The Husband Maker Boxed Set

by White, Karey

  The Crawfords lived several miles outside of town. We hadn’t met a single car since just outside of Stornoway. “This road doesn’t look wide enough for two cars,” I said.

  “It is. It’s a tight fit, but it works.”

  A short time later, we passed a small truck loaded with hay. Each car had a wheel on the tiny shoulder of the road, but we made it.

  The houses grew farther and farther apart until it had been a mile since we had passed the last one. Before we reached the top of a hill, the road curved around to the other side and I caught my breath. Nestled against the hill was a clean, white house. It wasn’t large or pretentious, but the view would have made it a million dollar home in San Francisco. Lush, green hills sloped away to the sea. Little pockets of the sea snaked their way inland, creating a kaleidoscope of greens and blues unlike anything I had ever seen before.

  “The colors,” I said, almost speechless.

  “The water’s not always blue like that. When it’s cloudy, it’s gray.”

  “I thought you were exaggerating about heaven, but you weren’t.” Just beyond the Crawford’s white house was the smaller, unfinished guesthouse. “This is what you’re building?”

  “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  It wasn’t large, just a great room and two small bedrooms. The exterior walls were up, but the inside was just framed, so you could see from one side of the house to the other.

  “The outside will be white siding, like the main house. See that stone?” Flynn pointed outside at a pile of flat, gray rocks. “I’ll be using those for the fireplace. Right here.”

  I walked to the front of the room and looked out the large window. There wasn’t another sign of human life—no houses, no roads, no people. Just grasses blowing in the breeze and water as far as you could see. “This might be the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

  Flynn came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “It can be pretty brutal out here during the winter, but the summer makes up for it.”

  I didn’t want to leave this place. I wanted to walk until I reached the water. I wanted to see the houses up here in the side of the hill from that farthest finger of land. I’d have probably started down the hill if Flynn hadn’t begun describing more of the plans he had to finish the house.

  We spent more than an hour there before Flynn said we should go get me settled at his house. “Is the whole island this beautiful?” I asked as we drove away from the Crawfords.

  “You get to decide that for yourself.”

  I couldn’t wait to see more.

  We were on another tiny road with houses spread out about every quarter mile. The blacktop looked new and smooth. There was an openness that I hadn’t seen before. Almost barren, but not like a desert or tundra. Grass was everywhere with just an occasional stand of trees. The sky felt so close. Most of the houses were simple with straight lines and little fanfare. The older ones were stone, often whitewashed. The newer ones had the same modest lines but the materials were different—siding or brick.

  “I was hoping you’d see this,” Flynn said, nodding at the road ahead of us. About a hundred feet away, coming around a bend in the road, was a man with a staff. To the sides and behind him were sheep. I couldn’t see how many because of the bend in the road. “Come see.”

  We got out of the car and leaned on the hood, watching the man and his animals approach us. I heard a dog bark and saw it running along the side of the sheep and then turning to circle around behind them and up the other side.

  “Hope you’re not in a hurry, Flynn,” the man said as he approached.

  “Not at all. How are ya, James?”

  “Couldn’t be finer.”

  “This is my friend, Charlotte. From America.”

  “Pleased to meet ya, Charlotte.” He tipped his hat.

  “Thank you. You too. They’re so cute.”

  “’Til they take a nip outta your hide,” James said.

  I jumped. “They bite?”

  Flynn and James laughed. “No. They won’t bother you at all.”

  James walked on Flynn’s side of the car, and the sheep split almost down the middle. Soon we were surrounded by sheep.

  “How many does he have?”

  “A couple hundred right here,” Flynn said. The dog scampered back and forth, keeping the sheep moving in the right direction. When they passed, we got back in the car and continued down the road.

  Flynn pulled into a gravel driveway and parked the car by a small, whitewashed stone house. “This is home. That’s Mum’s house right there.” He pointed at a house about a football field away. “Mum’s planning on us for dinner if you’re okay with that.”

  “Sure. I’m excited to meet her.” That might have been overstating it just a little. I was still worried that she wouldn’t like me because I was an American girl who might be interested in her son.

  Flynn carried my bags to the house and I followed him. I was barely in the door and already I was glad I would be staying here. The house was small, cozy, and rustic, but most of all it was charming.

  “Flynn, I love it.”

  “Not too primitive for you?”

  I shook my head as I looked around. “No. You might have a hard time getting me out of here. Did you do all this?”

  “It was a barn when I was growing up. The neighbor milked his cows right over there.” He pointed at the kitchen. “It’s closer to Mum’s house than to theirs, so I asked if I could buy it from them. They took almost a year to decide but then they sold it to me and I changed up the inside.”

  “You’re good at this. If you came back to the United States and did this to old barns, they’d put you on HGTV. Especially with your rugged good looks and your accent.”

  Flynn winked. “Let’s not mention that in front of Mum.”

  I motioned like I was zipping my lips.

  “Here’s the bedroom. I put on clean sheets.”

  “That was kind of you.”

  “Come back here, and I’ll show you the best part.”

  I remembered the stream and hill behind Flynn’s house from the little tour he had given me on Skype, but that hadn’t prepared me for the perfection that was his back yard. About forty feet from the house was a shallow stream. I could hear the water singing over the rocks from the back door. A stone fire pit with a few chairs arranged around it sat not far from the water. We walked across the short grass to the stream.

  “If you walk about three miles that way, the stream will empty into the sea. If you walk a mile that way”—he pointed at the hill across the little bridge—“you’ll have a view that way of the ocean and that way of Stornoway.”

  I knew before I went home I wanted to do both of those. I sighed. “I can’t imagine anything in the world that would make you want to leave this.”

  Flynn looked back at his house. “It would take a lot.”

  I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans as we walked down the little road to Flynn’s childhood home. “Don’t worry. She’s a kind woman,” he said and squeezed my shoulder.

  “I’m sure she is.”

  I saw her standing in the doorway before we had even turned into the short driveway. “So you’re Charlotte,” she said, her arms spread wide.

  “That’s me. I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Macgruger.”

  “Mary. Call me Mary.”

  Mary was a tall, stout woman. In America we would have said she had big bones, because stout would seem insulting. But here, in this place where the sky seemed to touch the earth and wind blew pink into everyone’s cheeks, stout seemed like a compliment.

  Mary’s home was nice and tidy but seemed a little sterile and boring after Flynn’s. The kitchen looked like a kit from the eighties. The carpeting was a pale teal that went out of style before most of it had been created in the factories, and the light fixtures were a dated, shiny brass. But it smelled like heaven.

  “I hope you like lamb pie.”

  “If it’s anything like the chicken
pie I had in Glasgow, then I’ll love it.”

  “Oh no. You already had meat pie?”

  “Please don’t feel bad. It was delicious.”

  “We’ve got lamb pie and raspberry cranachan for you and me. Plain cranachan for Flynn.”

  “You really should eat the raspberries. Chicken.”

  “I prefer it plain, if ya please.”

  “Well, I love raspberries, but what is cranachan?”

  “It’s like a trifle,” Mary said.

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  It was. The filling was savory and rich and the crust was perfect. “Is this pie crust a Scottish secret?” I asked. “I’ve made pie crust before, but it’s never been like this.”

  “There might be a few tricks we know. I can teach ya if you want to learn.”

  “Now, Mum, she’s not on vacation to cook.”

  I shook my head and spoke as soon as I had swallowed. “He’s wrong. I would love to learn.”

  “And I’d love to teach.”

  “See, I told you she’d like you,” Flynn said as we walked back to his house after dinner.

  “She’s very nice,” I said. I was surprised how well I could see this late. I looked around for a moon and was amazed it was just a sliver. The stars were brilliant and lit the road almost as well as a larger moon would have. It was cold, and I pulled my sweater closer around me.

  “I’ll come in and start a fire for ya,” Flynn said at the door. “And then I’ll get out of your way so you can get some sleep.”

  “You should stay for a little while. Can we talk about our plans for the next several days? I want to be sure I get to fit in a few things.”

  I wrapped up in a blanket and sat cross-legged in the corner of a small, plaid sofa while Flynn built a fire. I pulled a notebook out of my purse and started a list of things I wanted to do. When the fire was roaring, Flynn scooted back and leaned against the front of the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arm resting in front of my legs.

  “There’s room for you up here,” I said.

  “I’m good. This is comfortable. So what have you got on your list so far?”

  “Cooking with Mary.”

  “That’s first on your list? I thought you came here to see me.” Flynn’s voice was teasing, and he smiled at me.

  “Would you like to cook with us? I’m sure your mom wouldn’t mind.”

  “Naw. I’ll use that time to work at the Crawfords.”

  “Perfect.”

  “What else?”

  “I want to help you with something at the Crawfords. I can hammer things or carry things to you or whatever.”

  “Do you want to help with the fireplace?”

  “Really? You’ll let me?”

  “Aye. I need someone to carry all the rocks to me.”

  “Good.”

  Flynn brushed the back of his fingers up and down across my knee. “Charlotte, I was joking. You can help me with the fireplace, but I won’t have you carry all the rocks.”

  “I don’t care what I do. I just want to help. And I want to golf.”

  “We can do that.”

  “And I want to hike up to the view on the hill and I want to walk down the stream to the ocean.”

  “It sounds like you want to go home with the rosy cheeks of the Scottish and a face full of freckles.”

  “I like freckles,” I said and reached out and touched the freckles on his cheek.

  Startled at the warmth of his skin, I snatched my hand back and picked up the notebook. Flynn put his hand over mine. It was warm and a little rough. He left it there while he spoke. “You keep making your list and you can show it to me tomorrow. I’m going to go.” He gently squeezed my hand and then stood and walked to the door. “I’m opening the store tomorrow. You can come with me if you want.”

  I stood by the couch but didn’t move toward the door. “Maybe tomorrow morning would be a good day to walk up that mountain.”

  “Don’t turn an ankle. If you’re not back by the time I get home, I’ll come looking for you.”

  “See you tomorrow,” I said.

  Flynn waved and closed the door behind him.

  I walked to the window and watched him walk out of the driveway and toward his mom’s, a tall silhouette that slowly disappeared into the darkness.

  I heard Flynn’s car drive by while I dressed. After a quick inventory of the kitchen, I boiled two eggs and made a piece of toast with jam. I filled a little bag with raisins and nuts and tucked it in the pocket of my hoodie. I couldn’t find any plastic water bottles, so I filled a mason jar with water. It was clunky and hard to hold, but I found a backpack in the closet.

  A small bridge crossed the stream, not far from the fire pit. I stopped to listen to the water for a few minutes and then started up the hill.

  From Flynn’s backyard, the hill didn’t look like much, but as I began to climb, I realized I had underestimated it. It was much steeper than it looked, and beneath the grass were a lot of rocks. Some were firmly in the ground, but I had to be careful not to twist my ankle on them. Others were loose and if I wasn’t careful of my footing, they would slip out from under me. I almost fell twice before I slowed down and moved more cautiously.

  The air was cold and a brisk breeze blew in my face. In spite of that, the exertion made me hot and soon I unzipped my hoodie.

  Behind me, Flynn’s house looked small. The next neighbor down the road had a large house with several outbuildings. This was probably the neighbor who had sold Flynn the barn. There were two cars parked next to the house and a tractor by the barn. They looked like toys from this distance.

  I took a drink of my water and continued up the hill. It took longer than I had expected. I was sweaty and out of breath by the time I reached the top. I turned around and looked at the view. I could see all the way to Stornoway and the water beyond. I couldn’t see Flynn’s house anymore, because it was situated too close to the bottom of the hill, but when I looked the other direction, farms dotted the countryside all the way out to the ocean. A tractor worked in one field, another was spotted with cattle and others were just grass. From this distance, it looked like the grass was green water with waves rolling across its surface.

  Large, black rocks spotted the ground. I found one with a smoother side and sat down, my back against the rock. Wind whipped my hair into my face, so I pulled out my ponytail, twisted my hair into a high bun, and secured it with the elastic.

  I had no idea what time it was and I didn’t want to look at my phone to find out. I just wanted to sit here, suspended in time and space. I rested my head on my knees and looked out at Stornoway. I had seen a similar view of the city when I had been planning my trip and had looked at the Isle of Lewis up close on Google Earth. This wasn’t exactly the same, but it was close. The streets criss-crossed in an orderly way. Somewhere down there was Macgruger’s Hardware. Flynn was probably still there, helping customers with their projects.

  I couldn’t help but compare this view of Stornoway with the views I’d seen of San Francisco. They both sat at the water’s edge but they were so different. In a city of millions I hadn’t found lasting love, but on this island of thousands, people had found their happily ever after. How did the right people find each other? Would Jessie find love again? She was pretty and happy and friendly. Was there someone here for her now that Bruce was gone?

  Would I have better luck in a tiny place like this than I had among the millions in the bay area? And then like it did every time I’d had time to think in the last month, my mind wandered to Angus. I had felt angry every time I had thought about him, but sitting on top of this hill, I was having trouble mustering up any indignation at all. Instead, all I felt was sadness. I wasn’t sure if the ache in my heart was because of the beauty in front of me or the chaos I had left at home. The ache moved up from my chest to my throat and finally to my eyes and I cried. I didn’t wipe away the tears. I let the sun and the wind dry them on my cheeks.

  I
don’t know how long I sat there. I had no desire to move. My body felt heavy and I imagined myself sprouting roots and staying on this hilltop forever. It was like I was shackled to the rock and the sun and wind were my guards.

  I saw Flynn before I heard him. I knew I should shout out and tell him I was sorry he’d had to come all this way looking for me, but instead I just watched him approach. He smiled as he got closer and I smiled back.

  “It’s hard to leave once you get up here, isn’t it?” he said, lowering himself to sit beside me. I slid over a little, making room for him to lean against the rock. Our shoulders touched as we looked at the view, and for a moment, I wished things were different. It would be nice to snuggle in and let Flynn help me forget all I’d left behind, but I knew that wouldn’t be fair.

  “It’s so peaceful up here.”

  Neither of us spoke for a couple of minutes. Finally Flynn pulled his knees up and rested his arms on them. “Want to tell me why you’ve been crying?”

  I sighed and lifted my face toward the sun. “You can tell?”

  Flynn laughed. “You’ve got salt streaks on your cheeks.”

  I tried to smile.

  “I don’t think this is about your ex who’s getting married. This seems like a different kind of suffering than when I was there. And you kept telling me no when I’d ask you to come, and then suddenly you tell me you’re coming. Something made you change your mind, and I think it’s the same thing that’s eating you up.”

  I glanced at Flynn and he was looking far away at the water. I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket.

  “I won’t lie,” Flynn said. “At first I thought you were coming for me, and I was happy about it.”

  “I’m sorry Flynn.”

  “Naw, it’s okay. Now I know you wanted to come because you’re broken inside.”

  And there it was. I was broken inside and either no one had noticed or they hadn’t mentioned it because they didn’t know what to do about it. But Flynn had noticed.

  He lifted his arm around my back and pulled me into his arms. I stayed there for a long time. At first I cried, and then the ache started to dissolve and I imagined it blowing away in the wind.