“I’m so confused,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Why am I even in here?”
“Oh, that I can help with.” Rory reached along the high shelf to fetch the box of straws that had been pushed toward the back. He handed them to her. “Straws, ranch dressing, and Kay already took the coffee.”
She took the straws and stared at them as if she couldn’t focus.
“Oh, and um, here.” He reached down and pulled out a giant plastic tub labeled “Ranch Dressing” in bold red script. It was next to a box of “Real” mashed potato flakes.
“Thanks?” She slowly took the container and cradled it against her waist.
“I have to ask.” Rory pointed at the potatoes. “Real potatoes in a box?”
“Restaurant trick. For when people ask if we have real mashed potatoes, we can say yes.” She turned to walk out the door.
Rory held it open for her. The smell of fried food wafted past them.
On her way out of the storage room, she glanced up at him. “You shouldn’t be back here. It’s staff only. If Kay mentions it to my boss, I could get in trouble and I need this job.”
“I’ll be at the bar,” he said, following her from the storage room. The loud murmur of restaurant conversation drifted down the short hallway. “In case ya need me.”
“Don’t you mean you’ll need me? I’m the one working,” she said.
He followed her into the public area of the restaurant. “Of course.”
“I’ll bring you a menu.” She darted away from him with the dressing and straws, moving toward the wait station as if the sound of work reactivated her senses.
Rory frowned at the knife and slipped it through the wide leather belt on his kilt. If someone had cursed the knife, he didn’t want to use his magick directly on the weapon to hide it. Who knew what kind of adverse reaction that would have? At least this way, he could keep an eye on it and magickally make sure no one noticed it.
The Crimson Tavern was probably one of his favorite places to dine in town, though he hadn’t been there for months. There was something appealing about the Old English tavern feel. The wooden floors and tables looked as if they could have come from centuries past. That was if he didn’t take into account the very modern beer taps, flat-screen televisions, and neon signs.
Rory pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and waved his hand over it to dial his father.
“Rory? Are ya calling me from upstairs?” Murdoch asked by way of an answer.
“No, Da, I’m at the Crimson Tavern,” Rory said. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching him a little too closely. He recognized several of the locals, but no one who gave him a reason to worry.
“How…?” Murdoch mumbled something, and it sounded like he was talking to someone else. “We were coming up to find ya, laddie. We’re having trouble locating that cursed knife.”
Rory looked down at the blade he still held. “I have it.”
“He has it,” Murdoch said.
Rory went to an empty place at the bar and lifted his hand, spreading his fingers wide to indicate a short glass. He mouthed “whiskey” to the bartender.
“Why does he have it?” His ma’s voice came over the line. She must have been standing by her husband.
“Why did ya take the knife?” Murdoch repeated.
The bartender gestured toward at a bottle. Rory shook his head. The man pointed at a bottle higher on the shelf. Rory nodded. Into the phone, he said, “I didn’t.”
“But ya said ya took it.” His da sighed. “Did ya or didn’t ya take the cursed knife with ya?”
“I’m trying to explain.”
“I’m listening,” Murdoch stated.
Rory switched to Scottish Gaelic so his parents could understand him, but no one eavesdropping would. “When I stepped into my bedroom, I was transported to the Crimson Tavern and trapped in the storage room.” Rory had to pause in his explanation while his father repeated his words to his mother. “The knife came with me.”
The bartender slid a glass in front of him. He instantly took a long drink and enjoyed the familiar burn down his throat.
“Are ya sure ya haven’t been drinking anything with Raibeart?” Cait insisted.
“No, Ma.” Rory took another drink. He glanced around, making sure no one was watching him. The blade hadn’t cursed itself.
“He says no,” Murdoch repeated.
“I promised I’d call to check in, and I’m calling,” Rory said, not giving his father time to ask more questions. “Tell Ma I’m fine. I’m going to wait for Jennifer to get off her shift, and then I’m taking her somewhere safe so we can figure out what’s going on. I don’t want to disrupt her life more than I have to, and we’re not going to pull a Charlotte on her if she sees too much.”
Charlotte was an unfortunate example of what happened when they had to erase too many memories from a human. In the end, it had been a miracle that she’d survived the madness. Most humans were not so lucky.
“Bring her here,” Murdoch said.
“Oh, aye, good. We want to meet her,” Cait said.
“I was thinking the motel,” Rory replied, denying the request. He didn’t want to bring Jennifer into the full force of the MacGregor household.
“What did he say?” Cait demanded.
“Motel,” Murdoch answered.
“Tell him here is safer,” Cait said. “I want to meet her.”
“Your ma insists that here is safer,” Murdoch said.
“I’ll think about it,” Rory answered. “I have to go, Da.”
He hung up before they could say more.
A young girl came running by wielding a long French fry like a sword. She appeared to be a little younger than Jewel. Her brown eyes landed on his knife, and she grinned with the kind of fearless excitement only a child could express.
Rory dropped his arm over the blade to hide it from her. “I like yours better, little love.” He nodded at her fry sword. The girl giggled.
“Beatrix, get back here.” The girl’s mother came to grab Beatrix’s arm. The woman glanced at him and mumbled something like “sorry” before pulling the child back to their table.
Rory sipped the whiskey and watched Jennifer carrying a tray of sodas to one of her tables. Each one of her movements mesmerized him. Even without the cursed blade, she was a mystery he wanted to solve.
“Don’t bother,” the bartender said.
Rory turned to him in surprise.
“Many men have tried, and she’s shot them all down,” he said. “Jennifer’s not that kind of girl.”
Rory grinned. As a man, he liked the idea of a challenge. He held up his glass. “I’m going to need another one of these.”
Chapter Nine
Jennifer would have never thought she’d be happy to see a crazy man with a knife in the storage pantry. Rory MacGregor was a strange one, to be sure, but anything was better than going home to a possible intruder camping out in her home. She’d been worried about what she was going to do about that all night. The trailer no longer felt safe.
That voice had been real. Jennifer had heard it, felt it in her core. The fear lingered, and she was glad for the crowded restaurant.
It was almost worse that she hadn’t seen an attacker. Her mind kept trying to convince her that it had been a ghost or something.
Yeah, right, ghost. What was next? Witches and werewolves?
“I’m losing it,” she mumbled, staring at her order pad.
“Excuse me?” a lady with bouffant red hair and too much make up asked.
“I’ll be right back with your drink. Margarita, classic lime, no salt,” Jennifer answered the customer. She usually could remember orders without writing them down, but tonight her mind was scattered, and she was scribbling notes to keep afloat.
“And cheese fries,” the woman added. She’d done the ordering, even for her husband. The woman clearly ruled her home with an iron fist because the man seemed afraid to look at any other female for too
long.
“And cheese fries,” Jennifer repeated, writing it down.
“Extra ranch,” the woman said.
Jennifer nodded. “Extra ranch.”
She felt Rory’s eyes on her, or maybe she imagined it. He waited at the bar for his menu. She found she liked knowing he was there, watching out for her. Then there was the unreasonable rage-filled part of her that wanted to throw something at him.
What was he protecting her from?
How had he gotten into the storage room? She barely remembered walking in there, let alone his asking to see her after work.
What the hell was happening to her? Her mind was flustered, and she couldn’t concentrate. She felt like people were staring at her. Could she blame them? She was a freaking hot mess, thinking of ghosts and witches and home intruders. She needed this job, so there was no choice but to keep working. Running and hiding was not an option.
The very sexy Rory MacGregor oozed masculinity. He made her want to stab him and kiss him at the same time. The seed of rage was still there inside her, lingering, ready to flare up. But weren’t anger and fierce passion close emotional cousins?
The redhead stared at her. Jennifer realized the woman was done and hurried to go.
Crap, what had the woman asked for?
Jennifer looked at her notepad and read the scrawled order. “Extra ranch.”
Her gaze went to Rory at the end of the bar. He smiled at her, and she forgot what she was doing.
Jennifer rushed to the wait station and rechecked her notepad. She grabbed a premade side salad from the small refrigerator. Even out of his eyesight, it felt like Rory watched her. She ladled ranch onto the lettuce.
“There you are.”
That voice!
Jennifer gasped and turned. No one was with her. She leaned to look out at the dining room.
“Not it. I took the last large party,” Kay said, entering. “This one is yours.”
Jennifer nodded, still shaky. “How many?”
“Ten.” Kay grabbed a coffeepot to do refills and left.
Jennifer took a tray from a stack and made ten glasses of ice waters to bring to her new table. She had to get control of herself. She needed this job. Balancing the tray on her shoulder, she carried the waters and the salad out of the wait station.
Jennifer walked toward the redhead to drop off the salad. “Here you go.”
“I didn’t order this.” The redhead frowned.
“What?” Jennifer still held the tray. “Extra ranch, right?”
“For my cheese fries,” the woman snapped, her face becoming pinched in annoyance.
“Right, sorry, salad is on the house,” she muttered. “Fries are coming.”
“Who in all the blue blazes would want salad drenched in dressing?” the woman said to her husband as Jennifer walked away. “I don’t think this one’s going to earn a tip.” Her voice rose as she loudly added, “I’ll be surprised if she remembers my mar-ga-rita.”
Jennifer frowned to herself.
Crap. Don’t forget the margarita.
She turned to one of the few places they had set up for a table of ten and stopped mid-walk.
Rory stood next to Bruce and Maura and four other males who were undoubtedly related to him—the kilts were the most obvious giveaway, but their looks were a close second. There were also three women.
“Hi.” Jennifer forced herself to approach the table and began setting waters before the customers.
“Hey, Jennifer,” Maura said. “Good to see ya again.”
Jennifer nodded.
Don’t forget the margarita.
“Good to see you too.” She held the now-empty tray braced against her waist and pulled her notepad out of her apron.
“Jennifer, meet some of my family,” Maura introduced. “These are my cousins Erik, his wife Lydia, Iain, his wife Jane, Euann, his wife Cora, and Uncle Raibeart.”
Jennifer tried to keep her smile, but there was no way she was remembering all of those names. She couldn’t remember the…
Damn it. What was she supposed to get?
“Pleasure to meet ya again, lassie.” Raibeart stood from the head of the table and made a flourishing gesture with his hand. Jennifer stared at his hands, trying to remember where she might have seen them. “Ya might not remember me, but—”
“Glowing,” she whispered.
“Aye. Glowing indeed,” Raibeart answered. “So ya feel it too? Does that mean ya remember my offer?”
“What offer?” Jennifer had no idea what he was talking about.
“Raibeart, just…” Rory gestured at his uncle to sit down. “Pretend you’re someone else.”
“Like who?” Raibeart hunched his shoulders and mocked, his words slurring, “Look at me, I’m Rory. I have warts on my arse. I haven’t had a date in three hundred years, and it’s made me grouchy. Unless ya count my right ha—”
“Raibeart!” Maura scolded. “We can’t take ya anywhere.”
“Ya sounded just like your ma, right then,” Raibeart said. “I’m going to call ya Little Cait.”
“Don’t make me tell my ma on ya, Raibeart,” Maura warned.
“Do, and ya will be in as much trouble as I, Little Cait,” Raibeart returned. “We’re not supposed to be here tonight. Cait said we have to leave Rory alone. I guess she was worried the laddie wouldn’t stand a chance with his Uncle Raibeart stealing the show. Ladies can’t resist me.”
“All right then,” Maura said in apparent disbelief.
“It’s true. Just today, I polled a forum full of sexy ladies and asked if they’d marry me. Every one of them said aye. I can prove it.” He produced a cell phone from the sporran resting against the front of his kilt. “I made sure the poll blocked the group until they answered, too. That way, they wouldn’t get too shy about it. Ya know how the ladies are around a handsome man.”
“An internet poll?” Maura laughed. “What options did ya give them? Yes, aye, and hell yeah? Did ya even put a no option on there?”
“Why would I? Whose going to say no?” Raibeart scoffed. He continued to look at his phone screen. “I know that the group is here somewhere.” He began mumbling to himself as he swiped. “Knitting forum, Michelle Pillow reader group—sounds familiar, but no, I don’t think it’s that—uh, used cars, tea party ideas, kilt enthusiasts, fire bagpipes, naked Scotland. Och, I almost forgot, I have new photos to post there.”
Rory came around the table to face Jennifer as Raibeart distracted himself on his phone. “I had no idea they would all show up here tonight. I know Maura mentioned trying the nachos, but Raibeart heard I was here with ya, and he called the others to come spy on us.”
Jennifer frowned. Admittedly, she felt attraction (and unreasonable anger) toward Rory, but that didn’t mean they were worth spying on. It sounded a little like the guy from table twelve’s family showing up because he thought the waitress he just met was pretty. It didn’t make sense.
Shit. Table twelve asked for…something.
“It’s fine. It’s a restaurant. People come here to eat.” She glanced around. The irritated redhead scowled at her.
Martini. Don’t forget the martini.
“I apologize in advance for anything they might say or do,” Rory insisted. “MacGregors are nothing if not chaotic.”
Jennifer wanted to ask him to sit down far away from her so she could concentrate. The only chaos she felt was the effect he had on her emotions. Rory remained standing, and his nearness made it challenging to think. She found herself gripping her pen, resisting the urge to fling it at his head.
“Have you all decided or would you like time with the menus?” she asked them.
“Nachos,” one of the women said. Jennifer didn’t even try to remember her name.
Was it a martini? Wait, no. Margarita.
“Mm, yes, tater tot nachos,” another MacGregor woman agreed.
“Three nachos,” Maura said.
“Four,” someone corrected.
&
nbsp; “Cheeseburger, fries,” one of the cousins ordered.
“Same,” two people said in unison.
Jennifer felt her frustration toward Rory mounting. She tried to write it all down, but she pushed so hard that the pen tip tore into the paper.
“Sex on the Beach,” Raibeart said. “And to drink, scotch on the rocks.”
“Ya should bring him a Sex on the Beach and make him drink it as punishment for that tired joke,” Maura said. “And bring me a martini, please.”
Another martini. No, margarita and martini.
“Burger, extra pickles,” Bruce added, shutting his menu. “Kettle chips, not fries.”
“I want bacon cheese fries,” Jane said. “Side of ranch.”
More ranch. Everyone wants ranch.
“Club sandwich?” Euann mused, more to himself than to her, so it didn’t sound like an order.
“Please,” Jennifer whispered, shaking. There were too many voices all around her, too many orders. They kept talking, but she didn’t hear them.
Please slow down.
Please stop.
Please go away.
Please…
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
“Jennifer?” Rory asked, touching her elbow. “Are—”
“There you are.”
She jerked at the contact and dropped the tray. The loud clatter caused instant silence to come over the restaurant.
“Job opening!” the bartender yelled, tapping a spoon loudly against a glass. A wave of laughter met his teasing, and the murmur of conversation resumed.
“Did you hear that?” Jennifer asked Rory.
“What? The bartender?” Rory glanced toward the bar. “Did he embarrass ya? Do ya want me to have a word with him?”
“What? No, Earl’s harmless.” She looked into Rory’s concerned face. He didn’t deserve her irritation. She lowered her voice so the others couldn’t overhear. “Please, sit down. Relax. Have fun. There are only two of us on the floor tonight, and I have to keep moving. I’m behind, and I have to sort through these orders.”
Considering her state of mind, she was rather proud she managed a polite excuse. When she tried to leave, he touched her arm to stop her.
A Dash of Destiny (Warlocks MacGregor Book 8) Page 7
