by L. L. Muir
“My mother,” Jordan said, as if the words had to be squeezed out of her.
“She’s beautiful.”
Jordan rolled her eyes.
He thought it passing strange. “Ye doona think she’s beautiful?”
She shrugged. “You’re just being nice.”
“Fie! I am not being nice.” He pointed at the screen. “Look at her.”
“The shot’s too dark.”
“Yet she lightens the spirit. Makes me feel…hope. Do ye remember what she was looking at?”
Jordan folded her arms and visibly retreated from him, from the photograph. “Her second husband.”
“Ah. So it is not yer mother that ye dislike.”
“I don’t dislike him. I dislike what she’s become with him.”
“And what is that?”
She shrugged. “Content.” Her arms unfolded then and she gestured wildly while she complained, saying more than just her words could convey. “She promised we would go places together. See things. We had a whole list of things we were going to do together after I finished college, and now…”
Jordan cleared her throat and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, the emotion was gone from her voice.
“Now my mother doesn’t want to leave him. For anything. She won’t go out to dinner with me unless he’s invited too. She won’t come to New York for the weekend without him. It’s like she doesn’t…need a daughter anymore.”
The lass stretched forward and turned off the computer with a violent press of the power button.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rant.” She scooted away and tucked everything back into her black bag, then she pasted a very false smile on her face. “I am very pleased with your shots, though. And I am excited about tomorrow.” She got to her feet and backed around the far end of the couch as if she needed more distance between them. “I’m sorry the couch is so short, but there are pillows and blankets in the little cubby, there.”
“The floor will accommodate me nicely.”
She shrugged and kept moving through the kitchen to the bed chamber. “There’s a little bathroom through there. I’ll…” She paused and held the door while she was half in and half out of the room. “Sorry again about the rant.”
“Never a worry, lass. But if ye’d care to talk about it—”
“I wouldn’t. Thanks, though. No need to get too personal, right?”
Which was just another way of saying not personal at all.
“Poor, lonely lass,” Kerry whispered. “Tomorrow will be better. I vow it.”
~ ~ ~
Jordan tried desperately to forget the man bedding down twenty feet from her bedroom door.
For half a second, she deliberated on whether to take off her make-up, but she knew she wouldn’t get any sleep at all if she didn’t go through her regular routine. Besides, her skin wouldn’t thank her in the morning.
Digging through her toiletry bag, the only head band she could find was an old one of her mother’s that must have been hiding in the bottom for ages. It was white terrycloth with a cluster of little cherries sewn onto the middle of the knot. She could see her mother’s face clearly—a memory of when Jordan was young, looking up at her mother’s reflection as she cleaned her own face at night.
The image made her chest sting and she held the headband over the trash can, to keep from reliving that pain again, but when she opened her hand, it hooked on her ring finger and refused to drop.
Oh, well. Just until I buy a new one.
She pulled the band over her head, down to her neck, then forced it up again, pushing her hair away from her face. While she dug out the serum to clean her skin, she caught sight of her reflection and froze. Her mother stared back at her.
Beautiful, the Scot had said. Beautiful because he saw something in Jordan’s mother? Because of how he felt when he looked at the picture? But what did he feel when he looked at her?
The nose was the same as her mom’s. In another twenty years, Jordan would probably look just like the photo. But would anyone think her beautiful then? In twenty years, would she have someone in her life that made her smile like that? Light up like that?
Not at the rate she was going…
Lying in bed, Jordan wondered where Kerry would be twenty years from now, but all she could imagine was the scene from Brigadoon, when the valley fills with mist and takes the little village, and all its people, away.
It was her own fault. She knew nothing about him. He was photogenic, and he looked just like the Mather statue. He’d been kind enough to let her shoot him, a charming enough dinner date, and willing to stay detached—or at least she thought he was willing.
It was all she knew. And if she was going to save her job at Foster and Foster, she was better off not knowing more.
There was a chance, she supposed, that after her little rant, Kerry might not be there in the morning. But she doubted it. There was something about the guy that screamed honorable. And an honorable man wouldn’t sneak out in the middle of the night.
Would he?
CHAPTER TEN
Thanks to the time change, Jordan slept like the dead—until the smell of smoke woke her up! She jumped off the bed, unlocked the door, and shot out into the kitchen.
“There’s nay fire,” Kerry shouted. “Dinna fash. I’ve just burned a few things is all.”
He stood at the stove in nothing but his long-tailed shirt and a ruffled pink apron. With an oven mitt on his left hand and tongs in his right, he pulled chunks of charred things off a pan and flung them toward the sink where the water was running. Smoke swirled out the open door and cold air swirled in. When she headed over to close it, she kicked the bottom half of a broom that spun and smacked into the baseboards. The top half lay on the table. From the ceiling, the better half of a smoke detector dangled by a couple of wires.
Kerry followed her gaze and pointed up with the tongs. “I am fairly surprised the alarm didnae wake ye, Miss Lennox. It scared the devil plum out of me.” He grimaced. “I am sorry for the broom.”
Another chilly burst of air swirled around her feet again and Jordan hurried to the door. A few stray wisps of grey smoke lurked near the ceiling. Other than those, the only thing that remained of the emergency was the acrid taste in the air. She hustled to the bedroom door and pulled that closed, too, so her clothes and bedding wouldn’t get saturated.
She went to the sink and turned off the water. Only a little spot of red here and there identified what used to be cherry tomatoes. The black and white things had to be the mushrooms. With his tongs, Kerry examined a large piece of ham that was only fifty percent charred. He was obviously judging whether or not it was edible.
“I think that’s a no,” she said, then reached for the handle on the oven.
Kerry bent a knee against the door to keep her from opening it. “Have pity, lass. We shouldn’t let it out for an hour or two…at least.”
“Let it out?”
“The smell.”
She dreaded the answer, but had to ask, “What’s in there?”
Karry’s sweating face was as pink as his apron. “The beans…and eggs.”
“You cooked eggs in the oven?”
He gaped for a few seconds. “I cooked it all in the oven.”
She bit her lips together to keep from laughing. Then she scowled. “Don’t you move a muscle.” Back in the bedroom, she pulled out her camera, tested the focus on the dresser, then scurried into the kitchen with her finger on the shutter release. She got off a dozen shots before he realized what she was doing.
“Ye wee minx!” He lunged at her with the ham, then chased her into the living room. He cornered her between the window and the fireplace. “Where is that contract? I give no permission to show these photos to anyone, do ye hear?”
She laughed in his face. “Who cooks eggs in an oven?”
“I… I believe I was supposed to leave them in their shells.”
She tried to show him a little sympathy b
y sticking out her bottom lip, but it wasn’t easy to do while laughing. She sobered up in a heartbeat, though, when she realized he was staring at her lip. For the life of her, she couldn’t seem to suck it back in again.
He removed his left hand from the mantle, shook off the oven mitt, then put his forearm across her shoulders to pressed her against the wall. She only struggled a little bit when he lowered his head. His lips were about six inches from hers when the ham and tongs popped up between them. “Time to pay the piper,” he whispered, then inched the charred end toward her mouth.
“How about if I take you out to breakfast,” she breathed.
“After all my hard work? Ye wouldn’t take just a morsel?” But the ham was gone and once again, his lips were the only things close.
A morsel of those? Yes, please.
“Fine,” she said faintly. “Just a morsel.”
His grin faded as he closed the distance. A morsel—a brief kiss—was not what she got, however. As soon as their mouths met and melded, it got intense. She vaguely wondered if he was overcompensating for all her efforts to remain detached, but soon realized that it was she who was trying to get as much as she could from him, in case this one kiss was all they’d ever share.
By the time he pulled back, they were both out of breath again. She tried to hide her eyes, but he lifted her chin and forced her to look at him.
“I worry. Will ye have trouble taking my photo now, Jordon Lennox?”
“I…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know.”
~ ~ ~
Half an hour later, the mess was gone, along with part of the smell. Kerry and his rather delicious hostess took turns showering and hiding from each other while they dressed. They were a wee bit late for breakfast when they found a restaurant, but after a bit of pleading from Jordan, the waitress relented, and they enjoyed a perfectly cooked, traditional Scottish breakfast just as he’d seen on television.
“I am sorry to have wasted all yer food,” he told her yet again. No matter what she said, his guilt would not relent.
“Oh, I didn’t buy that stuff. The owner had the place stocked when I got there. If I’d have gone shopping for breakfast, I would have come back with a half-gallon of milk and a box of cereal.”
“A travesty avoided, then.”
“We just need to remember to find a grocery store tonight. I’ll take a stab at cooking you breakfast tomorrow.” Her eyes widened and he knew the second she would begin her detachment dance again. “That is… If we still want to work together tomorrow.”
“Unless yer work is done, ye mean?”
“No. Of course, not. If we get plenty of shots today…” She shook her head, but she couldn’t manage to erase all the panic from her face. On the bright side, he couldn’t tell if her panic was fear of getting to close or fear of missing him when they parted. “Forget I said anything. Let’s just play it by ear.”
He took a bite of Haggis and mulled over his choice of words. It would pay to tread lightly, but he could not seem to help himself. “Ye go on and play it by ear, lass. But if ye don’t mind, I’ll play it by heart.” He pointed to his fully functioning organ with the tip of his knife. Then he glanced at her mouth to remind her of their earlier kiss before studying his breakfast once more.
She laughed lightly. “Play it by heart. Very smooth, Mr. Mather. Very smooth.” But when she, too, studied her plate, she was chewing on that lip again.
Jordan Lennox was worried, aye. And well she should be. He was a Highland laddie with a two-day pass, and one of them gone. If he remembered Soni’s promise correctly, he had just over a day to teach the stubborn woman a lesson in attachment. And he took this duty verra seriously.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The path was moist with morning dew as they made their way back to the river. The cold gave Jordan an excuse to keep her hands deep in her pockets. And the slow pace would help keep the Scot from working up a sweat.
His shirt must have been starched like crazy to still be so clean after sleeping in it. Along with his freshly pleated kilt, he looked just as perfect as he had the day before, and she intended to keep him that way.
The tension between them was as intense as ever after their little “agree to disagree” truce over breakfast, but the line in the sand was clear. He planned to get personal. She would stay professional. And let the best man/woman win.
Of course, he didn’t know who he was dealing with.
Though she was tempted to stop and take a few shots of him at the tunnel, she kept moving. The light on the bridge would be much better than the evening before, and she wanted to take full advantage.
Having someone else carry her gear was a welcome change. When they were about twenty feet from the center of the structure, she chose a spot to pile everything. She unfolded her tripod and started setting up and told Kerry he was free to wander around for a few minutes. While he thought she was just tinkering, she took shots of him on the sly.
She couldn’t resist a quick pic of his butt when he leaned over the far side to look down at the water. Then a close up of his boots and stockings when she realized he had a little black knife handle tucked against his calf. If she’d had an assistant, she would have had them hurry over to untie one of the laces, but if she asked Kerry to do it, she would lose the composition.
It was no use. She knew the shot would be great, so she had to do it herself.
“Hold really still, Kerry, would you?”
“Aye, lass,” he said over the rush of the river.
She hurried to his side, untied his lace, and said again, “don’t move,” while she flipped the cords around a few times, so they would land more artistically. “That’s it. Hold it right there.” She backed up and took the shot. Then she zoomed out and shot his entire body again.
So put together on top. So careless on the bottom. She couldn’t wait to download them later!
“Thank you. You can relax now.”
“I am relaxed, lassie.” He turned around and rested his arms on the wall out to his sides, then crossed his feet while he stared at her, looking her over the way she looked at him.
“Very funny,” she said, then started flipping through the shots she’d just taken.
“Thank ye, lass. Ye can relax now.”
“I’m just fine, thanks.” She turned off the previewer, unable to concentrate with him watching her so close. She clicked off another half dozen shots of him looking as sexy as hell, then she pointed at the riverbank below. “I’m going to climb down there and take some up-shots.”
From beside the bridge, next to the water’s edge, she got some images of his torso with the two stone arches below him. Looking off into the distance, he could have passed for a Jacobite scout watching for the enemy. It was easily a historical-looking shot that might really pay off for her, even if F&F weren’t interested.
When she got back onto the bridge, she found Kerry talking to a little boy trying to show him something on a cell phone screen. His mother stood close, smiling from ear to ear, holding the leash of a little dog.
With a nod of assurance from Kerry, the mother agreed to sign a waiver. Jordan then took more shots of the little boy and his dog sitting on the wall beside the Scotsman, the boy pointing to the screen like he was showing the big man how to use the technology. It was a darling pose, Rockwellian even, with the river in the background.
After the little family was gone, Jordan sat her camera down and took a break. Leaning back against the wall of rock, she closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face. A shadow stole the warmth from the shoulder of her coat, then she heated right up again when she sensed how close Kerry was.
“What are you doing, Mr. Mather?”
“Just relaxin’, lass. Doin’ what I’m told.”
She opened one eye and found him staring at her again, with one elbow on the wall beside her. “Don’t you kiss me.”
“Perish the thought, Miss Lennox. I understand the wisdom of business before pleasure. I can wait
.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but the flat of his fingers pressed against her lips.
“Wheesht, lass. I ken ye well enough to know just what ye meant to say. So save yer breath to cool yer porridge, aye?” He dragged his fingers away but didn’t back up.
She bit her lip to keep from saying something she might regret and turned her face up to the sun again, to prove he hadn’t rattled her. Since they’d arrived at the bridge, she’d been able to see him as just another model, just another subject on the other side of the lens. But how long could that last?
What she needed was more breathing space between them.
“So. Kerry.” Go ahead, let him think we’re chummy. “Tell me more about Brigadoon.”
Kerry stared at her lips for another second or two, then turned away from her until his back was against the wall once again. “Ye might have thought Brigadoon was just a movie, or a musical, but did ye ken that Brigadoon is based on a real legend here in Scotland? Somewhere, in the Highlands, is the village in question. After the Battle of Culloden, when the Hanoverians chased the Highlanders home, burning and pillaging along their way, and with the king’s blessing…
“The priest made a pact with the Wee Folk, promising whatever was asked if the town could but disappear into the mist, so the government soldiers would pass them by. And to this day, the place can only be seen by mortal eyes once a year, on Enchantment Day.”
“Enchantment Day? I never heard this.”
“Auch, aye. ‘Tis a great day of celebration where anyone is welcome to join the party. But when the day is done, the mist hides it again, for another hundred years.”
“So, they’re not just sleeping for a hundred years?”
“Nay. They go on as any other village, but they canna leave.”
