by Melissa Blue
In that short quiet moment, he felt her. Not Diana, but Victoria. He’d been so focused on not screaming into his mobile, that he hadn’t noticed. Turning around, acknowledging her, would make it real, would make him feel that much more exposed. Dealing with these calls kept dragging him back. Not to a time when his wife was alive, laughing, but to her confined to a hospital bed. To the moment when the doctors and nurses used soft tones to talk about comforting measures.
Amazing how life could change in a heartbeat. One second he hadn’t wanted to wake her from her rest, she’d needed it to get better. And the next he needed her to wake.
Fuck. He hated this. It’s why he locked it away and never let himself linger on thoughts of the unfairness of it all.
“Why’d you follow me?” he asked without turning around, his voice soft.
“The look on your face,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I should leave.”
A minute passed by and he knew she hadn’t. Callan closed his eyes and let out a mirthless laugh. “Just start with the questions. I don’t think I can survive the quiet.”
The grass rustled behind him and then her arms were around his waist. “Do you need me to ask them? Will that make you feel better?”
“No, but you want the answers anyway.” He hated the way his insides stopped knotting at her warmth and soothing touch. Hated that some part of him needed it right at that moment. Affection wouldn’t change the past. Sympathy wouldn’t ease the reality.
She pressed her face into his back and then shifted again. “What was her name?”
“Diana.”
A second or two passed before she asked, “How did she die?”
His scoff dripped with bitterness. “She fell and bumped her head. We thought nothing of it and didn’t take her to the doctor. A few days later, I come home from work and she couldn’t form a sentence. An untreated concussion turns into a brain bleed that turns into a coma.” His eyes and throat burned and he had to stop. He inhaled through his nose and went on. “They told me she was gone. I didn’t believe them then. I kept her on life support for a long while. Miracles are supposed to happen just when you’ve given up hope.”
She was quiet for a long time, but her arms tightened around his stomach. Victoria was shaking and it wasn’t from the cold. “Tell me more about Scotland.”
“What?” He almost turned then to see if she’d lost her mind.
“I could say I’m sorry. I could say what happened was shitty. I could rail against the bank and the hospital on your behalf. I could pay you any kind of lip service and it wouldn’t matter. The sentiment counts but it can’t change the fact you’d trade it all for her.” Her voice broke before she cleared her throat. “So tell me about something you love that will never die.”
He had to run his hand down his face again. There were no words. He tugged her hand until she stood in front of him. He pointed out to the sea. Ian would send pictures every now and again to Douglass to show him America or whatever corner of the world he was in. But here the rocks looked sharp and unforgiving. So did the sea. Mist had started to creep up the cliff. It was a dramatic view, a conflicting one. Such starkness shouldn’t have been beautiful, but it was.
“No one sane stays here,” he said. “Look at this. You could choose the Caribbean if you want to live by the water. Russia and its vodka if you want the cold. Scotland is not for the faint of heart. You have to be certifiable to love this place.”
“’But to see her was to love her.’”
He didn’t think he could laugh, not while every emotion he pushed down was right there pressing against his chest, but he did. “Oh, lass, you’ve been reading Robert Burns. You must have been bored.”
“I was waiting for carbon dating tests to come back.”
He could hear the smile in her answer. “Auch.” A fat plop of rain hit his head. It was an ugly day and would only get worse. “Let’s get you inside. I don’t know if the Yank in you could stand this weather.”
She murmured, “California has its rainy days too.”
He stiffened at the obvious confession. Outside of the first time she’d told Callan about her ex, the man was never mentioned. No name or line-by-line accusations were listed, but he’d gotten to know her. He’d started to catch the sideway glances she’d give him. She was waiting, just waiting for him to rip out her heart too. So she didn’t need to talk about her past. It lived between them in quiet moments like this.
He sighed and refused to point it out. What right did he have to go poking in her sore spots when he didn’t even want her to witness his?
Since he still felt raw and wasn’t ready to go back, he pulled her closer. Callan was sure she could face the rain just fine.
*****
Victoria waited for Callan on Douglass’ steps. All the parking spots near the flat had been taken. He hadn’t wanted to let her out alone, because no matter how pretty Glasgow was, apparently, it wasn’t a kind place to be all the time. But she had on heels, a fancy dress and walking more than two blocks would require someone to carry her the rest of the way.
Three weeks had passed since she stood on the cliffs and comforted Callan through his anger and grief. Since work ate a good amount of her life, the time had flown by in a blur and didn’t give her a chance to worry about what that kind of intimacy could mean. What was left of her free time was spent between Callan and Douglass.
She’d fallen in love—with Douglass. She could love him without fear and that made it so easy to fall. At first, he was a bargaining chip and then a complete chore. At some point she realized Callan hadn’t lied. Douglass needed someone to take care of him. She gave him companionship, someone to dote on and someone to boss him around just so he had something to grumble about. And because of it, she let him talk her into outings. He called them dates with a mischievous sparkle in his eye and she always corrected the dirty bugger.
Victoria suspected Callan had bent his uncle’s ear and told him she needed to see Scotland. Without proof, it was just that, a suspicion. And she’d been right about her initial assessment. The Baird told her the folklore, the history of Romans and then Picts and Vikings. He relayed the blood shed and scandal of queens who may or may not have killed their husbands and got their head’s chopped off for their trouble.
Throughout it all, Scotland had begun to feel like home and she’d miss it. Though coming from Southern California, she was still kind of waiting for the supposed summer to start. A high of eighty-degrees was spring, at best.
She loved Scotland anyway.
Victoria pressed a hand to her jittery stomach and checked down both ends of the street. The sight of Callan’s long-legged stride made her heart flip. She closed her eyes against the image. If she watched him for too long, letting the yearning for him build in her heart, an ache would start and her throat would tighten. She forced herself to breathe steadily and opened her eyes.
Shit.
He wore a lopsided smile when he saw her—a ridiculous reaction to spotting her right where he’d dropped her off no more than five minutes ago. Why did he have to smile at her like that? The kind of smile that lived somewhere between the pleasure of seeing her and probably thinking of all the ways to get her naked and moaning.
She refused to wait for him to catch up, because that meant watching his smile, his lope and feeling things she damn well shouldn’t. A tug on the hem of her dress froze her limbs. The satin material stopped just below her knees and fluttered in the breeze.
“Wait up,” Callan said.
Victoria swatted at his hand. “You just want to see up my skirt.”
“Only part of the reason.”
She sucked in a deep breath and faced him. He cupped her cheek and started to lean down. That stupid yearn churned in her gut. She pulled back out of his reach. “I put on lipstick for this Macbeth play, and I’m not going to let a randy Scot ruin it.”
He caressed her chin and then gripped it between his thumb and forefinger. “It is nice lipstick.”
“Behave,” she said and smiled, remembering that’s what he’d told Douglass the first time they’d met.
Callan did the alpha-male version of a pout by furrowing his brows. “I’ll be content with the knowledge I’ll have you out of that dress before the night is over.”
Her stomach jumped at the promise. Apparently, their have-sex-on-every-available-surface phase of their non-relationship had no end in sight. “Behave and I’ll let you look up my dress as I climb the stairs.”
“Deal,” he agreed without hesitation, but he added, “and I won’t tell you I planned to do it anyway.”
She punched him lightly in the chest, swallowed the laugh and went up the stairs. They made it to the top, and he nuzzled her neck while she knocked. “Douglass should just give you a key.”
“He did. After I stumbled in on him naked twice, I stopped using it.”
She snorted. “Well, he hasn’t been seeing anyone since I’ve been here. You could always knock and when he doesn’t answer, use the key.”
“Aye, because sex is never loud enough to drown out noise.”
He had a point but she knocked again. He placed a kiss on her neck. She’d worn a shawl. Everything in her wanted to lower it to give him better access, but she needed to behave too.
The door opened and she had to fight the visible wince. Douglass’ face and nose held a ruddy shade. His hair that usually looked sexily ruffled just looked ruffled. And despite it all, he still wore a suit.
“Oh, no.” She stepped inside his flat. “If you didn’t feel good, you should have called me.”
“I won’t ruin your night. It’s Macbeth.”
She took his beefy arm and guided him to the couch. She used the back of her hand to check his forehead after he laid down. He wasn’t warm to the touch but if his nose was any indication, that symptom wasn’t too far behind. Worry began to settle in her heart.
Callan spoke from somewhere behind her, “I’ll make him some soup.”
Victoria pulled down the short coverlet from the back of the couch and did her best to tuck Douglass in. He sighed and closed his eyes. “Stop fussing. I’m good to go. Sitting for a few hours in a theater won’t kill me.”
“I’m more stubborn than you,” she said. “We’re not going.”
Douglass didn’t open his eyes, only shook his head. “It’s the Gerphart Company. They actually know how to act. Any other Macbeth production is shite. You have to go tonight or you’ll miss it. You have to see the only Scottish play performed by Scots.”
Her heart warmed at his insistence. Was there no wonder why she fallen for this man? “Okay. Okay. I’ll go. Just give me good directions and I’ll be fine. Callan will stay here with you to make sure you’re all right.”
Douglass started shaking his head after the second word. “No.”
“D—”
“No,” he said in a voice that broached no argument and he opened his bloodshot eyes. “You’re not going alone. I’ve been sick before and it definitely won’t be my last time. And believe it or not, I’ve done it without a woman’s touch.”
He never really talked about his ex-wife directly, but in the past few weeks she’d put together the puzzle. He used to be a rolling stone, and at first that’s what attracted him to his ex. They’d met while she worked on an archaeological dig. They fell in love, she ended up pregnant and all seemed well enough until she left for farther and farther places for work, coming home less and less until he was alone and raising two motherless boys.
She pressed her hand to his cheek. “I don’t want to leave you alone. Not while you’re like this.”
“’Cause you’re a good lass. One your mum is very proud of. I’ll be fine. Take Callan. If it’ll make you feel better, you can make me a cup of tea with a shot of my whiskey. I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”
He looked uncomfortable, a little too pale and…just sick with a cold. It would be a few hours at the most, but Victoria worried about him anyway. “I’ll make you the tea without the whiskey.”
“Ugh,” he complained but didn’t argue.
She kissed his forehead and rose. Much to her surprise, Callan had plucked a can of soup from the cabinet instead of making something partially from scratch. He liked homemade and had created magic in the kitchen more than once. He was good with his hands and liked to show it.
She also suspected cooking like that soothed him in some way. As long as he put together certain ingredients, a predictable outcome would occur. It was something he could do for the people he cared about. Despite all his bluster and growl, Callan was a nurturer at heart. An alpha definitely, but that, too, was part of their nature. They took care of the people around them.
There she was, again. Staring at him for too long and her heart doing little jumps and flips. She did her best to ignore him and her reaction to him while she made “proper” tea for Douglass. They finished around the same time and took care of his uncle together. After he’d eaten, Papa Baird handed the tickets to Callan and then they made their way out.
They stood on the steps for a short minute and then he grinned at her. “Did he just set us up on a date?” he asked.
Victoria shook her head because Douglass was sick…Sick without some kind of temperature and the only sign being a red nose and face. The man’s exhaustion could easily be explained by a late night running the pub and refusing to sleep until she showed up in the evening.
Would he act sick to play a matchmaker? “Oh,” she said darkly. “That sly bastard.”
She turned to stalk back into the flat. Callan grabbed her waist, his laugh full and content. “He means no harm.”
“He played me.” She squirmed in Callan’s arms until she faced him “And you went right along with it.”
“It didn’t dawn on me until now. There was no whining and acting like he had one foot on a banana peel and the other near a grave.” He shook her softly. “Calm down, lass. Am I really that much of a bother to spend a night with?”
No and that was the problem. Still… “It’s your fault because you came with me. You’re not even dressed for a play.”
“Do you think I give a shite about that?”
She snorted. “No…but—”
“Even with our schedule and agreement, I have to check on him. If not tonight, some other time.”
She tried to understand Douglass’ motivation and couldn’t find any. “But why? For all he knows, we have chemistry, but I only work for you.”
Callan offered his hand without answering. Victoria suspected she wouldn’t have liked his reply anyway. She walked beside him down the steps and to the car. Her feet ached but all she could do was fixate on the silence and her own troubled thoughts. The quiet and his furrowed brow was a third wheel. It followed them to the theater. He opened doors, placed his hand on the small of her back to help her along, and he smiled while making small talk with other people. She smiled, made small talk and hoped the unease twisting in her stomach would vanish by the time they settled into their private seats.
Finally Callan spoke to her, “Have you ever read this play?”
Glad for the distraction, she said, “Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet were required reading. After getting through both of those tragic endings, that’s all I wanted to read of Shakespeare. If you discount the Ten Things I Hate About You, then they’re the only two plays I’ve seen.”
The people in the booth next to theirs threw a steely glance their way. They stayed quiet for a few minutes as the actors began to tell the story of murderous ambition. The decorations on stage and the mood in the theater was dark and gloomy, which set up the scene nicely. That much she knew fit the play.
