robinson

  He tried to defer. But they pressed him for the story. Then they cooed over him and his bravery as if I wasn't there. As if I hadn't wielded the knife. As if Jeremy and Dylan, with their timing in coming to find us, hadn't helped scare them off.

  Austin posed for a selfie with them. After they left, he whispered to me, "Unless I miss my guess, we won't get much of a chance to enjoy the gathering. We're already drawing too much attention."

  I shook my head and kissed him quickly. "You mean you are, my darling. You are."

  His prophecy held true. We received a resounding round of applause when we were introduced at the main stage ceremony. Austin, as always, amazed me with the way he could suddenly become Jamie and Connor in one, acting with the same charisma and confidence, flirting with the audience.

  His charm was the kind you can't fake. It can't be manufactured. You have to be born with the knack. How in hell had he hidden beneath a geek's façade for so many years? He was a natural heartbreaker.

  Hard as I tried to imitate Sam's spunk, I was just Austin's sidekick. The doll on his arm. And I couldn't say I wasn't jealous, even though I had no reason to be. He loved me. He loved me.

  We were scheduled for an hour-long slot in two different Jamie fan club booths, where we posed for hundreds of pictures. The women fawned and cooed over Austin.

  I finally broke away for my stint in the medical tent with Erica, treating bug bites and sunburn, leaving Austin to work overtime with the fans.

  There was a private lunch with important donors to the clinic. And a final hour at the clinic's booth, where we answered questions and talked to potential donors. I was in my element there.

  My ambivert self was quickly tiring of interacting. I thanked God I wasn't a full-on introvert.

  "I see what you mean," I said to Austin during a brief break. "I don't imagine this is how you enjoyed the gathering as a kid."

  He laughed. "Hardly." He pulled me close. "I'll make sure we have some time to explore the booths later." And then he was caught by another group of fans.

  "I'll hold you to it," I whispered, more to myself than him.

  Chapter 11

  Austin

  I managed to dodge my granda for a good part of the day.

  The old man finally caught up with me to express his displeasure. "Parading around in the Sinclair plaid. You're a disgrace to the MacDougalls."

  "This is a costume, Granda," I said. "I thought you'd be proud of me showing off my Scottish heritage."

  "Proud?" He spat on the ground. "When you start acting like a MacDougall and not some fictional character from another clan, then I'll be proud."

  That was the pleasant part of the conversation. My instincts to keep Blair away from him were right on target. I didn't need him trying to scare her off with his unpleasantness and criticism.

  Late in the afternoon, Blair and I finally managed to escape our obligations and I was able to keep my promise.

  "Do you think we'd have better luck going undetected if I changed into my MacDougall plaid?" I asked Blair, a large part of me rebelling at the thought. I had no desire to even appear to acquiesce to my granda. I was, however, desperate to be left alone to enjoy my time with Blair. The lengths a man in love will go to…

  She looked at me skeptically. "With your height, your hair, and your hotness?" She shook her head and laughed. "Are you kidding?"

  "You think I'm hot?" I teased, and wiggled my eyebrows.

  She shook her head and laughed.

  "You're a good sport," I said as I led her through the maze of booths and stands in the marketplace.

  Everything Scottish you could imagine was there for sale. From shortbread to whisky and lesser-known craft items. Clan histories. Family crests. Plaid. Jamie souvenirs.

  "This reminds me of Comicon," Blair said, looking around at all the bounty.

  "Does it?" I said casually. I knew what I wanted to buy her and was looking around for the booth.

  "Why is it you're always the one showing me around?" Blair said. "Someday I'll take you to a medical convention where I can be the expert."

  "I'll hold you to that promise. I've always wondered what kind of swag they hand out. Sample drugs?"

  She shook her head at me.

  I spotted the booth and grabbed her hand, pulling her along with me as I headed for it.

  "Slow down, soldier," she said with a laugh. "Where are we headed?"

  I pointed.

  "A flower stand?" she said. "Like the farmers' markets and Pike Place."

  "Not just any flower stand." I pulled her up to it and caught the attendant's attention. I knew exactly what I wanted. I bought her a wreath of flowers for her hair and put it on her head. "Beautiful." I studied her.

  She touched the wreath gently. "I feel like, I don't know, a bride or something. Maybe a flower girl."

  I laughed. "Well, maybe it is a little young. I've wanted to buy a girl one of these since I was a little boy trailing after Granda."

  "Another fantasy fulfilled. Though I wouldn't have guessed it was one of yours."

  "I'm full of surprises," I said. "And a full-blown romantic."

  "At least the wee lad version of you was." She kissed me lightly.

  I would have pulled her close for more, but she was already tugging me toward another booth.

  "Keep your head down," she said. "I'm going to buy you a gathering baseball cap to cover that auburn hair of yours before we're spotted here. And maybe a T-shirt, too."

  "Incognito," I said. "I like it."

  * * *

  Blair

  The afternoon, the whole day, passed too quickly. It ended with me sitting beside Austin in the VIP box, watching the tattoo as the sun set. Bagpipes. Hundreds of marching men in kilts. Group after group parading around in their plaid.

  I was tired. I leaned on Austin, content. And glad no one wanted to make small talk. The music moved my soul and brought tears to my eyes. Again I felt that overwhelming sense of joy and belonging.

  The day had been warm, but the evening cooled quickly as the sun set and the mosquitoes came out. Austin, having enough experience with the tattoo, had brought his MacDougall plaid blanket with him. He spread it over us, tucking it in around me, and me up against him. All over the grandstands, other couples and families cuddled beneath their blankets and plaids.

  Beth and I were fine and independent. And happy to just be the two of us. But here with Austin, his fellow clan members, and his friends, I found a new sense of family and belonging.

  The tattoo went late. Austin practically had to carry me back to the bed and breakfast. He did, in fact, carry me up the stairs and into his room, our room. There was a faint odor in the room that I hadn't noticed before.

  He diverted my attention from it. I couldn't help laughing when he closed the door with his foot and fumbled with the lock with me in his arms. It was clear that he wasn't tired at all and had more in mind than sleeping.

  "Am I going to have to get you a cup of coffee first, lass?" he said, putting on the accent to make me laugh.

  "First?" I said. "What did you have in mind? First before what?"

  He wiggled his eyebrows lecherously.

  "Oh, I think I'm going to need more than coffee for that." I curled into him and made a point of yawning.

  "That's all right. You just lie there." He nibbled my ear. "I'm wide awake. I'll do all the work. I have enough energy for both of us."

  "And enough lust," I said.

  He carried me to the bed, which had been turned down for the night.

  The odor grew stronger and more pungent as we neared the bed. There was something on my pillow. And it wasn't a mint or a rose. It looked more like a bundle of dead skunk cabbage surrounded by assorted other dead flowers. And smelled like it, too—a nasty combination of skunk, that smell of stale, murky water when cut flowers have sat in it too long, and rotting meat all rolled into one.

  I frowned and pointed to it. "What in the world?" I wrinkled my nose at the same tim
e he did. "Do you smell that?"

  Austin froze and swore beneath his breath.

  "What?" I said. "How did that get here?" I shivered with the thought of someone in our room.

  He set me on my feet next to the bed, grabbed a tissue, and reached over to grab the offending thing on my pillow. He held it between tissue in his fingers by its corner, as if he didn't want to touch any more of it than he needed to. "It's an ill wish."

  "What?" I frowned at him. At the same time, I almost laughed. "Is that what it sounds like?"

  He nodded solemnly.

  "In this day and age?" I shook my head, wide awake now, not sure whether I should find this funny or be concerned. "It sounds positively medieval."

  "Well," he said, "it's part of the gathering tradition here. I didn't take you to it, because I don't believe in such things, but there's a booth that sells them." He took a whiff of it and covered his nose. "Let me get rid of this and I'll finish telling you about it." He stripped the pillowcase off the pillow where the ill wish had been resting, and headed for the door. "I'll be right back."

  I heard his footsteps down the hall, and then the stairs. It took longer than I thought before he returned with a fresh pillowcase tucked beneath his arm. He went immediately to the sink to wash his hands.

  "What took so long?" I was morbidly curious, hoping he hadn't done some silly ritual, like dancing beneath the moon to disable the ill wish.

  "I had to take it out to the woods and bury it." He kept scrubbing. "That thing really stinks. I just hope I got it far enough away." He wrinkled his nose. "Then I had to track down the landlady and get a fresh pillowcase. There's no way we could have slept on the dirty one."

  I laughed and came up behind him. I put my arms around him, resting my head against his back. "My hero. You were telling me about it."

  "Yeah, the ill wish," he said. "It's a curse, of course. You can buy them at a booth in the marketplace. There are all kinds. I'm not sure exactly what that one was. But if I had to guess, it's one that's meant to break a couple up. To destroy true love and cause disharmony."

  "Oh." I tried to keep a straight face. "Very dire, then."

  "Yeah." He rinsed his hands and reached for the hand towel. "It's all for fun, really."

  "For fun!" I shook my head. "When we could be on the verge of breaking up even now? When the great Jamie and Elinor clone love story of the century could be about to end?"

  He grinned. "The money goes to charity. It's like at a kids' school carnival where you can pay to put someone in jail for a length of time. You send an ill wish, which forces the receiver to go to the booth and pay to have the curse lifted. Double the money." He spun around and took me in his arms. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it tomorrow."

  "So we're living under the curse tonight?" I said. "Is that wise? Or safe?"

  "Well, it's not a death wish—"

  My eyes flew wide open. "Do they sell those?"

  He laughed. "No. I was looking on the bright side. But, to your original point, the booth is closed for the evening. There's no way to undo the ill wish until morning."

  "Diabolical," I said into his chest. "It's my curse. I should do it."

  "It's our curse," he said. "Let me deal with it."

  "I thought you didn't believe in them?" I listened to the steady, reassuring thump of his heart. It didn't sound like it was about to abandon me.

  "I don't," he said. "But it's best not to tempt tradition."

  "Do they deliver ill wishes?" I asked.

  "I don't know," he said.

  "I don't like it." I took a breath. "It must have been sent by someone we know. Someone who knows we're here. Someone who got into our room."

  He shrugged. "They probably bribed the maid to put it here. It was just a joke. Anyone could have sent it. Or delivered it."

  "It's a sick joke," I said, still not appreciating the humor in it.

  "I agree," he said. "But at least it woke you up." He nuzzled me. "Now I won't have to do all the work."

  "Who says you won't?" I stared him down and turned my back to him. "You're going to have to undress me."

  "Good," he said into my ear. "I've dreamed about doing this."

  "I don't think reality is going to live up to the fantasy," I teased.

  "I helped make this dress. I got you into it. I can damn well get you out. And enjoy doing it." He began the process, kissing my neck, slowly trailing kisses to the top of my breasts, trying to separate me from my clothes at the same time he was seducing me.

  The period costume proved trickier than he anticipated. He fumbled with it and swore beneath his breath.

  "Design not cooperating?" I stroked his head as he bent over the buttons, concentrating on freeing me.

  "I should have just gone with Velcro."

  "Now there's a seductive line." It was hard to keep the smug smile out of my voice. Or the pleasure. Despite his fumbling, he was doing an amazing job of turning me on.

  "Quiet," he said. "I'm concentrating."

  He let out a triumphant grunt when he finally freed me from my dress. He studied my undergarments and rolled his eyes. "Too many layers. To hell with it." He swept me up and carried me to the bed.

  He deposited me on my back. Before I could protest, he shoved my underclothes, and his kilt, up. I encouraged him, releasing the ties of my undershirt and freeing my breasts, pulling them out for him to fondle and suck.

  The process of getting me out of the costume had been surprisingly sensual. And frustrating. Our pent-up desire burst through. We didn't need any more foreplay. We were both ready. I was eager to show him, and that ill wish, that it had no effect on me. Or us. We were solid and about to fornicate with wild abandon to prove it. Recklessly. Wildly. Unconcerned about thin walls or anything else.

  He positioned himself over me.

  I pulled his face to mine and kissed him. "Do it," I whispered, and sucked his lip. Yes, the very split lip. I temporarily forgot in the heat of the moment. I backed off. "Sorry."

  "Sorry hell." He kissed me with bruising force. "Don't stop."

  I arched up to meet him. He was in in a single, long, hard thrust. And then the bed was squeaking beneath us. The headboard banged against the wall.

  A moan escaped me. "Don't stop. Harder."

  Through my passionate haze, I heard the squeaking of a bedframe next door, its rhythm off from ours. The bed was groaning more than the occupants. We weren't the only couple having fun our last night here.

  I was trying to show Austin that even though hundreds of other women might fawn over him, I could give him what he wanted.

  The squeaking next door continued. Our headboard pounded the wall, doing a tattoo of its own. I closed my eyes. I squeezed him tight, feeling the crescendo coming.

  Austin and I were lost in each other. I gasped as I turned the corner and gave myself up to the pleasure building between my legs.

  My excitement fueled his and encouraged him. He could let go now, too, and join me. He grunted. Release washed over both of us.

  "Blair! Blair!"

  My eyes flew open. I stared up at Austin. He wasn't calling my name. Unless he'd suddenly developed a high-pitched, frightened female voice.

  "That's my line," he said, with a wry grin and a frown.

  "Blair! Help! Help!" Someone pounded on the wall between our room and Erica and Bob's.

  "Erica?" I was still staring at Austin.

  "Come quickly. Help! It's Bob." She pounded again.

  "I think you already did," he whispered.

  "That's terrible," I whispered back to him.

  Austin pulled out and rolled off me.

  I pounded back on the wall. "Hang on. I'm coming. I'm coming!"

  Austin shook his head. "A few minutes earlier that would have been sexy." He stood and pulled his kilt down.

  I sprang from the bed and ran out the door with Austin on my heels. Erica's door was open. We rushed in.

  Bob lay on his back on the bed with Erica, wearing only a thin
, hastily thrown-on robe, over him, working furiously on him as she performed CPR.

  CPR is hard work. Especially if you're performing it solo on a big hulk of a man like Bob. I rushed to her aid, wishing we had a portable defibrillator.

  At my first glimpse of Bob's ashen face and lifeless body, I knew it was a lost cause. But I dove in to help, yelling at Austin to call 911.

  Chapter 12

  Blair

  "He said his heart was healthy enough for sex. Bob said his heart was healthy enough for sex." Erica just kept repeating that over and over as the coroner pronounced Bob officially dead. She was every bit the distraught widow.

  I put my arm around her. The first responders had packed up and left. With all their modern equipment, they hadn't been able to do more than we had. We'd done our best, but couldn't save him.

  The room was stuffy and close. I didn't know why I noticed, but I did—the foxglove was gone. I was still in my historic underwear and feeling exposed now that the immediate drama and shock was over. Austin threw a blanket over my shoulders.

  I kept thinking that Erica should have known better. Obviously Bob's heart was not strong enough for sex. His jiggly, fluid-filled belly was blatant evidence of that. Personally, I didn't know how he'd worked up the energy to try the sex act. Or squeak the bed with the enthusiasm we'd heard.

  But he had. He had an erection when I arrived. I'd tried to avoid seeing it. Or noticing it. But I couldn't help it.

  The police were there, waiting for the coroner to determine cause of death. Natural or suspicious.

  Natural causes. That was the verdict. I led Erica out of the room while they loaded Bob's body to take it to the morgue. The entire bed and breakfast was awake and upset now.

  Erica wanted to go home. A policeman said he'd take her. She went to change.

  There was nothing else for us to do. We went back to our room. I changed into my nightgown and cuddled into Austin. I thought I was too tired to sleep. But it turned out I was wrong.

  * * *