Ghosts of Culloden Moor 02 - Lachlan

by L. L. Muir

Bad news was it meant he was crazy.

  A ghost from Scotland? She didn’t believe in ghosts, but even if she did, he couldn’t actually expect her to believe he was one, right?

  Those lips should be cold—but he had an excuse for that.

  And her face should be sliding right through his—but it wasn’t.

  She really wanted him to not be crazy. But what other alternative was there? That he was telling the truth? And if he was telling the truth, that meant he wasn’t going to be around tomorrow and she’s be alone again. She was used to it, of course. Except for her grandma’s old neighbor, Carolynn, and Milton, she’d been basically alone for months, since her mom died. Being alone again, in the morning, wasn’t going to be such a big deal. But never seeing Lachlan again?

  Thinking about it sent a little pain through her chest that originated just left of center.

  Who was she kidding? It was just a little heartburn…caused by a couple of exposed knees. And the fact that she’d gotten used to having him around, like a stray puppy that didn’t know enough to take care of himself. Although, Lachlan didn’t have that problem. Of course, if went around claiming to be a ghost, he’d find himself in all kinds of trouble. She was practically obligated to stick with him.

  Finally, she either had to end the kiss or admit that she liked the guy. And since admitting anything might keep him around long enough to get hurt, she ended the kiss and pulled back.

  “I’ve thought about it,” she said. “And I don’t think you’re working for my stepfather.”

  She could tell he was grinning, even in the dark.

  “But it wasn’t because you kissed me, all right?”

  “Of course,” he said, but she could hear laughter in his voice. She couldn’t help herself and laughed a little too.

  The truck turned and accelerated and she toppled into him. A few seconds later, she was able to scoot back again but she was a little surprised he hadn’t tried to take advantage.

  “Harper, listen well. I will prove myself to ye. I vow it. I will take ye to see this lawyer fellow and I will prove what I say is true. Ye will be safe before I leave ye.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I think there is a real chance you’re out of your mind, but since I don’t think you’re a danger, to me at least, then let’s not dig too deep, all right?

  The truck turned twice more while they sat in silence, waiting for it to stop. After a third turn, it tilted forward, throwing them against the back of the velvet seat, and they were plunged back into total darkness again.

  “Underground, I suppose.” His deep voice surrounded her with a little help from the fan.

  She figured if he were really a ghost, underground wouldn’t bother him, but he made it sound like it did.

  It was pretty sad that “delusional” was the better alternative. But really, there wasn’t any doubt. He’d been running around downtown Salt Lake in a Highlander costume and it wasn’t even Comicon season. And the big Scottish festival had been earlier in the month.

  The truck stopped. Her heart raced while they waited for the door to rise. She only hoped the guy that opened it would be the guy who’d closed it in the first place.

  The metal door roared up into the ceiling and after her eyes adjusted to the light, she was relieved to see Brian, yet another guy who had taken a risk by helping her.

  In spite of the fact they needed to stay out of sight, Lachlan insisted on helping the guy unload the truck. And only after the sleigh was rolling through the wide doors that led into the shopping mall was she finally able to pull him away.

  She rolled her eyes and pointed to the hallway with restroom signs and a drinking fountain.

  “It was the least I could do,” he grumbled. “The man transported us a good distance from Bart and company, did he not?”

  “Yeah. You’re right.” She turned toward the women’s restroom door and he followed. She had to press a hand against his chest to get him to stop. The flesh under his pirate shirt was disturbingly firm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He looked at the sign and frowned. “Ye’ll run from me. I won’t allow ye to go inside alone.”

  A woman with orange and pink hair hurried toward them and gave the Scot a long look while she backed into the ladies room.

  “Go ahead, honey. Bring him inside.” Her eyebrows wagged in a truly disgusting way that made Harper think twice about going inside herself. She glanced up at Lachlan to see he was just as uncomfortable.

  “I’ll hurry,” she said, hoping that was enough to make him stay put, then she followed Creepy Chick.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was the creepiest feeling in the world to be sitting on the toilet in a public restroom wishing a guy was in there with you—and only if he turned his back—so you could feel safe.

  She remembered thinking she was done for when Bart started talking just a few feet from where she hid in the sleigh. She’d wanted Lachlan beside her then too. At first, she’d wished he would fly out the door and take out Bart and the boys like some highly trained government agent. But then she’d realized that he’d probably end up dead if he did. She’d convinced Brian to let her shut the door after Lachlan jumped in, but when the engine started, she realized it was the perfect chance to leave him behind, to keep him alive. A chance to make up for what had happened to Milton.

  But she’d failed at that too. When the door got stuck, she hadn’t moved fast enough to lock him out. She’d also screwed up at the Trax platform, and hadn’t been much help to the little girl with the spilled backpack.

  Pitiful. She was lucky she was still alive after being on the streets for over a week.

  Since she was warm enough to think clearly again, she worried she might not be tough enough to do what was in Lachlan’s best interest. Poor guy. Delusional or not, he’d hitched his wagon to the wrong person.

  She could hear Creepy Chick playing with her phone in the next stall.

  “Uh, oh.” The woman gasped. “Um, honey?”

  Harper closed her eyes and prayed the woman wasn’t out of toilet paper.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t suppose you’re fifteen, are you?”

  Fifteen? “Uh, no…”

  A toilet flushed and a few seconds later, the chick was standing outside Harper’s stall. “You’re gonna want to see this.” She held her phone above the door.

  While Harper straightened her clothes, she tried to make out the picture. “What is it?”

  “It’s an Amber Alert. For you. Last seen with a disturbed man in a Scottish kilt.”

  Oh, great. She left the stall and hurried to wash her hands, then turned to take a closer look at the phone—the phone of a woman who had not washed her hands. But she didn’t have time to worry about that.

  There was even a picture. St. Clair had to have kept it on him, ready to play the Amber Alert card the first chance he got.

  “I’m not fifteen. I’m twenty.” She gave the phone back. “And he’s not disturbed.”

  “Yeah.” The woman put a piece of gum in her mouth, still, without washing her hands. “I didn’t think you looked like a child.” Her creepy grin returned. “Not with that Irish guy all over you like that.”

  Harper hoped her shudder wasn’t too obvious as she hurried toward the door. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  Lachlan looked relieved, but unhappy. “Ye took time to make friends?”

  Harper shook her head and headed straight to the drinking fountain. The need to wash her hands again was just too strong to ignore. “No. I wasn’t making friends. Do you know what an Amber Alert is?” She hoped ice cold water would do as much damage to germs as hot water did and imagined the microscopic creatures turning to ice and dropping off her fingers.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “It’s a…warning that goes out to phones and televisions, and signs over the freeway. The police have put out an alert saying I’ve been abducted by a man in a kilt. St. Clair must have told them I was fifteen, so
they’d post it. If we walk through that mall, or down the street, someone’s going to call the cops.”

  “A kilt?” He looked down at himself and stroked the material over his thighs. “I must leave it behind?”

  “Whoa!” She held up her hands and averted her eyes. “Unless you’ve got pants on under there, don’t be unwrapping…anything.”

  “I have no pants.” He made it sound like he’d no sooner wear pants than a tutu.

  She nodded toward the door of the men’s room. “You can hide in the stall, in there. I’ll go get you some slacks or something.”

  “Jeans. I’d like jeans.”

  Of course he would. “What size?”

  He shrugged, then put his hands next to his hips and pulled them forward to show her the size of the gap. “This size, I suppose.”

  She groaned and walked away.

  “Ye’ll return, Harper? Sweeting? I’d have yer word before ye go.”

  “Yes. I’ll come back.” He wouldn’t survive a minute without me. “Now get in there!”

  She didn’t look back to make sure because she knew the sight of him—standing there in his Scottish stuff, with his hands held out to show her how wide his hips were—was a sight she would never be able to get out of her head. And if anything happened to him, she didn’t want to be haunted by that image. He was just so…innocent wasn’t the right word. Neither was gullible. But there was something… naïve about the guy that she’d be better off ignoring. And he needed her for a change.

  It was enough to make her grin like an idiot.

  She pulled her scarf up around her head and after a couple of twists, there was no way someone was going to confuse her with a picture of a fifteen year old on the news. She also tucked her black vest into the first trash can she came across since it had been listed on the alert.

  Buying him a cheap pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a ball cap took almost half of her remaining money. The Broncos ball cap was pricey, but he couldn’t be wearing his hair down around his shoulders because even in regular clothes he would have a Highlander/romance novel-look about him. And that might prompt some jealous dude to call the cops just out of spite.

  There were plenty of Broncos fans in Utah. He’d blend right in.

  While she headed back to the hallway where she’d left him, she started thinking. What if I broke my promise and ditched him? Would he be safe then?

  No. The police would come for him, thanks to the Amber Alert, and he’d only end up in a psych ward. Maybe for good. She imagined them both sitting in an overly sanitized room playing chess while other patients wandered around mumbling. It was disturbing how pleasant the idea seemed.

  A perfectly normal, gorgeous man stepped out of the restroom wearing the clothes she’d bought. His boots worked just fine with the jeans and t-shirt, and he’d tied his hair behind his head. With what, she didn’t know.

  “Lachlan? Is that you?”

  He tipped his hat like an old fashioned cowboy. “Maybe ye should call me John.”

  She could have cried. “Absolutely not. You just got your name back, remember? I’m not going to take it away from you again.”

  His smile fell away and he stepped close, then herded her back against the tiled wall. He swept off the hat, flared his nostrils, and kissed the daylights out of her until she got dizzy from a lack of oxygen.

  He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Thank ye for that, my sweet Harper. For hearing my name on yer tongue is something I shall always savor.” Another kiss—a short one that left her feeling cheated—and they headed for the information desk.

  Again, she promised herself it wasn’t the kiss that swayed her, but she decided she wasn’t going to ditch him even though he no longer matched the description of her abductor. With that red kilt hidden inside a shopping bag, no one was going to be calling the cops, so he’d get along just as well as he would have if they’d never met. So leaving him, for his own good, wouldn’t be mean.

  But why upset the guy, right? He said he wasn’t going to be around after it got dark, which meant she only needed to patronize him a few more hours. And then he’d be gone—to wherever he expected to go.

  He can’t be a ghost. He just can’t.

  And to prove how talented she was getting in the denial department, she decided to ignore the return of her heartburn…

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  She couldn’t bring herself to risk taking the bus in case someone overheard his accent and put two and two together. So, against her better judgement, they used a payphone and called a taxi. Thankfully, the driver was able to find the address for Ewan MacFarland, Attorney at Law.

  On the ride to his offices, located on the mountainside above the city, near the University of Utah, she caught Lachlan frowning at the sun headed toward the opposite horizon. He forced a smile and turned his attention to the road, but he squeezed her fingers a lot tighter after that.

  Tears gathered in her eyes and she realized she’d just been fooling herself. She wasn’t patronizing him, she was patronizing herself.

  Please let him be crazy. Please let him be crazy.

  Because crazy people didn’t disappear when the sun went down.

  The taxi stopped at the first of three low brick buildings just inside Research Park. A police car was backed into the outside row of the lot. Empty. It was impossible for St. Clair to have known where they were going. So it wasn’t like the police could be lying in wait for them, but it still made her nervous.

  She handed over the fare and a tip even though she didn’t know how she’d eat for the next month. Then she let Lachlan lead her into the building. He didn’t seem to mind that her hand was cold and clammy and he held on tight, giving her an extra squeeze now and then while they went looking for some guy who supposedly knew a ghost from Scotland.

  It was hard to hold out hope—she’d tried too many lawyers’ offices already. There was just no way anyone would waste time listening to her if she didn’t have enough money to get their attention, and at the moment, she wasn’t sure she had enough to buy a Big Mac.

  They found it. MacFarland and MacFarland, Attorneys at Law. Her stomach dropped into her shoes, knowing she was about to be rejected again. She was almost disappointed when the massive oak door wasn’t locked.

  Lachlan removed his cap, pulled off the string holding his shoulder length hair behind his head, and strolled into the office like he owned the place. He smiled at the older woman behind the desk, whose gaze started at his waist and meandered up his form-fitting t-shirt. When she got to his face, Harper thought she might fall out of her chair.

  Yeah. She could relate.

  “Good day, Lass.” He gave her a big smile which Harper thought was a little too friendly. And she didn’t care for him calling someone else Lass, either, especially someone’s grandmother.

  “Good day,” the woman said, a little too breathy for her age. “How may I help you?”

  “I was told to ask for Ewan MacFarland,” he said casually.

  “Oh?” The woman’s smile was suddenly all business. The gatekeeper had awakened. “And may I ask who suggested you ask for Mr. MacFarland?”

  “Aye. That would be Ewan MacFarland. He insisted I ring him up when I came to town, but we’re staying close by, so… I thought I’d call in person, ye see.”

  “Oh, I see.” Her smile was still forced. “Did he give you his card?” She held out her hand like she was asking to see his passport.”

  Lachlan shook his head. “Just tell him I’m the bloke from Scotland. He’ll know.”

  “Just a moment.” The woman stood and walked down a short hall, knocked lightly on a door, then let herself in.

  Harper started pacing around the room, dreading what came next. She could tell by the way the woman had acted. They wouldn’t be allowed into the inner sanctum.

  The door opened, but it wasn’t the woman who came back down the hall. It was an extremely tall man in an expensive suit. His face was open and friendly. His hair was a w
ashed out mix of strawberry blond and gray that looked a little messy, like he might have been running his fingers through it. Or maybe napping.

  He held his hand far out in front of him, and gave Lachlan’s a good shake. “Hello, there. I’m Ewan MacFarland.”

  “Lachlan McLean, at yer service.”

  The lawyer seemed pleased by his accent. “You’ll have to forgive my memory, but I’m afraid I don’t recognize you. You say we met in Scotland?”

  “Aye. This past April, at Culloden.”

  The man nodded, then gestured toward the hall. “Please, come in. Come in.” He offered his hand to Harper. “And you are?”

  “Harper…” Too late, she realized the man might have seen a recent Amber Alert.

  He led them into a spacious office with a large family crest on the far wall. Family pictures littered the tables, and a framed, crayon drawing occupied a prominent space to the left.

  “Harper? Lovely name. Won’t you have a seat?” He looked out the door. “Mildred? Would you join us?”

  She and Lachlan took the seats directly in front of an ornately carved desk, and, with a suspicious look on her face, the older woman took a seat in the corner with a notepad in her hand.

  “My wife and I loved Scotland. I’d like to go back, but she wants to see Rome next.” The man leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “I’ll admit, I’m intrigued, Mr. McLean. Because I don’t remember seeing you at Culloden or anywhere else. And I believe I would have remembered you.”

  Lachlan put a hand on Harper’s knee like he knew she was getting ready to run. Then he shrugged. “Oh, ye didn’t see me, Mr. MacFarland. But I was there beside ye when ye placed a wreath of red and white flowers against the memorial cairn.” He frowned suddenly, and tilted his head to the side. “If I remember rightly, ye said, I would have fought with you. Do ye remember that?”

  The man got misty-eyed and nodded, though reluctantly. “Yes. I did. And I was alone at the time. I remember that clearly.”

  “Oh, aye. Alone with the dead, ye might say.”

  “You mean ghosts?” The man snorted. “It is supposed to be one of the most haunted places on Earth, so I suppose that’s accurate. So tell me, were you filming people? Without their knowledge and consent?”