A Highlander is Coming to Town

by Laura Trentham

  “Okay, my turn. Are you an only child as well?” he asked as casually as he could manage. He wouldn’t be surprised if she made a break for it.

  Her hesitation left a palpable tension between them. While it wasn’t sexual, he could extrapolate. Claire would bring the same tension and challenge into bed. It was a heady, if inappropriate, thought to have pop into his head.

  “Yes.” Although the single word was curt and didn’t invite further questions, he savored her answer as a victory, and was happy when she asked, “What led you to that conclusion?”

  “Siblings are contractually obligated to get all up in each other’s business. Yet you don’t even have a cell phone to text anyone from back home. Ergo, it’s just you and your parents.” Another possibility inserted itself. “Or maybe they’ve passed on?”

  At her silence, he stopped before they exited the library, guided her into the privacy of the stacks to his right, and stammered out an apology, but she cut him off by raising her hand. “My parents are still very much alive in Scotland.”

  “Are you planning on going home for Christmas?”

  “I’m not sure. No. Maybe.” She sighed and rolled her eyes, but her frustration seemed to be directed at herself. “As a matter of fact, I have some decisions to make.”

  “Regarding your family?”

  “My family. My career. My future. They’re tangled together. But I’m not ready to tackle it yet.”

  It wasn’t much, but at least she was planning to stick around for a while longer. He’d have to make the days, and hopefully weeks, count. After all, he’d promised her to introduce her to a good man. Namely, one Holt J. Pierson.

  “By the way, why are you here?” She gestured around them.

  “Philosophically speaking? Are we here or is it all a dream?” Playing dumb was a terrible strategy, but better than the truth. He’d seen her walk down the street from where he’d been having a coffee with Dr. Jameson, the local veterinarian, at the Brown Cow.

  “At the library, you daft man. Aren’t you going to check something out for yourself?” She gestured toward the audiobooks he’d checked out for Ms. Meadows.

  “Yep. Of course I was. I got distracted.” Tumbleweeds filled his head. He glanced at the nearest books, which happened to be cookbooks. He grabbed a random one off the shelf. “A cookbook. I’ll need to make something impressive if I plan a dinner party.”

  Her brows bounced higher. “You’re really going to do it? I can’t believe it.”

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  She nodded at the book. “Apparently so. What are you going to make? There’s nothing better than a cheese soufflé.”

  He actually looked at the book. Adventures in French Cuisine. Lord help him. But her declaration had provided him with an opening. “Well then, I’ll make you one.”

  “You don’t—”

  “How about Saturday evening?”

  “But Ms. Meadows—”

  “Will be fine on her own for a couple of hours. I’ll make sure she has my number and if she needs help, we can be there in a jiffy. Anyway, you leave her alone to come to town often enough.”

  He could almost see her trying to come up with an argument against his logic. Finally, she threw her hands up. “Fine. Saturday-night soufflé sounds delish actually. Saturdays are always ham, beans, and corn bread for Ms. Meadows.”

  After Holt had checked out the fancy French cookbook, they strolled out of the library together, stopping to admire the Christmas tree dominating the small courtyard between the brick storefronts on Main Street. Jessie Joe and Jessie Mac stood holding a giant star while staring at the top of the tree.

  “What’s up, boys?” Holt clapped Jessie Joe on the shoulder while shaking Jessie Mac’s hand. “This here is Claire Smythe. She’s staying out with Ms. Meadows.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Claire,” Jessie Joe said. “Ms. Meadows taught me and Jessie Mac biology. Best teacher I ever had.”

  “What?” Claire gaped slightly at the two men. Holt was just as surprised.

  “Yep. We all had a crush on her back then, didn’t we?” Jessie Joe elbowed his cousin, who merely nodded. “It was a sad day when she quit teaching.”

  “Why did she quit?” Holt asked.

  “Got married. Had a kid.” Jessie Joe shrugged and turned his attention back to the tree. “We’re waiting for the utility truck so we can use the basket to get the star on top. It’s a mighty pretty tree, ain’t it?”

  “You’ve done a fine job.” Christmas spirit flickered inside Holt like a partly screwed-in Christmas light. He had been feeling sorry for himself lately, but Claire had provided a jolt.

  “You wait until it’s all lit up,” Jessie Joe said. “There won’t be a Grinch left in Highland.”

  Even Claire took in the tree with a little smile on her face. The sound of incoming machinery had them saying their goodbyes to the cousins so they could top the tree with the star.

  “Do you have a Christmas tree?” she asked once they were away from the noise.

  “Not yet.” He hadn’t planned on putting one up, but he found his mind changing in an instant. Maybe he’d even trek out into the woods behind the cabin and cut a fresh tree to decorate. “Does Ms. Meadows have one up?”

  “No, and she hasn’t mentioned one either.” She kicked a pebble off the pavement and watched it skitter under the tire of a passing truck. “Her husband died around Christmas, I think.”

  Holt racked his brain, but couldn’t remember Ms. Meadows as anything but a widow. “It must have been a long time ago.”

  “Thirty years or more. She’s been lonely a long time now.” The melancholy in her voice telegraphed the fact Claire had come to care for the old lady even if it was against her instincts.

  “They must have loved each other very much.”

  “I guess.” Skepticism was rife in her voice.

  “You don’t believe in good men or love? That’s pitiful.”

  “Or is it realistic?” With a philosopher’s tone, she continued. “Falling in love is merely a confluence of hormones and pheromones and dopamine. Once it peters out, people generally find themselves stuck in a relationship where they regret their choice of partners.”

  “I was wrong, that’s not pitiful; that’s downright bleak.” Holt wasn’t sure if he was amused or horrified.

  “Have you loved anyone? Truly loved them?” She shot him a glance.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, running through the list of women he’d dated. He’d liked several and had fun with most, but he hadn’t fallen in love with any of them. Many of his exes had gone on to marry other men, though. They seemed completely capable of falling in love. Was he deficient in one of three ingredients needed to actually love someone? Talk about bleak.

  “No, I can’t say that I have. What about you?” he asked.

  “Me either,” she said simply.

  “Does it make you feel sad or bad or whatever?”

  “It makes me feel glad. It means I’ll never get hurt.” She ducked in front of him.

  He took her hand before she could escape. “How about I give you a lift home?”

  “No, thank you. I have more errands and don’t know how long I’ll be. I’ll see you later.” The set of her chin signaled her determination to accept as little help as possible. While it frustrated him, he admired her spirit.

  He dropped his hand. “Don’t forget about Saturday-night soufflé.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Her scrunched brows belied the words. Did she already regret agreeing? Well, too bad. He wasn’t letting her off the hook.

  With a quick step, she navigated the sidewalk, flipping her hoodie over her head and ignoring the people she passed. Her destination was the Drug and Dime.

  Her words twanged like a tuning fork in his head. I’ll never get hurt. No one who hadn’t experienced heartache swore off love so adamantly. She had a story he wanted to hear, but more than anything, he wanted her to trust him enough to tell it.r />
  * * *

  Claire ducked down an aisle in the Drug and Dime while watching the front window of the store. Her view of Holt was impeded somewhat by the Santa Claus with his sleigh full of presents painted on the window.

  What was he thinking after their weirdly philosophical conversation about love? And how in the world had he never been trapped in the obnoxious, painful state? He was practically perfect.

  No. No one was perfect. That’s what a person learned once the dopamine wore off and the cloud of pheromones cleared.

  He strolled off with his head down and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. She stared at his bum—which was perfect—until he disappeared.

  Turning her attention to the shelves in front of her, she racked her brain to remember what Ms. Meadows had asked her to pick up. The Drug and Dime was a pharmacy that carried an assortment of groceries for customers who couldn’t make the trek to the large box store on the edge of town.

  It took a moment for her to realize she was staring at hemorrhoid cream. Definitely not on her list.

  She backpedaled and bumped into someone’s shoulder. The person stumbled to the side, items tumbling to the floor.

  “Bollocks! Pardon me.” Claire bent down to help the woman pick up the scattered boxes around their feet and did a double take as she straightened.

  The woman wore heavy black combat-style boots similar to Claire’s. The laces trailed to the ground as if she’d been in a hurry when she got dressed. In contrast, a light-as-a-cloud multicolored tutu puffed around her legs. Her sweatshirt was frayed at the collar with the letters UGA emblazoned in bright red across the front. A thick braid of red hair hung over one shoulder.

  It was Anna Maitland. She had been a bundle of explosive energy running the summer festival. While she was still strikingly pretty, the dark circles under her blue eyes stood out against her wan complexion. She looked as if her last good night of sleep had been months ago.

  “Ah! The lead singer of the Scunners. Claire, right? Iain told me he’d met you at the Brown Cow the other day.” The woman’s smile banished the shadows in her expression to the edges, almost making Claire wonder if she’d imagined the woman’s weariness. “I’m Anna Maitland. We met briefly over the summer during the festival.”

  “Aye, I remember.”

  “I own Maitland Dance Studio across the street.” Anna pointed, but Claire didn’t bother to turn and look. She’d seen the kiddies filing into and out of the studio.

  “That explains your outfit.”

  Anna gave a rueful laugh. “I forget I have it on sometimes. I had no idea you were staying in Highland after the festival.”

  “Yes, well. I got tired of the musician’s lifestyle. Highland seemed like a nice place to figure out what’s next.” Claire congratulated herself for telling the truth.

  Anna squinted and tilted her head to see under Claire’s hoodie. “You’ve changed your hair, haven’t you?”

  “I went back to my natural color. For shows, I used a temporary artificial red dye to stand out under the lights.” Claire touched the hair at her neck, and the hoodie fell back to her shoulders. “I’m letting it grow out too. It’s at that weird in-between stage.”

  “Does that mean you aren’t performing anymore?”

  A shock of pain spurred her heart faster. When she’d left the Scunners, she had left the road, but was that the end of everything? “I guess I’m not.”

  An awkward silence descended. Anna’s gaze darted to Claire’s hands, and her expression morphed into horror. Claire looked down. She held an item Anna had dropped.

  “Pardon me.” She held out the white box, the script coming into sharp focus the first time.

  A pregnancy test. Anna snatched it out of her hand and held it along with two others close to her chest, the colors marking them as three different brands. Anna wore no wedding ring, which didn’t matter in this day and age, but might explain the worry on her face at the reality of an unplanned pregnancy.

  “It’s not what you think,” Anna said.

  Claire held up her hands. “It’s really none of my business.”

  Anna mouthed what sounded like a colorful American curse and ignored Claire’s declaration to the contrary. “What am I saying? It’s exactly what you think. Why else would I be in a pharmacy buying three pregnancy tests?”

  Claire didn’t want to get involved. She should wish the woman good luck, get on her bike, and follow Ms. Meadows’s example and become a hermit in the woods.

  “Can I help?” The offer popped out before Claire could stop it. A fellow woman was in need. A fellow redhead at that.

  “I would be forever in your debt if you would buy these for me.” Anna shoved the boxes toward Claire, who took them reflexively.

  “I don’t have enough money.” Her face heated at the admission.

  “I’ll give you the money. I just … It’s going to sound so immature, but—” Anna looked up and down the aisle to confirm they were alone. “Everyone knows me. If I buy these, the word will get around town before I even have a chance to pee on it. I could drive to the next town over, but I have classes all day and need to know. Now. I’m going crazy.”

  Claire had no social currency in Highland to bankrupt. No one knew her and she didn’t have a reputation to lose. “I’d be happy to take them through the checkout.”

  Anna whispered, “Thank you,” a dozen times while fishing out two twenty-dollar bills. “Could you bring them over to the studio for the handoff?”

  After Claire agreed, Anna swept out of the store and jogged across the street, the wind fluttering her tutu.

  Three tests seemed like overkill, but it wasn’t her money. Claire wandered to the grocery section of the Drug and Dime, finally recalling the buttermilk Ms. Meadows had tasked her with buying.

  With an uncomfortable smile, she didn’t meet the shopgirl’s eyes as she rang up the tests and the quart of buttermilk. Claire made the purchases in record time and was back on the pavement, clutching the bags close even though she was confident no one with X-ray vision wandered the streets of Highland.

  Electronic chimes announced her entrance into Maitland Dance Studio. Anna emerged from a door in the back, an expansive dance floor framing her.

  “Thanks again. You’re a lifesaver.” Anna barked a nervous laugh and gestured her over. “A reputation saver at any rate.”

  Claire followed her into the studio space and held out the bag with the tests, putting her other things on a small table by the door covered in brochures for the dance studio. “No worries. Here you are.”

  Anna took the bag and checked inside, gnawing her bottom lip before slapping on an obviously fake smile and looking up. “Where are you from in Scotland?”

  “Glasgow.” It was the same lie she’d given Iain. Actually, it wasn’t a lie, it just wasn’t the entire truth. As soon as it was socially acceptable, Claire had been sent to boarding school in England.

  She’d been homesick and wanted to return to Scotland. Her first school holiday home had reminded her how lonely she had been, though, and she’d gladly returned to school. All the girls came from wealthy backgrounds, many richer and better-connected than hers. The Glennallen name held no special cachet at school. The taste of normalcy had driven her to pursue music and join the Scunners. In hindsight, her life had been anything but normal.

  “Iain spent some time in Glasgow after he left the service. He didn’t like it. Said it was too big, and he moved back to Cairndow, on the coast, before coming to Highland.”

  “Iain seems nice.”

  Anna’s hands tightened, crumpling the top of the bag. “According to the more conservative residents of Highland, Iain and I are living in sin.”

  Claire was having a difficult time sussing out how Anna felt about Iain and the possibility of a positive test. “Living with a bloke isn’t all that unusual these days, is it?”

  “I suppose not. Except when you’re mayor of a small town. Living in sin is one thing; gett
ing pregnant while unmarried is another.” Anna’s eyes rolled up like a panicked horse ready to bolt, and she paced the dance floor. “I don’t even know if Iain wants kids. Or if I want kids, for that matter. I mean, I like them and all. I teach them. I’m a godmother, for goodness’ sake. But—” She waved one of her hands around as if trying to pluck the right words from thin air.

  Claire could sense the other woman’s swelling panic. “It’s different, because you aren’t responsible for those kids twenty-four seven.”

  Anna snapped and pointed at Claire. “Exactly. I have a physically demanding business to run. A town to manage. I can’t do that with a baby. Can I?”

  It seemed as if Anna hadn’t asked in a rhetorical fashion and expected a proper answer from Claire who had a sight less experience with kiddies than Anna did.

  “Sure you can. They make those pump thingies”—Claire gestured to her own chest—“and slings to carry them around in when they’re wee things. You could set up a bassinet in the corner. I’ll bet watching people dance would be quite stimulating for a bairn’s brain.”

  Anna stared wide-eyed at the nonsense that had come out of Claire’s mouth. Claire only knew what she’d seen on the telly. “Actually, forget everything I said. I’m useless.”

  “No, you’re right. It’s not a total disaster, is it? I mean, I love Iain and he loves me. He won’t run off in the middle of the night in a panic, will he?”

  “I’m sure he would never do that.” Claire wasn’t sure and was afraid her uncertainty telegraphed in her voice. After all, she had only met Iain Connors one time over a cuppa, but Anna was on the edge of falling apart. She needed was a friend. A friend who would lie and tell her everything would be fine. Everyone needed one of those on occasion, but Claire feared she wasn’t qualified. “Do you want me to call someone? A friend? Iain? Maybe your mum?”

  “My mom moved to Florida, my best friend moved to Scotland, and I don’t want to tell Iain unless the test is positive.” Anna looked over to a door with a unisex bathroom sign. “And if it is…” Possibilities roiled in the silence.