by L. L. Muir
Jack laughed, pulled a credit card out of his sporran, and handed it over.
“I don’t know a lot about ghosts,” I said. “Okay, so I know nothing about ghosts. But I don’t think they need credit cards.”
“They do if they want good whisky,” he said, which actually made sense to me.
“Jack?”
“Aye, love.”
“Can we talk seriously?”
He nodded, then scooted closer, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and held my hand. “What is it?”
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life at Culloden. It’s just too cold. That’s why I moved away from Montana, because it was cold.”
“And who says ye have to live the rest of yer life at Culloden?” He was trying not to laugh, but I was serious.
“You’re the milk man. And your stone is at Culloden, and you haunt the stone, right?”
“Nay lass. No longer. The duty I needed to perform is done. I am free of the place.”
I slumped against him with relief.
“She’s going to need a really warm coat,” someone said, but I couldn’t seem to open my eyes to find out who she was.
I should have drunk the coffee…
“Soni.”
“Jack.”
“Ye shouldn’t be here, lass. Ye’re too young to drink.”
The witch laughed and crowded onto the couch behind him. “I told ye it wouldn’t be unpleasant, aye?”
The barman brought back the card and a wee slip of paper. He pointed to Soni. “Give them to her.”
The lass stuffed both items into her pocket and laughed. “I see ye found good use for the card.”
“Auch, aye. She was cold, ye see—”
“And having a freak out?”
“And that, too.”
“I can make her forget, if ye like.”
“I don’t want to forget,” Callie mumbled.
“Well then,” he said. “From the horse’s mouth.”
The woman growled. “Horse?”
“Wheesht. Go to back to sleep.”
For a while, he and Soni listened to Callie’s breathing, and when it seemed she was truly sleeping, the witch spoke. “Ye’re duty’s done, as ye said. So it is time to speak of boons.”
He smiled and lifted Callie’s limp arm. “I’ll take this one.”
“Oh? And what if she’ll not have ye?”
He sobered instantly. “What do ye mean? What if she will have me? What then?”
“In truth, Jack, few others have been interested in confronting Charles Stuart and venting their spleens.”
He hardly dared breathe. “And what happened to them? Where are they now?”
Soni smiled with her very heart in her eyes. “They’re out there, living their lives—”
“Living!”
“Shhh… Aye, living.”
“What price must I pay, lass. Name it, I beg ye.”
“As it happens, Jack MacGilles, ye’re all paid up.”
He sat back and let the idea sink into his brain. Would Callie have him? He shook his head. “What if she willnae have me, Soni? What will I do then?”
The lass laughed quietly. “Did ye not hear the woman? She was willing to live on that cold moor for the rest of her days, if she had to. She just didn’t want to, is all.”
“Nay, it was the whiskey talkin’.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Callie took a deep breath and sat up straight. “I’ll have you, Milk Man. But first…” Her eyes closed again.
“But first?”
“I need to sleep. Just twenty more minutes. Then I’ll have you.”
Soni stood up, kissed him on the head, and said she had to go. “Be happy, Jack. And have some bairns with this woman. I’ve heard the greetin’ isn’t so bad, when they’re your own.”
Epilogue
Savanah herded her kids out of the rental van and into the café. The place was hopping, but a couple of big tables had been pushed together along the wall of windows, with the ocean view beyond. She hurried over and pulled out a chair, just daring anyone to say she and her brood couldn’t sit there.
She started to count heads and found Tucker coming out of the back, dragging Callie by the hand.
Savanah stood up and gave her sister a hug, then pointed out the window. “Sometimes I really hate you, you know.”
“Oh, I know. And you’re not done yet.”
They both turned and watched Jack come out of the kitchen with his and Callie’s daughter, Miri, on his back. When he lowered the three-year-old onto a chair, it was even more clear that he wasn’t wearing a shirt under his big white apron. And since he was wearing shorts, it almost looked like he wasn’t wearing pants, either.
“You’re right,” Savanah said. “I hate you more.” After she cleared her throat a couple of times, she asked Jack where his shirt was.
“Bairn spittle,” he said, then kissed her teenager, Sophie, on the head. The girl blushed, but she took it like a trouper. “Ye’d make Grandpa John verra happy if ye’d go in the kitchen and tell him ye’d like to taste some haggis.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose, but got up to go make her grandpa’s day.
“I’m sorry,” Savanah said, her eyes still glued to her brother-in-law. “What did he say about his, uh, shirt?”
“He said Mac spit up on him again. You know, baby spit. Bairn spittle.” Callie snapped her fingers in front of Savanah’s face. “You’d better knock it off before Kenny gets in here.”
“Found another one in the car,” Kenny announced, carrying their youngest through the door by his foot. Hanging upside down, Luke giggled and squealed and demanded the attention of everyone in the building.
Savanah rolled her eyes and hugged Callie one more time. “No. Really. I hate you.”
THE END
The Storyteller is next.
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*Scottish Time Travel Romance
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About the Author
L.L. Muir lives in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and family. She appreciates funny friends, a well-fed campfire, and ghost stories, obviously, but only true ones.
A disturbing amount of Diet Pepsi was consumed while writing JACK.
If you like Lesli’s books, be a sport and leave a review on the book’s Amazon page. You can reach her personally through her website— www.llmuir.weebly.com , or on Facebook at L.L. Muir.
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Copyright
Published by Lesli Muir Lytle
Jack © 2018 L.Lytle
The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Series © 2015 L.Lytle
All rights reserved
Cover Art by Kelli Ann Morgan
License notes…
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
