by Camille Eide
She leaned against the Jeep and, with a deep breath, punched the dial button.
Several rings, a click, a mechanical greeting.
Emily cleared her throat and forced a respectful smile that would hopefully come across in her voice. “Hi, Dad. Just calling to check in. I guess you’re not stuck at home grading papers. Hope that means you’re out doing something fun.”
Something besides the tavern.
She bent a jean-clad knee and rested a boot on the door. “My job is going really well. Juniper Ranch is awesome. I love helping the kids build confidence and skills they’ll need to succeed later on their own. It feels good to be a part of that.” She closed her eyes.
Her dad used to be happy. Before her mom died. Before both their worlds went spinning blindly off course.
Aiming for more cheer than she felt, she said, “Aunt Grace is still improving. The doc thinks her recovery is amazing. He said the extra therapy we’re doing at home is making a huge difference.”
A vehicle approached, the cloud of dust stirred in its wake growing closer gradually, as though the car were moving slowly, uncertainly. Which was not unusual. People often got lost and wound up at Juniper Ranch only to be redirected back to the highway.
Emily brightened her smile. “Well, Dad, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon.” She gathered her nerve with another deep breath. “Love you.”
A Honda Civic came into view. The little hatchback slowed to a crawl as it passed her and then stopped.
She punched the call off and stuffed the phone in her pocket.
A tall, dark-haired man unfolded himself from the car. He looked at her, then up at the main house, then back at her.
“Hi. Can I help you?” Emily pushed off from the Jeep.
The man approached with long strides. Tall, broad-shouldered, lean. Comfy, worn jeans and an untucked, button-down shirt. As he came near, the questioning look in his dark eyes startled her.
For a second, she forgot to breathe.
Oh. My. Goodness.
“I hope so,” he said. “I’m looking for Grace Clark or Emily Chapman.”
His voice sent a shockwave through her. It may have been the rumbling depth, but more likely, it was the Scottish accent. Stronger than Aunt Grace’s, but similar. A tingle ran along her nerves.
“I went to their home, but no one was there. The postal clerk said to try here.”
Pulse racing, her thoughts whirled. Who was he? What did he want with her and Grace? And why couldn’t she tear her gaze from those intense brown eyes?
A slight frown creased his brow. “Do you know where I can find them?”
“Yes.” Emily lifted her chin and offered a polite smile. “I’m Emily.”
Ian stared at the young woman with the warm smile and sun-spangled hair who stood waiting patiently for him to say something.
There had to be some mistake. She couldn’t possibly be Emily.
His mind raced back to the letters. There were a number of things he had grown to appreciate about his American correspondent. A natural bond had developed between them. A bond that Ian had shared with a stout, tenderhearted spinster on the downhill side of middle-age.
Or so he’d thought.
A small gust of wind blew strands of hair across her face. She tucked them behind her ear.
Ian caught scent of that sweet, familiar fragrance. It took a moment, although it felt like an eternity, to find his voice. “You’re Emily?”
She nodded, her little, arched brows rising slightly. “And you are?”
“I’m ...” At a miserable loss. “Ian—Ian MacLean.” He held out a hand.
“Ian?” Emily’s eyes grew wide. “What a surprise!” She shook his hand, but a hint of confusion crossed her brow. She tilted her head and looked past him to his rented car. “Is she—I mean, is Maggie here too?”
“No, it’s just me. I’ve been in Portland this week. On business.”
“Oh, I see.” Relaxing with a light smile, she nodded. “So how did you like Portland?”
As he answered her questions about his trip, his mind worked frantically to reconcile the Emily he knew from the letters with this woman—this very lovely, young woman—who had apparently been his pen pal for the past two years.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Ian. Aunt Grace will be—” Her smile faded. “Um, actually ... she’s not here.”
“At the ranch?”
Emily shook her head. “I mean she’s gone. She went to the beach on a senior’s retreat. They won’t be back until Tuesday. When do you leave for Scotland?”
“Monday.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Frowning, she seemed to be considering how to proceed. “Aunt Grace will be really disappointed she missed you.”
Was that true? Or was this Emily’s graceful way of covering for a difficult, old woman? It didn’t matter. Either way, he needed to see his great-aunt. But while he tried to focus on finding the absent woman, he couldn’t stop staring at the one in front of him. Her hair was most definitely not white, but a rich amber brown that fell in soft, loose waves round her shoulders. Her eyes were the same color, and her mouth—
“We could try calling her,” Emily said.
He cleared his throat. “Actually, Emily ...” Her name suddenly sounded like a foreign word on his lips. “If you don’t mind, I need to see her. How far is it to the beach?”
Emily stared at him for several long seconds. “About a five-hour drive.”
“Five? That’s what they said about the trip here from Portland. Is everything in the States always so far then?”
She nodded. “For Central Oregon anyway. Pretty much everything’s a long drive for us, unless we’re going to Fort Rock or Paisley. Most people think we’re in the middle of—”
“Paisley?”
“Yeah. It’s about fifty miles from here. You’ve heard of it?”
“I grew up in Paisley, the one in Scotland. Near Glasgow. It’s about fifty miles from us as well.”
“Really? What a coincidence.” Her words were soft and polite, but a look of unease brewed in Emily’s dark eyes. She studied his face for a moment until her dainty eyebrows creased into a frown. “You’ve come a long way, so naturally you want to ... visit Aunt Grace.”
“Right.” Visit. And get some answers.
She examined him as though searching for something.
He shifted his focus beyond the silent, rocky terrain to the distant highway that snaked through a broad expanse of sagebrush-dotted land. “So if you would point me in the direction of the beach, I’ll just go—”
“No!”
“Sorry?”
“Um ... what I meant was ... I’m going there tomorrow. To hang out for the weekend. The seniors have an ocean-side lodge all to themselves and I’m sure there’s room for us—” Pink burst through her cheeks. “I mean, if you don’t mind tagging along.”
“So you’re going?”
“Yes.”
Ian scanned the valley again. Half a day’s drive there, a day with Grace, and another long drive back. With her. Emily was attractive. Most definitely. Which was, of course, irrelevant.
And the very last thing he needed.
He drew a deep breath of sage-scented air and exhaled. “Right, then. We can go together.”
“Good. Great.” Emily’s eyes said the idea was neither. “I was planning to leave early in the morning. Is that okay?”
“Aye.”
“I should warn you, they have lots of activities planned. I’m not sure how many chances you’ll get to see her.”
He nodded. One chance was all he needed.
CHAPTER FIVE
On her way home, Emily checked her rearview mirror. Ian’s rental car followed as she turned onto Juniper Valley highway.
She fought the urge to steal another glance. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a gorgeous guy before. And after all, this was good old Ian, her long-time pen pal. Her good old, long-time, gorgeous pen pal, who would be accompanyin
g her to the beach for the weekend.
No big deal. She could handle it. Even so, good thing he lived far away.
Emily sneaked another peek, although she didn’t need to—his face was already burned into her memory. His smile kindled a gentle warmth in his eyes and dimpled the laugh lines around his mouth. His pale gray shirt blazed a sharp contrast to his deep brown hair and eyes, and that hint of dark stubble covering his jaw.
He seemed unpretentious, which was no surprise. From what she already knew of him, he was a kind, witty, intelligent man.
And this kind, witty, gorgeous man with his deep Scottish brogue was going to get Aunt Grace all worked up about going home to Scotland.
Her pulse quickened as she pulled up to the house.
Ian parked beside her and got out. “Sure it’s no trouble? You weren’t expecting me for dinner.”
“Not at all, I insist. Come on in.” She led him up the steps. Maybe she should call Jaye to come over and join them—more people, less awkward. But an image of Jaye delighting Ian with her not-so-subtle charms nixed that idea.
Ian followed Emily into the house.
She grabbed a sticky note, jotted down the number of the local inn for him, and headed into the kitchen to start dinner. “You shouldn’t have any trouble getting a room. We don’t get many visitors in Juniper Valley.” She raised her voice so it would carry into the living room. “Sorry, if Aunt Grace were here, you wouldn’t have to ...” Frowning, Emily reached for the two plates in the dish drainer while fire rose in her cheeks. She set the plates on the counter and let her face cool. When she turned around, Ian was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching her.
“No problem, I understand.” He smiled. “Can I help with anything?”
Emily’s heart fluttered. She stuffed the plates in the cupboard. He smiles and you have heart failure. What is this, seventh grade? “No, but thanks. I’ve got some orange chicken, and I’m just adding rice. It’s a snap. Make yourself at home.”
He took a seat in the kitchen. As he tried to stuff his legs under the café table, the salt and pepper shakers wobbled and toppled over. He set them right, brushed escaped grains off the table, and winced at the floor where the salt and pepper had fallen. He folded his arms and leaned back, rattling the other chairs with his long legs.
Had a grown man ever tried to sit at the tiny table that she and Aunt Grace usually shared? “You know what? The living room might be a little more comfortable.”
“No, this is good. Perfect. I’ll probably fall asleep right here.”
Emily raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Sure, if you say so.” She bit back a smile, started the rice, then took out the chicken and orange sauce and put them on to heat.
Ian fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers. “Are you certain there’s nothing I can do to help?”
She faced him, fists on her hips. “All right. If you really want to help, you can make tea. If you know how.”
“If I know how?” He grabbed the table and steadied it as he stood. “For your information, Scots are born making tea. Blindfolded, one-handed, in our sleep.”
A slow smile tugged at her mouth. “Excellent.” She handed him the tea canister and pointed to the teakettle. “Here’s the stuff. I’ll get the blindfold.”
Ian took the kettle to the sink. He filled it with water, peeking over his shoulder.
She smirked.
He kept his face straight and slipped one hand behind his back.
She chuckled. “Don’t worry, I believe you. I’m sure neither of us would last two minutes with Maggie and Grace if we weren’t champion tea-makers.”
When the food was ready, Emily dished up two plates and arranged them on the table. “I hope this is okay. It’s nothing fancy.”
“Looks great.” He set the teapot in the center of the table and sniffed the food. “Smells fantastic.”
Emily bowed her head and asked the blessing, then reached for the teapot.
Ian took up a fork and dug into his food. “How often do you and Grace visit the city?”
“I go into Bend a couple of times a month, but not with Aunt Grace. She’s—” Emily clamped her lips and poured tea into Ian’s cup. Probably the less said to Ian about Aunt Grace, the better.
“Maggie doesn’t fancy the city either. Grace would feel right at home on the farm.”
“Farm?” Her hand jerked.
The teapot clanked against his cup and knocked it over, spewing hot liquid all over Ian’s plate and splattering his shirt. He shot to his feet and his chair flew back, whacking the cupboard.
Emily jumped from her seat. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. Did it burn you?” She yanked a towel from the oven door and thrust it at his stomach.
“I’m okay.”
“But—”
“No harm done.” He blotted at the wet spots on his shirt. “Don’t forget that I eat with a blind old woman every day.”
“But that was so klutzy of me. Are you sure you’re not—?” She winced at the splatter spots on his shirt and jeans, cheeks burning. “Let me ... get you a T-shirt or something.”
Ian laughed. “I’m fine, really. And wearing one of your T-shirts would do me far more harm than the tea did, trust me.” His face held no sign of irritation.
She relaxed a little. “Well, let me get you another plate at least.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
When they finished eating, Ian offered to help clean up. “I don’t like to boast, but I’m top at washing up too.”
“I’m sure you are. But I can just do it later.” She scraped her plate into the trash. “Sounds like you’re good at a lot of things. Maggie must be really grateful to have you living with her.”
He hacked out a laugh. “Oh, aye. She tells me every day.”
Straightening, Emily studied Ian, unsure how to read his tone. “Does she?”
He set the teacups in the sink, then turned, leaned against the counter, and folded his arms. “Well. Maybe not every day.”
“Ahh.” Emily set down her plate and smiled. This was the droll Ian she recognized from his letters. “Some people have unique ways of showing appreciation. I’m sure Maggie has hers.”
“Aye, I’m sure she does.” He shrugged. “She must.”
Cute and witty. Which is absolutely immaterial. She turned away and wiped her hands on a towel. Restless energy rattled her nerves. “Want to take a walk? It’s a long drive tomorrow.”
Wincing, he massaged his thighs. “I could use a stretch.”
“Great. Just let me change my shoes. I’ll be back in a sec.” Emily dashed to her bedroom, laced up her Nikes, and hunted for a clean hoodie.
When she returned to the front room, Ian stood near the bookcase, engrossed by the book in his hands. She started to speak, but the look on his face stopped her.
He glanced up and froze, jaw set like stone as though he’d just seen his worst enemy.
“Ian? What’s wrong?”
He shoved the book back onto the shelf. Frowning, he fumbled in his jeans pocket and tugged out a car key. “Sorry, it’s late. I need to go.” He headed for the door.
She darted a glance at the bookcase. “But what—”
“Thank you for dinner,” he said, already halfway outside. “I’ll be back in the morning.” And he drove off.
Mouth agape, she stared after him. A flurry of questions swirled through her mind. She went to the bookshelf and pulled out the book Ian had been holding.
Daniel’s Friends Face the Fire. Of all the Bible storybooks she kept in her library for teaching Sunday school, that one was her favorite. The amazing story of faith and courage, as well as the beautiful illustrations, always captivated both herself and the young students year after year.
So what was that all about? Why had Ian suddenly changed his mind about the walk? It didn’t make sense. But then, neither did his showing up in Juniper Valley without warning. Which brought up the question t
hat had been eating at her all evening: Exactly why did Ian want to meet with Aunt Grace?
Emily drew a deep breath, exhaled. Without those dark, probing eyes and that smile doing crazy things to her pulse, maybe she could think straight. Maggie wanted her sister to come to Scotland. She must have sent Ian to Juniper Valley to talk Aunt Grace into going. What did Ian hope to accomplish? He couldn’t be thinking of persuading his great-aunt to go back home with him now.
Or could he?
His aunt. Ian was a blood relative to Grace, and Emily was not. If Aunt Grace wanted to go to Scotland, he could take her.
I wish Ian MacLean had never come.
CHAPTER SIX
Ian was glad he had come.
On the western horizon, the white-capped Cascade Mountains stood majestic against the clear blue morning sky, promising a dazzling drive over the mountain pass and into the valley beyond. Since Emily had convinced him to leave his ridiculously small, hired car and ride in her Jeep, this drive promised to be less cramped than the one the day before, a definite advantage.
After an hour of driving, Emily started to get stiff and accepted his offer to drive.
He didn’t mind. The road ahead, lined with the tallest red-barked pines he’d ever seen, stretched out flat and straight for miles and didn’t require him to keep his eyes on it much. Another advantage.
“I can’t help wondering why you’re spending the weekend with Grace and her friends,” Ian said. Since you’re clearly not a doddering old spinster. “Sure it’s not because I needed to go?”
“No, really, I was already planning to go.” She leaned back against the seat. “I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to pull it off. But, thanks to you, I have a good excuse for being there now.”
“Pull what off?” What had he gotten himself into?
Emily sighed. “It’s just a little scheme. To keep an eye on her.”
Scheme? Maggie’s truck escapade sprang to mind and Ian stifled a groan. Brilliant. Aunt Grace was more like Maggie than he’d thought. Maybe worse.