by Jo Jones
Lucy searched the crowd for a moment, then pointed to a gray-haired man in red shirt. “Right there. Max Sanders. It’s that booth with the big galvanized tubs.”
“The big what?” Angus queried.
“Those silver tubs.” Lucy gave him a disbelieving look then laughed. “You’re teasing me.”
“Lucy!” shouted a woman marching in their direction, her harsh tone diminishing her striking beauty. “Everyone has been waiting for you,” she accused. “The preparation meeting should have started ten minutes ago.”
Confusion clouded Lucy’s face. “I thought the meeting wasn’t until later this evening.”
“They moved it up. There’s a lot to go over and we don’t want anything going wrong this year, do we?” The woman’s raised eyebrows punctuated her sharp words.
’Twas more a command than a question, Angus noted, feeling a prickle of irritation at her manner. Whoever she was, she had none of Lucy’s softness, nor warmth.
The woman huffed and glanced at her watch. “Don’t you check your messages? You have no idea what I had to rearrange to be here this early.”
Lucy stepped around the end of the truck and smiled at the woman as if they were friends. “Vivian St. Clair, meet Angus MacLaughlan.”
Vivian’s gaze swung to Angus as he joined Lucy. Her eyes widened as she scrutinized him, top to bottom, before producing what she must have considered a fetching smile. “Hello.” She smoothed a hand down her hip and thigh. “It’s my pleasure, of course.” Her voice dripped with honey as she held her hand out.
Angus stepped closer, unsure if he was supposed to shake her hand, or kiss it. He settled on the merest bow, touching her cold fingers as briefly as possible.
“My, aren’t you…big,” she breathed, as he rose from his bow. “Wherever did you find him, Lucy?” she asked without taking her eyes off Angus. “And in such…interesting apparel.”
“I didn’t.” Lucy said flatly. “He arrived on his own.”
“Surely, he’s not one of your charity cases?” Vivian’s half-laugh accompanied a dismissive look. “That would be a waste, wouldn’t it?”
“Far from it,” Lucy replied, moving past her a few paces before turning back. “Coming, Vivian?”
“Yes, of course.” Vivian took a couple of steps backward, her gaze still on Angus when her thin heel sank into the grass.
Her ungainly lurch and shriek brought Angus to her side, steadying her with a firm grip to her waist, just as she began to topple. “There ye are, now. Steady as a rock.”
She clung to his upper arm with one hand, letting the other fall onto his chest. “Imagine that. A handsome hero, right here in our midst.”
Angus released her and stepped back, put off by her forward manner, and switched his attention to Lucy. “I’ll take care of those boxes for ye, and meet ye here when ye’re finished.”
He arched a brow at Vivian who still hovered close. “Ye dinna wish tae be late, if I recall.”
“Duty does call.” Vivian shrugged. “But I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”
“Mayhap,” he replied. But no’ if he could avoid it. The woman made him itch.
He watched them walk away, Vivian clearly harping at Lucy. He sighed, wishing he could help, but even if he could, he needed this time to search out the deed he’d been sent here to do. Soni dinna make mistakes, so he was here for some purpose. But what was it and why was it taking so long to show itself? Admittedly, he’d selfishly indulged his own desires thus far, but he couldna think of anything he’d let slip by him. Or mayhap, he simply dinna ken the first thing about being heroic.
~ ~ ~
The throbbing behind Lucy’s eyes didn’t ease as she’d hoped, after she escaped the final planning meeting for the annual football game. The committee, led by Vivian, had all but asked for a written guarantee there wouldn’t be a repeat of last year’s fiasco. Despite Lucy’s reassurances to the contrary, very few of them were willing to concede that Blake’s little joke was a simple one-time prank, or that his recent accident and crippled hand would deter him from further escapades.
Tomorrow marked the seventy-fifth year the bronze ship’s bell would be used as a trophy to ring in the win for one or the other of the towns. Last year’s prank had deprived the people of Ashton of the traditional, celebratory three-rings-for-victory, and despite Blake returning the bell soon after, some still hadn’t forgiven him.
A troublemaker, since the day he was born, several of them said. Admittedly, he’d spent more than a little time in the principal’s office over the years, and small-town gossip tended to blow everything out of proportion, so they’d come to expect the worst from Blake. Sadly, last year, he’d proven them right.
The committee had, as usual, approved The Bell being on display at the festival, before being transported to the stadium and presented to the winning team, but this year it would be under twenty-four-hour guard. They weren’t taking any chances. Though Lucy couldn’t really blame them, she regretted the message it sent about Blake and denied him the opportunity to prove he could make better choices.
Although there was nothing more she could do to fix this for him, her promise to her mother still nagged at her conscience. She’d done her best, but it was long past time to let Blake face his own consequences.
Pushing her frustration to the back of her mind to simmer along with her headache, Lucy looked for Angus and found him chatting with Orville Pearson at the cotton-candy booth. “There you are, Angus. I’m sorry! I had no idea I’d be this long.”
“Dinna fash, lass,” he smiled as she approached. “I’ve had a fine time makin’ new acquaintances.”
“I’m grateful for his assistance,” Orville added, clapping Angus on the back. “His offer to help saved me a good deal of work.” He sent Lucy a concerned look. “Angus told me where you were. Don’t let them get to you, sweetheart. This town rivalry was here before you were born, and will likely still be here after you’re gone.”
“I know,” Lucy sighed. “But it’s not the rivalry. I used to be one of the biggest participants, back when it was just a rivalry and not so…personal. There are still some who’d like to tar-and-feather Blake if they thought they’d get away with it.”
“They’ll no’ touch the lad, I guarantee ye.” Angus assured her, his voice low and tight.
“Aww, not to worry,” Orville assured Lucy. “Blake’s was not the first prank played between these two towns.” He shrugged and grinned “I could relate a few from my own teenage years, which most people have either forgotten, or forgiven. And despite a handful like Vivian and her entourage, in time they’ll forget this one, too.”
“You’re probably right.” Lucy managed a smile that undoubtedly looked as pained as she felt, and tried to change the subject. “Lots of people in town. I hope that translates to a huge crowd for the festival.”
“Biggest turnout I’ve seen in the seventy-six years I’ve been here,” Orville agreed.
And every one of them intent on their town taking the bell home, Lucy frowned, wishing the next twenty-four hours were behind her. Maybe coaxing Blake to attend the game and festival wasn’t such a good idea. But he couldn’t hide forever. Nothing was going to happen to that blasted bell, but until someone rang it at the end of the game, there’d be no peace for her, or Blake.
She looked away, knowing her frustration might turn to tears any second. She detested such weakness.
“Are ye well, Lucy?” Angus asked, stepping closer.
She liked that he placed his hand at the small of her back in a gesture of comfort and concern. How nice it would be to just lean into him, and cry her frustration into his chest. “Of course.” She tried to laugh. “I’m just being silly. Everything will be fine.”
“Sure, it will.” Orville agreed. “Don’t forget there are a lot of us who love and support both you and Blake.”
Warmth flushed her cheeks. “Thanks. The feeling’s mutual.” She gestured at the dimming sky. “It’s getti
ng late and I still have a booth to set up.”
“Thanks again, for offering your help, Angus.” Orville said. “If I hear of anyone else needing a hand, I’ll let you know. Make sure you and Lucy come by tomorrow. I’ll treat you to that cotton-candy I was telling you about.”
“I dinna wish to miss it.” Angus assured him.
Orville turned his attention back to Lucy, a stern look on his face. “You come to me, if you need anything at all.” Then he winked. “But it looks like you’ve got pretty good back-up, already.” He waved them off. “See you both tomorrow.”
By now, many of the other people had gone home for the night, and in the shadowy dusk, Angus’ hand once again rested at Lucy’s back as they walked past the line of colorful booths, to where hers would be.
She lifted her gaze to his. “I hope you can stay long enough to attend the festival and game tomorrow, so you can see for yourself what this friendly rivalry is all about.” Mostly, she just wished he’d stay. Period.
“As do I.”
Was that uncertainty in his voice? Had she misjudged his interest? He certainly was a man of mixed signals. Unable to read him, she focused on his touch at her back. Warm. Firm. Even a little Intimate? She felt protected, cherished, and wished to savor the sensation, memorize it, and for once not analyze anything. After tonight’s emotional roller-coaster, she wanted to push everything else aside and simply indulge in the comfort of the man beside her.
The kisses they’d shared earlier came back to her in a rush of heady warmth, despite the cool evening. For a brief moment, she considered trying Vivian’s fake stumble, just to feel Angus’ arms around her once more. But couldn’t bring herself to stoop so low. If he held her again, she needed it to be because he wanted it to happen as much as she did.
She’d practically thrown herself at him earlier, taken him by surprise, and though he’d eagerly responded, it may have just been his normal reaction to any kiss. Not to her.
They walked in silence until they reached the spot assigned to her booth. She sighed, surveying the work ahead. “I guess we’d better get started.”
“No’ yet.” Angus whispered, turning her slowly to face him. “I’ve something tae say tae ye.” He slid his hands loosely around her waist, studying her face as if waiting for acceptance or rejection. When she smiled and moved a bit closer, he tightened his embrace, bringing her the rest of the way.
A tug of anticipation, low in her abdomen, spiraled outward as she laid her palms at his taut waist. “What did you want to say?”
“This.” His kiss was gentle at first as he leisurely explored her mouth, and then she lost track of who led and who followed. He tightened his arms, almost lifting her from the ground, and all sensation of a world outside their kiss faded. There was only his mouth on hers. His need melding with her own.
~ ~ ~
Releasing Lucy was pure torture. A handful of people still worked in a couple of the booths a short distance away, and despite a burning desire to lose himself in Lucy’s embrace, Angus couldna further compromise her. From what little he’d learned, a few in town, like the wench Vivian, already judged her harshly for defending her brother. He dinna wish to give them more fuel for their wagging tongues. But he couldna help indulging in that single, searing kiss. He had to know if the heat of those kisses in the lorry had been driven by Lucy’s pain, or passion.
Kissing her just now was like a torch exploding, and the thought of leaving her was a physical pain in his belly. He needed time to get to know her. Know what burned inside her. What she dreamed of. What gave her joy. He wanted to hold her and share all those moments with her. And he couldna help wondering what this powerful connection between them might become, given time.
Time he dinna have.
CHAPTER SIX
By the time Angus and Lucy finished the booth, they were late arriving at her house. Neither of them had tried to put what they’d shared into words, and now, as Angus studied Lucy, clearly tired, perhaps worried, he felt some apprehension of his own, hoping regret was no’ part of what she wrestled with.
“Will ye share yer troubles, lass?” he asked as they stepped onto her porch.
“It’s nothing.” She offered a weary smile. “Just wishing tomorrow was over.”
Angus followed her into the house, knowing he’d give anything if tomorrow could last forever.
As they entered the kitchen for dinner, ’twas obvious things there were no’ going well. Grif stood near the stove stirring something in a bowl. Tense lines bracketed his eyes and a muscle jumped in his jaw. Blake slumped in a chair at the table with a fixed sneer, refusing to look at anyone. Clearly, they’d had words.
“If that tantalizin’ smell is any indication, we’ve a feast waiting,” Angus observed, attempting to break the silence as he moved to the sink to wash his hands.
He watched Lucy and Grif exchange a look, both of their faces strained as she shifted her attention to Blake who picked sullenly at the tablecloth.
“Blake?”
He gave her an annoyed glance. “What?”
“You tell me, what.”
He shot a quick glance at Angus. “Grif said you wanted a family dinner. Which, of course, you couldn’t possibly show up on time, for.”
Grif put the bowl on the table. “Everyone sit. Start with the coleslaw while I grab the ribs and beans.”
“This is a family dinner,” Lucy said, sliding onto a chair. “If you’d been willing to lend a hand setting up for the festival, we could have finished much sooner.”
“This one, maybe?” Blake snarled, holding up his curled, left hand. The gold band he wore hung at an awkward angle, emphasizing the deformity.
At Lucy’s stricken look, Angus took a seat across from Blake, wishing he could turn the lad over his knee. The rich aroma from the steaming platter Grif sat on the table would have been irresistible at any other time, but aggravation had knotted Angus’ stomach.
“You’re not helpless, Blake,” Lucy sighed, pouring a glass of water. “You’ve just chosen to be.”
Blake’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth tightened with fury as he shifted his insolent gaze back and forth between Angus and Lucy. “Family, huh? That’s what you’re calling the riff-raff you’re bringing to our table, now?” He shoved his plate away. “I’m not eating with him!” He waved his good hand at Angus’ attire. “And what’s with the Halloween costume? It’s a little early, isn’t it?”
“Blake!” Lucy hissed. “Angus is an invited guest in our home and if you don’t like it, you can leave the room.” Her face was mottled red and her chin quivered. Angus couldn’t tell if ’twas from anger or embarrassment. “And don’t you ev—”
Angus raised his palm to stop Lucy and turned to Blake. “ ’Tis in honor of The MacLauchlan that I wear his colors and show allegiance to my clan. And ye, laddie,” he nodded at Blake’s badly wrinkled shirt, smudged with paint and who knew what else. “To whom do ye show allegiance, with yer attire?”
Blake made a derisive sound. “Get real.”
“Apologize, Blake, to Angus and to your sister.” Grif’s tone was hard. “It’s obvious she’s had a long day and I’m sure she’s not up to battling with you tonight.”
Blake shot out of his chair, knocking it over. The clatter ricocheted across the wood floor as he cradled his left hand. “It’s bad enough that mom and dad always told me what to do, but you’re not my dad. You’re nothing!” He whirled on Lucy. “And now you think you’ve got the right to order me around. You pretend Grif is family, but he’s not, and this…wanna-be highlander, is not going to weasel his way in, too. Can’t you see what they’re doing, Lucy? They’re sucking us dry and you’re letting them. I know there’s no money to keep this place going. I may be a cripple, but I’m not stupid. I hear you talking to Grif, like it’s any of his business, anyway.”
“Grif is part of this family.” Lucy’s voice vibrated with fury. “He works long hours every day to help put food on this table, and keep a roof over
your thankless head. He cares about you, though sometimes I can’t imagine why! And Angus is our friend who has worked harder for us in one day than you have in a year!”
She took a shuddering breath, clearly trying to temper her anger. “I realize this has been hard on you. Mom and dad dying so suddenly, and my preoccupation with the business. Then your accident and losing the ability to paint. I get that you’ve lost a great deal, but that does not excuse—"
“You don’t get anything!” Blake yelled. “You might think you know me, but you don’t! You have no idea what I’ve lost.” He held up his crippled hand. “Or what this really means!” His voice broke and he took a step back, looking as desperate as a cornered animal.
“Exactly what would you have me do, Blake?” she challenged. “I can’t change the outcome of your accident!”
Belligerence twisted Blake’s features. “Why can’t you just allow me, my freedom?” His near yell echoed in the room. “Every move, every day of my life, has been dictated by someone. Family, school, even this damned town! No one cares what I want. What I need!”
Despite Angus’ vexation with the lad, Blake’s words struck him in the chest as deftly as if he’d been punched. Had he no’ made a similar argument to Alistair just before he left the moor? ’Twas the reason he hadna wanted Soni to choose him. His entire mortal life had been dictated by someone else. Even his ghostly existence had had its own binding laws. He’d no’ had the freedom to make his own decisions in either world and his resentment had been a deep burning thing. At the very least, he’d wanted some control over his eternity.
Lucy’s exasperated sigh filled the space around her, interrupting Angus’ thoughts. “That’s not true, Blake.”
Blake’s contemptuous snort spoke for itself.
Though he despised how Blake twisted and used Lucy’s love, Angus could understand his desperation to break free of his perceived prison. ’Twas why Angus had finally escaped his master’s cruelty and joined the Jacobites. He’d at least fought for something he believed in. He died fighting for Scotland’s freedom and he’d do so again.
