by Marlie May
“And that’s why I do it.” I pulled her into my arms.
“Hmph,” someone said, the gruff sound dragging us apart.
Plastering a pleasant look on my face, I greeted a woman, cane in hand, who limped over to join us.
“Marge,” Lark said. “This is Dag Ross. He’s a handyman at Spicy Concoctions.”
“Spicy what?” Marge’s eyebrows rose high enough, they brushed her bright orange hair.
Lark raised her voice. “He’s a handyman. At Spicy Concoctions. He works with a hammer.”
“He’s been in the slammer, you say? My son served time once at Thomaston. They said he robbed a store, but they had it wrong. My Wilbur would never do anything like that.” She paused so briefly, her stream of words still echoed around us when she restarted. “What were you in the slammer for Dak?”
Lark and I exchanged a glance and shrugged together.
Time for some PR. I lifted and kissed the back of Marge’s hand. “It’s Dag, not Dak. But it’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady.”
“Bullpucky.” Marge slammed her hand on her narrow hip. Her floral housecoat swayed with the movement.
Not the response I’d been hoping for.
“Bullpucky, I say.” Marge poked my chest with her knobby finger. “Don’t pull that sweet stuff with me, young man.” She swept her gaze to where a number of older women glared our way. “I’ve been appointed by the group to find out what your intentions are toward our Lark.”
“Oh, my.” Lark stretched her hand toward the older woman. “Marge—”
Marge pinched her lips and held up her hand, sputtering Lark into silence. “Let me handle this. With your mother and Harlon off in Florida, it’s my duty to speak with this young man on your behalf.”
An irritated Lark was one to be avoided. While part of me wanted to escape, a bigger part of me wanted to locate a drink, pull up a chair, and watch the fireworks. Because Lark—with her fire directed in any direction but mine—was a joy to watch.
Lark stepped forward. “I can actually speak for—”
“I think you want to take advantage of our Lark.” Marge tossed a perturbed look my way. “And we’ll have none of it.”
“I assure you, Ma’am, that my intentions are honorable,” I said.
“Bullpucky,” Marge shouted again. “I didn’t hop off the potato truck yesterday. I know what young men like you want. You’re out to weasel your way into our Lark’s bed without putting a ring on her finger. But we watch out for Lark. After the way that man treated her earlier this year, I—”
Lark snagged the woman’s sleeve and yanked. “Marge, please. Enough.” She nodded at me. “How about we get some of that haggis?”
Actually, my stiffening spine told me food could wait. “What happened last year? Tell me.” The urge to protect Lark from harm filled me.
“Nothing,” Lark said.
Marge plowed on as if we weren’t talking. But then, to her, we probably weren’t. “After the Ted incident, we decided that if another young man came calling, we’d run a full background check on him.” She lifted her hand and hollered, “Buxton. Get your tush over here.”
Buxton plowed his walker across the grass. “Marge?”
“We’ve got need of your computer.”
The tall, balding man pulled an iPad from the basket mounted on the front of his walker and his faded green eyes nailed me to the grass. “This the one you mentioned?”
“Sure is.” Marge poked my chest. “Social security number.”
I jerked my head back, making my kilt sway. “What?”
“You heard me, young man. We’re going to look you up online.”
“Really,” Lark said. “I don’t think—”
“If you’ve been in the slammer, who knows what other trouble you’ve gotten yourself into. Buxton was a county judge back in the day.”
From the sharp bead in his eyes, Judge Buxton had continued his tenure at the trailer park, policing lawn ornaments and giving out parking tickets if anyone drove over ten miles an hour.
Realizing there was no harm in giving this information because I’d hired a company to secure my online identity already, I wrote it down.
“Let’s get something to eat.” Lark snatched my hand and pulled me away before Marge could flip me over to grill my other side.
I chuckled as she hauled me across the grass. “I know what you’re up to. You just want to take advantage of me.”
She snorted.
We fixed our plates. As for my casserole, word of the sheep pluck must’ve made the rounds, because it remained untouched.
“Is it really haggis?” Lark poked it with a fork.
“It’s shepherd’s pie. My mom’s recipe.”
With a smile, she took a big serving.
We sat on a blanket and ate. Someone put on music—oldies, but questionable goldies—and a few couples found the stamina to sway together. After, I took our plates to the trash and then lay beside Lark, my head in her lap. Her fingertips found my curls, entwining.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered.
“Nothing.” Just enjoying my full belly, a pleasant night, and this woman’s touch. I drifted to sleep, waking when the music ended. People were wheeling their walkers away, bags with leftovers swaying from the handles. Rising, I stretched. “Time to head back?”
She took my hand with a soft smile. “Sure.”
We strolled arm-in-arm down the road, heading toward her trailer.
“Have a nice night!” a woman called out.
“You, too!” someone else said.
So special here. Insects whirred in the woods nearby, and, other than a dog barking a few streets away, it was peaceful.
If I wanted to, I could become a permanent part of this community. Come by every Sunday night with a dish and spend the evening with Lark. Tease her sister, take the dog for a walk so Lark could sleep in in the morning. Her friends would become my friends.
Marge might even admit I was worthy.
But for something like that to happen, I’d have to be completely honest with Lark.
The realization slowed my steps.
Lark entered the house ahead of me and scooted down the hall to the bathroom. My brain spinning, I followed and staked out the sofa. Cally scrambled from her basket and limped over, her little tail flicking so fast, the movement nearly knocked her off her feet. I scooped her up and laid her beside me, where she settled down with a long sigh, staring up at me with trust in her eyes.
I wasn’t sure I deserved that trust. There were things I hadn’t shared with Lark. Secrets I’d wrapped so tight inside me, I’d never find a way to unravel them.
Lark joined me, bookending Cally. “I had fun tonight.”
“Me, too.”
Leaning over the dog, she kissed my cheek. “I, uh.” She sighed and settled back on the sofa, staring forward.
“Everything okay?”
“I wanted to explain. About what Marge and…” She winced. “And, ugh, Buxton. I’m sorry they put you through that.”
I chuckled. “It’s okay. No harm done.” Was this about the guy in Lark’s past, the one who’d made her cautious?
“As I said, well, before we were first together, I was burned.”
When I started to speak, to say she didn’t have to explain, she held up her hand. “I want to tell you about Ted. We went out together for over a year. He…” Her throat moved with her swallow.
Unable to watch her in pain, I took her hand. Squeezed it.
“He lost his job, so I let him move in.” She chuckled, but it came out rueful. “He said he’d find work soon, but soon turned into six months. I worked, Paisley worked. And Ted watched TV. Well, and ate a path through my fridge.”
“But you ended it.” If Ted was here, I’d stand up to him for Lark. I hated that he’d hurt her.
“I did. One night, he, um, turned me down, said he wanted to watch TV instead. A while later, I woke up. Not sure why. Guess I heard something.
” Shoulders curling forward, she grimaced. “I found him jerking off while watching some woman getting herself off on a video on his phone.”
“Choosing her instead of you.”
“Yeah. Guess so. He told me she was a better fuck than I was.” Her spine tightened. “But I kicked him out. And I’m paying off his debt.”
“He owed money?”
“You probably think I’m dumb.” When she glanced my way, tears pooled on her lashes.
I wanted to stroke them away, hold her close. Tell her everything would be okay.
She sniffed and wiped her face. “He’d used my credit card for those sites.”
“Can I help you out? I’ve got money.” More than I knew what to do with.
“It’s okay. I’ve got it.” Leaning over with a soft smile, she stroked the hair off my face. “But I appreciate your offer.”
“Anytime. You know that.”
Her laugh came out softer as if she’d lightened her load, while mine continued to drag me down. “But that’s why I’ve been slow to trust.”
Trust. There it was. She thought I could be trusted when I was actually living a lie. Not a huge one, but enough it could hurt her, too, if she found out.
Unsettled, I shifted away from her. “I ought to get going. I’ve, uh, got some things to take care of early in the morning.”
Lark smiled, seemingly unaware of the turmoil running through me. “I understand. I appreciate you listening, letting me explain. I don’t want secrets between us.”
My chest pinched because the secrets I kept could tear us apart. Standing, I tugged her to her feet. Kissed her slow and deep, pouring myself into my touch.
When we parted, she truly smiled. “Somehow, you always make me feel better.”
“You’re special. You only deserve the best.” Hopefully, that was me.
“Thanks.” She cocked her head. “You still want to go for a run tomorrow?”
I headed for the front door. “Sure. Come by for me about seven?”
“Can’t wait.” She yawned and dropped back down onto the sofa and snuggled Cally while I slunk out the front door.
As I drove away, I knew I’d have to come clean soon.
Because Lark meant the world to me.
* * *
The first night of the Highland Games was upon us.
I picked up Lark in my car and drove out to the park. The official start wasn’t for an hour, but Esteban had asked the crew to show up early. Easing into one of the reserved staff spots in the lot across the street, I shut off the engine and pocketed the keys. I went around the back to meet up with her.
“I’m so excited.” Lark’s smile pulled me closer than a warm embrace.
As I walked up to her, my kilt slid along my thighs. She’d dressed for the occasion in a creamy dress that hung below her knees. Online, I’d ordered a matching Clan MacLeod tartan, which she’d pinned into place on her shoulder.
Anyone seeing us dressed alike would assume we were a couple. A couple meant commitment. It meant rings and rounds of dress fittings. Deciding if mushroom caps needed to be stuffed with crabmeat or cheese. Compiling guest lists. Wearing a tuxedo. Registering at Macy’s.
I’d never craved things like that with a woman before Lark.
“Everything okay?” Lark squeezed my hand and gazed up at me with a lifetime in her eyes.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I swallowed back the lump of guilt in my throat and pinched her hand tight.
I’d tell her tomorrow. Or the day after.
As soon as I found the guts to do it.
Lark
We walked across the grass toward central command, where Dag and I would meet up with the other committee members. A worker tipped her hat as we approached, her name tag identifying her as someone from the waste disposal company.
“Everything all set?” I asked.
“Yep. We’ve got the sorting bins in place. There are extras on the truck.” She pulled a bandana from her back pocket and wiped the back of her neck. “Pete at Blo Brothers asked me to give you this.” Her hand extended, holding a creased envelope.
The port-a-potties are in place. Call with any concerns. Blo Brothers
I’d give it to Esteban.
“Thank you,” I said, and we continued walking.
In this part of the park, blue and white striped tents had been erected at regular intervals around the outside of a broad oval, leaving the inner section open for the Game events. The ruffled trim along the top of the tents fluttering in the light breeze. Underneath, workers were setting up folding chairs and tables. As the day wore on tomorrow, people could take a break there to escape the sun, savor authentic Scottish food, and watch dancing exhibitions. Or, in some sections, stroll past tables covered with goods for sale.
This evening’s activities were more of a warm-up. The Games would close down just after eight and reopen in the morning with a full host of events. We’d end the weekend Sunday night with fireworks.
Dag had said little since we got here. Because I didn’t want his silence to mean anything, I made up excuses. He wasn’t feeling well. He had tons on his mind. He was tired. With the heightened excitement of the Games, plus organizing his parents’ party, he had to be worn out. On top of that, his job delivered solid physical labor on a regular basis.
“You all right?” I finally asked. We’d crossed the open grassy area, which had to be half the size of a football field, without a word spoken between us. I could only rationalize for so long.
He glanced my way before darting his gaze to the side. “Sure, why?”
Because there was nothing else I could do, I shoved off my unease. “You don’t seem like yourself tonight.”
“Sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” Stopping by the fence that would separate the crowd from the competitors tomorrow, he pulled me into his arms, holding me for a long time. His lips brushed my hair, and he leaned back to look down at me. The warmth in his eyes flushed through me. Tilting my chin, he kissed me, stroking his tongue across mine.
Trembling from his touch, I held his shoulders and eased closer to him. With my kiss, I showed him the feelings I kept trapped inside, too frightened to shout them out to the world.
I loved him.
When we separated, I dropped my hands down to grab his. “Want to sneak away after the meeting?”
“Where?” He chuckled as he took in the people rushing around us. “There’ll be thousands here in minutes.”
This wasn’t the creative man I’d come to know over the past few weeks, but he had said he was tired. “There has to be somewhere.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “You find the location, and I’ll be there.”
“Deal.” I laid my head on his chest and soaked in his heartbeat.
We went to central command, where Esteban reviewed the final details for the Games, then clapped his hands. “Okay, everyone, that should wrap things up for now. In ten minutes, the gates will open. The event this community has anticipated for months will be underway. All in support of the Sweetwater Cancer Foundation. I can’t begin to tell you how honored I am to be a part of it.”
Excitement threatened to explode through my skin. I wanted to jump to my feet. Dance in wild circles. Kiss Dag and thank him for everything he’d done to help make this happen.
Esteban’s fist shot into the air. “Let the Games begin!”
Everyone stood and slapped each other on the back. Emerging from the tent, I made sure my phone was set at the highest volume.
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening,” I said to Dag, looking around with a huge grin on my face. Finally, we’d make some real money for the Foundation.
As we strolled across the park, the gates opened, and families strolled around us. In the section dedicated to rides, the Ferris wheel turned, luring people in with a perky tune. Huge cups and saucers spun. An octopus ride flung its tentacled limbs into the air.
Twinkle lights had been strung around the park, and,
with night falling, they added to the festive atmosphere.
Kids laughed and rushed from one activity to another, eager parents following. At this rate, our tally would bring us close to the one-hundred-thousand-dollar mark I hoped to raise for the Foundation.
Fate would either deliver, or it wouldn’t, but at least I knew I’d tried.
“We have nothing left to do,” I said, my shoulders unexpectedly slumping. After spending months helping prepare for this single weekend, how could I feel wound-up and empty, all at the same time?
“Nothing to do?” He kissed me, lending me his fire. “There are always things we can do, sweetheart.”
“I’m listening.”
“Later.” Another kiss. “Because first, my lass, we need to check out the rides.”
He dragged me toward the cups and saucers.
* * *
Saturday dawned bright and sunny, without a single cloud in the sky. Perfect for the Highland Games.
When I arrived at the park, I met with the volunteer group to discuss how they’d handle any issues that might come up. I gave out assignments and t-shirts donated by local silkscreen artists—dark green with a tartan plaid across the front and Highland Games in scrolling letters in the center.
King Malcolm III of Scotland held the first Games. The practice evolved into clan chieftains hosting competitions to choose the strongest to send into battle or serve as bodyguards. But not all the Games involved swordplay or fighting. Music and dance had been just as important, especially for amusement during the long winter months.
The gaily colored tents flapped in the wind. Vendors had set up their wares on tables underneath, selling food, Scottish clothing, and traditional weapons. At one booth, people could do name searches to determine if they had Scottish ancestry or sign up to become an honorary member of a clan. And multiple stages would host traditional Scottish dancing later in the day.
The events opened with a parade. Twelve pipe bands would play, and I expected the haunting melody of Scotland the Brave would bring some of the audience to their knees.
Dressed in our Celtic costumes and tartans, Dag and I took our place in the middle of the pack. The bagpipes keened, and we moved forward behind them, marching around the field to the cheers of the crowd. Afterward, we congregated back where we’d started.
