by L. L. Muir
He reached across the table’s surface and collected her hands in his once again. There was no paint nor polish. Like the rest of her, there was nothing artificial there. A simple ring she wore on her right hand that bore a single pink stone. Around her neck hung a black string of leather with a small silver heart that drew his attention to the still-blushing glow of her throat.
Her shaking hands calmed. Her chin lifted. “You’re from the Simplot Brothers, aren’t you? They sent you to find out if I’ll be able to make the balloon payment, didn’t they?”
He shook his head quickly. “Ye worry for naught, lass. After I happened upon ye this mornin’, I knew I should remain because… I recognized ye.”
“What?” She tried to pull her hands away, but he held them firmly. “From where? I’ve never seen you before.”
“From a dream I dreampt, not long ago.”
She lowered her head…not unlike an animal preparing to charge. “A dream.”
He grimaced and waggled his head from side to side. “Weeel… A waking dream, more like.”
“A waking dream.” She seemed no more impressed.
He huffed out his breath. “Have pity, lass. It is not an easy thing to explain. Long ago, I had visions a’ plenty. These days, they are few, but not a one of them have proven false—”
“So now you’re a fortune teller? A Scottish dish-washing fortune teller with no luggage…” Two cars emerged from under the overpass and drew their attention. They turned into the parking lot as she pulled her hands away and stood. “We’ll have to continue this conversation later, Mr. Robertson. For now, you’d better go grab something to eat and maybe get some fresh air. That is, if you still plan to stick around.”
“Please, lass. Even if ye think me daft, ye must call me Fin.”
She forced her lips into a tight smile. “Crazy I can handle, Fin. The question is—are you dangerous?”
He grinned and shook his head while he stood, then pushed his chair under the table. “Nay, lass. For the witch who sent me here neglected to send my weapons along.”
Reluctantly, she laughed in earnest. And though he had given her yet another reason to keep her distance, his conscience was slightly relieved for offering her the truth, even though she assumed he was jesting.
In the end, Angel Mott would come to care for him, for he’d already had a glimpse of it. And though he knew their paths were fated to diverge, what could it hurt to win her esteem in the meantime?
CHAPTER NINE
Angel couldn’t help chuckling. It was a clever comeback. But the way the Scotsman had broken eye contact made her worry—like maybe he only pretended to be joking.
Witches, weapons, and telling the future? He had to be kidding.
Out in the parking lot, a tall, gray-haired man helped his wife climb down out of the pickup, then kissed her cheek. A young couple got out of a small red car and held the hands of their little boy, swinging him into the air as they marched across the gravel, in no hurry at all. The older couple paused by the rattlesnake warning sign to take a selfie.
Waking dreams? Visions?
She sighed and opened the door for her customers, but behind her welcoming smile, her brain was churning. Yeah, if Fin was serious about knowing what was going to happen between them, he was nuts, plain and simple. But it was probably a good thing. She’d been so distracted by those knees, those eyes, that nearly-bare chest, she’d started to wish they’d met in her alternate life—the one she pretended she would have one day, the one with a husband and kids…and a driveway without rattlesnakes.
She’d be stupid to believe him. But she was suddenly impatient to get those folks seated and fed so she could go ask a crazy man just what he thought he’d seen in her future.
~ ~ ~
Rifling about in the ice box, Finlay found an apple, a long carrot, and a plate of cold chicken that seemed all forlorn and in need of eating. He put the first two in his sporran and gnawed on the chicken while he trudged out into the yard and up a wee trail to the left. He had no intention of returning to the lower forest beyond the car park, for that was the spot Soni had placed him, and he worried that returning to the location might invite her to take him back again. After all, he’d already been of help to the lass, and if washing dishes could be considered a noble deed, then he had performed his duty and was set to reap his rewards, both temporal and spiritual.
So he would avoid the wee clearing where he’d first seen the lass. Besides, he had yet to realize his vision, and Fate had already deemed that Angel Mott would be party to that unhappy event.
Well, unhappy for him, at least.
The footpath was well-used, for it was bare of grasses and growth. The moisture from the morning had long since dried and his boots stirred up a wee bit of dust as he climbed the gentle rise. Looking ahead, he caught sight of another building tucked up among the trees with a white SUV parked in front. It would be difficult to see from the car park. In addition, tall aspens and pines sheltered it from the road, even though he heard the intermittent rush of cars nearby.
A wide garage door filled the near end. A regular door was placed along the side. Exploring around the far end, he noted a second story that sported a wall of wide windows that would give an all-encompassing view of the wee glen with a burn running through the center, where he’d first spied Angel.
Though he’d never been inside the building, he knew the view well. He’d thought of it often, tried a hundred times to discern the details—whenever he recalled the vision that included the stubborn owner of Haggard’s Grill. Some of what would happen between them would occur on the inside of those windows. Thus, he could delay the inevitable by avoiding the place.
With Angel occupied elsewhere, however, it could do little harm to assuage his curiosity…
He tested the door. It gave not at all.
He strode around the building once more. A wee veranda was attached to the upper story. A squirrel took one look at him and leapt from the railing onto a heavy pine bough and unwittingly demonstrated how Fin could access the French door. The tree itself had been stripped of its lower branches, but the remnants thereof created a convenient ladder. He simply had to climb higher than the landing itself in order to leap over the bouncing bough—that never would have held him—and end on the balcony.
He landed with hardly a sound. The terrace was sturdy and gave no notice of his weight or the force with which he’d arrived upon it. Upon examining the construction beneath him and the door casing, Fin had to admire the craftsmanship of something meant for little more than a shelter for automobiles. But he feared it was intended for more than that.
Cupping his hands to his temples, he peered inside. It was just as he’d suspected. Someone was living in there, and he was certain that someone was Angel Mott, an unmarried and desirable woman who had no business living on her own on the mountain with a veritable ladder leading to her door!
And though he had no business stepping into her private quarters, he turned the handle, intending to do just that. He was both pleased and frustrated to find that it was locked and secure—well, as secure as a door of glass can be. Any determined intruder would think nothing of breaking through, and he would take his first opportunity to bring it to her attention. But for the moment, he was thwarted.
He climbed to the outside of the railing, grabbed the bars low, then swung off. With the ground a mere five feet away, he allowed himself to fall. Still obsessed with the idea of getting inside, he walked around the corner to check the garage door. It was secured as well. It was no use. Unless he asked for a key, which he would not do, he would have to wait to look out those windows until his vision was ready to unfold. And he was in no hurry to see that happen.
He considered walking farther up the trail, but the SUV caught his attention. How many times had he seen a garage door opened with the press of a button from inside a vehicle?
His feet hurried him to the side of the car, and though he hoped Angel was too intelligent to l
eave her lovely vehicle unlocked, he prayed she’d done just that. He held his breath and lifted the handle. It gave with a gentle click. Attached to the visor was a small silver clamp. On the other side was the contraption he sought.
A low hum signaled the opening of the garage door, and his heart leapt with anticipation. He simply needed to get in, take a good look, and get out again. None would be the wiser. And it could be accomplished before the lass stepped foot outside her restaurant.
CHAPTER TEN
The rear entrance opened and two familiar and extremely welcome people walked through to the kitchen where Angel was plating orders she’d cooked herself.
“Can this day get any better?” Angel greeted her wayward chef, Curt, with a big hug. “You just passing through, or are you here to work?”
The playboy winked and let go of her hips long after he should have. It was a Curt thing. He got through life that way, schmoosing anyone who needed schmoosing, giving them a little more attention that they expected, giving them what he believed they wanted. She wished she wasn’t so easy for him to read, but there wasn’t a lot she could do to fix that.
Cassie, one of her evening waitresses, pushed him out of the way and took a hug for herself. “When I found out he was back in town, I told him you were short today and asked if he wanted a ride up the hill.”
“My river rafting gig is over for the summer. Someone died—not on my watch, of course—and the cancellations came pouring in. So, if you need me…”
Angel wished she could turn him down, but they both knew he was her best chef, and she was lucky she didn’t have to wait until fall to get him back. “Yes, I need you. Cassie? Can you take these out to table six? Check on the others? I need to run up to the garage if you two can take over now.”
Cassie quickly washed her hands and got to work. Curt grabbed an apron and glanced at the rail, but the orders had all been filled. “Guess I’ll prep for the dinner rush.”
“Jordan will be thrilled. He’ll also be thrilled to have tomorrow off, if you are going to be around?”
“I’ll be here.”
“All day?”
“Great.”
“Good.” Angel slipped off her apron and stuffed it in the laundry bag. “I’ve got three others coming. With me and Fin, I think we’ll be covered so Sherry and Dante can have the day off too. We can look at the rest of the schedule tomorrow.” She headed for the back entrance.
“Uh, Mott?”
She paused and turned. “Yeah?”
“Who’s Fin?”
Her face heated instantly. “Sherry can tell you all about it. They’ve all got another half hour left. I’ll be back by then, too.”
Tossing her immediate responsibilities into someone else’s arms put a grin on her face. Not finding the Scotsman outside stole it away again. But she assured herself he wouldn’t leave without at least saying goodbye, so he was probably wandering around by the stream.
Jordan was sitting in his car with his music on. Dante was seated at the old picnic table, arms folded for a pillow. His eyes closed. She didn’t have the heart to bug him just to ask if he knew where their crazy dishwasher had gone, so she headed for the garage, hoping she might see him from the windows of her apartment.
Curt was back. Unless he found something more exciting to do with his summer, her life just got a little easier. Maybe now she’d have some quiet time to figure out how to make a lot of money, fast. She was sorry that someone had died on a rafting trip, but the fallout was an answer to her prayers.
Eventually, everyone she’d ever employed had discovered how isolated Haggard’s could be, and those who needed more excitement in their lives, like Curt, made other plans for the summer. When winter came again, and those thrill seekers needed to start saving for their next summer’s adventures, they knew she’d take them back. She had no choice. Too few were willing to come up from the city every day, drive down a winding canyon every night, and work like a dog for only a few dollars more than they could make in town.
But at least they came back.
Secretly, silently, she hoped that Finlay Robertson—crazy or not—would be bitten by the Haggard bug and come back some day, even if their lives were half a world apart.
~ ~ ~
Most people didn’t pay attention to such things, but since Angel spent every morning deciphering tracks in the dirt and mud, she immediately noticed footprints on the path that shouldn’t be there.
Large boot-prints.
So. She was alone in the woods with Finlay Robertson again. And though adrenaline poured into her bloodstream just as it had that morning, she wasn’t afraid like the last time. Still, the overload made her body shake enough to hear it in her breathing. It was like she was sixteen again and teeming with hormones.
Deep breath. Deep breath.
What now? Did she go on about her business, track down some clothes for him, and return to the restaurant? Or did she follow him up the hill like a fangirl? Maybe he’d noticed the signs for the spring and was looking for it. Maybe his idea of taking a break from work was to go for a hike. Either way, she ought to leave him alone—
When she neared the garage, however, it was clear she would be interrupting his lunch hour after all—since his tracks indicated he’d invaded her home. It appeared as though he’d walked around the place, but there was no question that a single set of boot-prints led straight under the closed garage door and never came out again.
“What the hell?” She marched over to the Jeep and checked the door. Still locked. “So how did he get in?”
Instead of using the garage door opener in the car, which would give her away, she fished out her keys and opened the side door. An idiotic angel on her shoulder suggested he might have used some sort of magic to get the big door to open, or maybe walked through the door itself, like a ghost. But Angel mentally flicked the stupid cupid into the dirt and left her there.
She stepped inside and closed the door silently behind her. It might not be wise to cut off her own escape, but she still felt like the Scot was no threat to her. Even if he were delusional, she’d seen enough of his work ethic and old-fashioned generosity to…trust him.
The realization was a surprise. She wasn’t the type of woman to trust quickly, or easily. It was a necessity when she lived alone on a mountainside with a variety of men streaming through her restaurant every day.
A more pessimistic angel popped up on her other shoulder to point out that she was offering her trust to a man who had just broken into her home. But she didn’t want to hear that either, so she imagined locking that nasty sucker in the red Coleman cooler next to the steps.
The only vehicles in the garage were the 4-wheeler and the Snow-cat she kept on hand for emergencies, and it was clear no one was hiding inside the latter. Fin had to be upstairs.
Thanks to Mott’s wood-working hobby, the well-built steps didn’t make a peep as she crept up to her apartment door. When the door handle made no sound, she realized how much safer she would be, in general, if things squeaked a little more. If someone could get past her locks, they could sneak inside at night and she wouldn’t hear a thing until it was too late!
The door opened into the middle of the kitchen. She stepped inside and held perfectly still, trying to figure out where the man was. She could hear nothing from the living room to her right. And her heart skipped and tripped when she realized he might have come inside to lie down. Maybe nodding off on a picnic table wasn’t his style.
She tried to remind herself he was in the wrong, here, but she regretted not offering him a key in the first place. After all, he was stranded there with no car… No luggage…
That pessimistic angel had escaped from the cooler and was jumping up and down on her shoulder again. Angel ignored it and headed for the bedroom, no longer worried about making noises and catching him off guard. But he wasn’t in the bedroom. The bathroom door stood open, the room dark and empty.
Maybe he’d already come and gone. In fact,
she’d convinced herself of it just as she stepped around the wall into the living room and found his large form standing in front of the center window, hands on hips, looking down on her mountain oasis. In the shadows, the red of his kilt looked more brown.
“I’m sorry,” she began, but she stopped speaking when he practically jumped out of his skin and held out his hands like he thought she was carrying the plague.
“Nay! Nay, lass. ‘Tis not yet time. We cannot be in here together! Forgive me, I must go!” He hurried to the side door that led out onto a small deck, probably thinking it was an exit, but he couldn’t open it due to a flip-lock she had installed along the top of the door. The way he struggled, one would think the room was on fire.
“You can’t get out that way.”
In his panic, he failed to notice the lock. He finally gave up, turned to face her, and held out his hand again, to keep her from coming too close. “Haud yer wheesht, lass. ‘Tis too soon for us to part ways, aye? And anything ye say might start it all in motion.” He eyed the kitchen opening and circled toward it.
To oblige him, she moved out of the way. “Wow. Are you stoned or something? ‘Cause I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He stopped and composed himself as if she’d insulted him, which she practically had. But she couldn’t very well take it back.
“I was referring to my vision, Angel. I had hoped to delay its fulfillment for as long as possible, aye?”
She shrugged and moved closer to the windows, hoping a little space would help keep him calm. “Maybe it’s not going to happen at all. Have you considered that? Maybe we’ve done something that changed whatever future you saw.”
He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Fate is fate, lass. Thus the name—Fate.”
She tried to hide her smile. “So, you’re saying you’re big on fatalism.”
He frowned and cocked his head to the side, staring beyond her. After a long minute, his gaze returned to her face. “That sounds rather disheartening, does it not? I must seem a downright curmudgeon.”