Catch Me If You Can

by Donna Kauffman

  As if nothing had changed. When, in fact, everything had. Only, at the moment, Maura couldn’t help but look in her friend's so familiar face and feel like maybe, just maybe, it might have been a change for the better.

  Only Priss could have pulled that off.

  Maura couldn’t help it, she laughed and shook her head as she eased back into her own seat. “I don’t really know where to begin.”

  Priss’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Is it about the loan? You had the meeting with Danders, right?” Her expression fell. “Oh, Maura, they turned you down, didn’t they?” She swore. “And on top of what Jory and I did… Jesus, it’s a—”

  “It’s not about the loan, though, yes, they did turn me down. I haven’t gotten the leases to support it, but we both knew that was likely to be the case. Maybe come late spring, but even then it would take time to prove the tenants have an ongoing concern. You and I both know I haven’t the finances to make it that long.”

  “I know you don’t want to hear this,” Priss said, “but I think you should contact Taggart’s heirs.”

  “Actually, on my way back from meeting the land agent, I’d decided to do that very thing.”

  Priss smacked the table. “Well, good for you! When do you think you’ll hear back?”

  “I—I didn’t write the letter. ”

  “Maura,” Priss began with a long-suffering sigh. “What’s the worst that could happen? The bastards turn you down, right? But ye’ll never know if you don’t try, now will you?”

  “I didn’t change my mind. You see, I got stuck in a snowstorm on the way back. I hitched a ride into Calyth with a truck driver and stayed the night in a boardinghouse there.”

  Priss waved her hand. “What has this got to do with the letter?” Something must have shown on Maura’s face, because Priss’s eyes grew round. “You didn’t spend the night alone, did you?” She hooted and lifted her cup in a toast. “No wonder you were so quick to forgive me.” She put the cup back down and pressed her palms on the table, leaning forward, curiosity blazing from her eyes. “So, tell me all about him!”

  When Maura didn’t immediately launch into the tale, Priss added, “Now you know I’m hardly going to say anything about your jumping in the sack with a stranger. I mean, first after what I did, it would be a bit of the pot and kettle. But any woman would understand why you took advantage.” She gasped. “The old lorry in the courtyard! The Good Samaritan truck driver’s, I presume?” Then her eyes grew rounder, if that were possible. “Oh Lord, he’s here then, isn’t he?” She swung her gaze toward the stairs leading up to the bedroom. “Bollocks!” She looked back to Maura. “I’ve gone and interrupted something, haven’t I? Jesus, Mo, why didn’t you send me on my way?”

  “It wasn’t the truck driver,” she said, then sighed, wondering if this had been such a wise idea after all. But, in a way, it felt good to tell someone about it. “I wasn’t the only one who got stuck atop Ben Avel, Priss. My truck was all but hanging from the edge of the road, and another driver came along and swerved to miss it. Unfortunately, he half buried his rental car in the doing.”

  Priss leaned back, her expression considering now. “Hmm, the two of you, stuck in a storm, then. I supposed you decided to ride it out in his car.” She snorted then. “And I’m guessing that’s an appropriate phrase in more ways than one, then, aye?”

  Maura felt her cheeks heat. It sounded so… bawdy when Priss recounted it. And, well, it had been quite bawdy. Deliciously so, as she recalled. “So maybe I did enjoy the idea of a little adventure,” she said.

  “Spill it, tell me about him. You said rental car. Is he just a visitor then? No’ a Scot?”

  “He’s Scot by descent, but no, he’s here from America.” She smiled. “By way of the Yucatan rain forest.”

  Priss had already opened her mouth to retort, but that shut it right back up. “Did you say rain forest?”

  Maura nodded. It was a shame really. She wished she could simply share the details of what happened in the backseat of that car. And in the stairwell at the inn, and up against the bedroom wall. She shifted a bit on her seat, just thinking on it herself. That alone would make the story legend. Had it ended that night, in Calyth, it would have remained just that. A wild tale about the sort of erotic interlude most women could only fantasize about. But it hadn’t ended there. It hadn't ended still.

  “There’s more to it than ye know,” Maura told her.

  “Well, I should hope so. Ye brought him home with you, so I’m guessing it was one hell of a night in that inn.” She grinned. “You havena even told me the good parts yet. Come on, details.”

  “I didn’t bring him home from the inn. In fact, I left him there, sleeping.”

  “So, what, he tracked you down?” Priss smiled. “Why that’s rather romantic, isn’t it?” She leaned forward again. “Come on now, tell me the whole of it.”

  “He didn’t track me down, per se. We met up again by coincidence.”

  “Coincidence? Calyth is a good hour from here. What were the chances? Did you bump into each other in the village then?”

  Maura shook her head, then she closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. When she opened them again, Priss was frowning at her.

  “What’s going on here, Maura?” she asked, still curious, but far more serious. She lowered her voice. “Won’t he leave then? Is that it?” She drew in a short breath. “Are ye in trouble?” she whispered. “Is that why ye asked me in? Is that why—”

  Maura lifted her hand, cutting off her friend’s rapidly escalating imagination. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. He’s here because… well, because he belongs here. In a manner of speaking.”

  Priss rolled her eyes. “You are the most confounding woman, I swear it, Maura Sinclair. For Christ’s sake, will you just spill the story? Who is he? Why did he come here?”

  “He came to Scotland for Ballantrae. And, in a way, for me. Only I didn’t know that at the time we—at the time we were—” She broke off, having no idea how to explain it so it would make any sense at all.

  “You say he came here for you, and yet you just said he didn't come tracking you down. You’re talking in circles.”

  “I know, I know. It’s… complicated. You see, we didn’t confide our names to each other that night. We’d kept it as some sort of, I don’t know, anonymous moment out of time. We both had our reasons, as it turned out. I didn’t know what his were until he showed up here. When I first saw him, I thought he’d tracked me down, too. As it turns out, he was tracking down Ballantrae, and me. Only he didn’t know I was Maura Sinclair.” She looked at Priss directly, and just blurted it out. “And I didn’t know he was Taggart’s oldest son.”

  Priss looked like she was going to pop a vein. She slammed her palms on the table. “Taggart’s son? Taggart Morgan’s son is here?”

  Maura could only nod.

  “Ye mean the very bastard who couldn’t be bothered to show up by his own father’s deathbed?”

  “Aye,” came a deep voice from the door leading to the underground tunnel stairs.

  Maura and Priss both whipped their heads around. Tag filled the doorway. In his arms were a stack of dusty, oversized leather-bound books. The heft of them made the muscles in his arms bulge, and showed off the breadth and width of his shoulders. He wore jeans and an old sweater, with her thick, ragwool scarf wrapped around his neck, but she almost didn’t recognize him otherwise. He’d bound his hair back tight, which set off the stark planes of his face and the sculpted lines of his mouth so differently than when his mop of hair was springing wildly about his face. The cold winds off the loch had pinked even his deeply tanned face, making the white of his teeth an even stronger contrast when he bared them.

  “That very bastard would be me.” He stepped inside and closed the stairwell door behind him.

  Chapter 19

  What had begun as an outdoor exploration, had ended as an indoor scavenger hunt this morning, and Tag piled the stack of books
he’d brought up with him on the table beside the door. He’d been surprised— and disappointed—to hear voices as he’d climbed the stairs from the tunnels. He’d made some pretty big decisions since leaving their bed this morning and he was chomping at the bit to share them with her.

  He’d done a lot of thinking about… well, everything. And during his walk along the lake he’d decided it was time to stop running. Leaving his father out of it, and even Maura, as much as he could anyway, the bottom line was that he was still interested in being here. For himself. He wanted to know more. About his history, his ancestors. And, because she was part of the decision, too, about Maura Sinclair.

  They would finally talk about Ballantrae today, and his claim to it. He’d known for some time now that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—abandon her to the burden this place had put on her. They hadn’t spoken much of it, but she’d taken him around inside and anyone could see what she was up against. He’d signed the papers this morning, continuing the payments. All he had to do now was place a call to Rogues Hollow and see that the money, including the back payments as well, were issued.

  He had to talk to Jace, too, but he knew Jace wouldn’t blink over his decision to funnel some of the trust to Ballantrae. They would work that out some way. He’d make sure of it. Harder would be explaining why he was doing it, but he’d muddle through that, too.

  And that hadn’t been the most momentous decision made this day. No, that one had been forming over the past several days. Beginning with his nosing about the bookshelves in her tower the past day or two, while she tapped away on her laptop, and ending with him stumbling across a crumbling text that referenced the Pictish religious relics that had once existed here at Ballantrae. Complete with ancient, hand-drawn maps pointing to the revered rowan oak and standing stones they’d once worshipped.

  He’d intended to talk to her about it, find out what else she might know of it, but they’d sort of gotten sidetracked. For about thirty-six hours. This morning when he’d gotten up, the sun was just rising and the sky had cleared. He’d set out to walk the loch, do some thinking, make sure he was wanting to do the right things for the right reasons.

  On his way out, he’d grabbed the legal pad on which he’d sketched his own copies of the maps. And, once he’d realized he was at peace with his decision to stay here, to pursue his interest in his past… and his interest in Maura, he’d left the loch and set off toward the forests to see if he could find the stones. Even then he hadn’t had a plan in mind much beyond fulfilling his curiosity. Only what he’d discovered that morning had turned out to do far more than that.

  The thrill of discovery had taken over him then, eventually driving him back inside, but into the main house this time. He’d already been through all the books in her tower, so he was hoping that somewhere in the miles of bookshelves lining every hallway and crooked staircase, he’d find further documentation of some kind.

  The kind of documentation he would need if he was going to get funding for a dig.

  It had taken a couple of hours, focused determination, and a good lantern, but finally he’d hit pay dirt. Excited, nervous, and completely unsure how to approach her with this or what her reaction would be when he told her his plans, he’d been unable to wait another minute to find out. He’d grabbed what he’d found and headed down into the tunnels, his brain racing even further ahead as he tried to find the words he was going to use to explain to her what he wanted to do. And why it was so important for him to do it. With her by his side.

  In all of the variety of scenarios he’d expected to encounter, none of them had included her not being alone when he finally got to her.

  He unwound the scarf he’d borrowed, having enjoyed the scent of her tickling his chin and lips as he’d wandered about. He’d thought to take it off when he’d come inside, but he’d quickly learned that without fires going, the temperature inside of the castle was pretty much the same as outside, just sans the everblowing wind. That part was going to take some getting used to.

  “Tag,” Maura said, coming around the table to take the scarf from him. “This is my friend, Priss. I’m sorry, she didn’t mean—”

  Priss shoved back her chair. “I can speak for myself,” she said, proving the point when she turned to face him and added, “And I did mean it. I just didn’t mean for you to overhear it.”

  “Fair enough,” Tag said. Of course he knew who Priss was from Maura’s letters. But he hadn’t known what she looked like. Somehow, given the larger-than-life picture Maura had painted of her, he’d been expecting someone more… imposing. As it turned out, she was petite, with dark hair, fair skin, and the kind of cute, turned-up nose that probably made men trip over themselves to open doors and throw coats over puddles. At the moment, he wasn’t feeling so inclined.

  He skimmed his gaze over her interesting choice of outfit, which did fit his mental image of her to a tee, then allowed his lips to curve slightly as he met her gaze once again. “I suppose I could make a similarly uninformed observation about you, but I’ll refrain until you’re out of earshot.”

  To his surprise, she merely arched a brow and sent Maura a reassessing glance. “Well, well, you’ve finally managed to land one with a bit of an attitude, haven’t you?” But before Maura could respond, Priss’s mouth dropped open. “My God.” She took an inadvertent step closer, her eyes narrowing as she peered at his neck. “What are those—are those… teeth?” Her eyes darted from Tag to Maura, back to Tag. “When you said he arrived via the jungle, I thought you were joking. You never said anything about the man being a barbarian.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Maura said, shooting him a smile from her position behind Priss’s back. A smile that contained a wealth of private meaning, shared only between them. “Because I’d never joke about something like that.”

  It was interesting, he thought, that in the face of being confronted by the two women, who’d known each other far longer and far better than he did either one, that he didn’t feel like the odd man out. In fact, it was just further proof of this sense he had, that their connection ran deeper than logic could possibly define.

  “Yes,” he responded, holding Maura’s gaze a moment longer before shifting his attention back to Priss. “They are teeth. Maura can fill you in on the whole sordid tale. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can just, ah, make myself scarce.”

  It was killing him that he couldn’t tell her everything right this very minute. Once decided on the course of action, he was chomping at the bit to put it in motion. But maybe it was for the best. He could head upstairs for a nice, long shower, to steam the chill from his bones. Maybe look over the books he’d brought with him, and formalize exactly how to approach Maura after Priss took her leave.

  And he started to do just that, but stopped, suddenly unsure if traipsing up to Maura’s bedroom in front of her friend was an appropriate thing to do. It was a bit surprising, he supposed, how at home he’d come to feel here, in her tower. And though it was cold and damp, he did have to admit her bed was wonderfully soft and big… and he didn’t miss the mosquito netting and privacy of his hammock quite as much as he’d thought he would.

  “What have you got there?” Maura asked, motioning to the stack of books. “Some light reading material?”

  If only she knew. “A bit more than that,” he told her, “If you don’t mind, maybe I’ll poke around the west wing a bit.” He hadn’t made it that far earlier, as the only way presently available to access it was from Maura’s tower.

  Priss frowned. “You can’t,” she answered for Maura. “It’s not open.” She looked from him to Maura. “Doesn’t he know anything about this place?” She sent him an arched look. “Or couldn’t you be bothered to do that either?”

  “Priss, please.”

  Tag waved her off. “No, that’s okay. She’s just being a protective friend.” And despite her prickly attitude, he liked knowing Maura had her staunch supporters. God knows, faced with the obstacles she confronted every day here, sh
e needed all of them she could get.

  “Yes, well, Priss likes to make a habit of saving me from my apparent poor taste in men,” Maura said dryly.

  Priss’s mouth dropped open with a gasp of indignation, but surprisingly she didn’t retort in kind. Instead she surprised Tag by smiling impishly. “True, true, but I’m rather full up this week, darling, if you know what I mean. So you’re on your own with this one.”

  Maura spluttered a short laugh, then shook her head. “God, and to think I forgave you. And so easily, too. You’re incorrigible.”

  “I know, it’s one of the reasons you keep me around.” She stepped over to Maura and gave her a tight hug. “And thank God you do,” she said, with surprising emotion.

  Surprising to Tag, anyway. Maura hugged her back just as fiercely. Making him wonder what Maura had had to forgive her friend for.

  “We’ll talk more later, okay?” Maura said.

  Priss shot a look at Tag, then smiled at Maura. “Oh, you’d best believe we will.” She gathered her things and turned to Tag. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but be warned. She may be smart and funny and great in bed—” She tossed a grin to Maura. “It’s hell coming after you, you have no idea,” she added, then shot her attention back to a now completely nonplussed Tag. “But you cross her and you cross me. And half the damn village. You have no idea what you’re up against. There isn’t a jungle far enough away that will save you from a band of Scots intent on righting a wrong.”

  Now it was Tag’s turn to surprise Priss by smiling and extending his hand. "You know, I believe it’s more of a pleasure meeting you than I initially thought. As for the villagers, I’ll take my chances. But with Maura, you have my word I will always tread with the greatest of care.”