The Highlander Next Door

by Janet Chapman

  Mentioning Matt and Winter’s five-year-old sprite, who absolutely adored Shep, might have been playing dirty, but it obviously did the trick, and the dog shot off down the road in the direction of the beach. Niall entered the Drunken Moose and ordered a couple of the premade breakfast sandwiches, three cinnamon buns, and a large coffee to go. He then paid the waitress, carefully arranged the food and coffee in the box, and was just starting out the door when Vanetta called his name and rushed over.

  “Logan Kent didn’t come in again this morning,” she said without preamble. “Yesterday was the first day he’s missed in the last couple of weeks, and I’m worried he might be sick again. Not from my cooking,” she drawled. “More likely his own.” But then she sobered. “I called his house twice yesterday and again this morning, but he never picked up, and the Kents apparently don’t have an answering machine.”

  “I’m going to Turtleback this morning, so I’ll stop and check on him.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Vanetta glanced over her shoulder when a man setting plates of food on the kitchen pass-through called her name, then started backing away and shaking her head. “I don’t know why Logan doesn’t just buy Noreen a new stove. He knows they need one, so what’s he waiting for?”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for Mur’s sneaky little Special Delivery Fairy to drop one off one of these nights,” Niall said, using his back to push through the door as Vanetta rushed off with a laugh. He turned onto the sidewalk to find Titus just about to enter the restaurant—the magic-maker apparently not knowing how to run a cookstove to make his own breakfast, as his wife had suggested he do to replace the one Shep had eaten.

  “There was something I forgot to mention this morning,” Titus said, stepping away from the door and starting down the sidewalk. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just walk with you and see your new police station. So, Chief,” he went on when Niall fell into step beside him, “I hear you’ve managed to tame the mob of zealots protesting the colony.”

  “I read up on the state laws and explained they’re free to protest all they want as long as they don’t interfere with traffic, trespass on private property, or physically stop anyone from going in or out of the colony. I also told them that if I get complaints they’re trying to stop vehicles to give people their message, I’ll write them citations.” He sighed as they turned down the lane. “They’re all quick to point out their right of free speech allows them to protest, but they seem to forget the colonists have rights, too, including freedom to worship the devil himself if they wish.”

  “Narrow-mindedness is also a timeless and worldwide affliction, I’m afraid,” Titus murmured. “Anyway, Niall, I hope we don’t end up adding to the problem by giving your protesters another target when my Atlantean holdouts arrive in a couple of weeks.”

  “They’re coming here?” Niall asked as they walked up onto the station porch.

  Titus turned to him and shrugged. “They claim they’re simply not prepared to face the real world in any century, so Maximilian has agreed to let them set up their own colony of sorts here. Many islands were part of the large track of timberland my son purchased on the eastern side of Bottomless four years ago,” he said, gesturing at the fairly large island sitting some five miles offshore, “and we felt that island in particular is both isolated enough for them to be comfortable yet close enough to interact with the townspeople and acclimate to modern society at their own pace. And who knows? Maybe they’ll even start contributing.” He grinned. “I think you might find that most modern problems would benefit from an ancient perspective, which oftentimes could make all the difference between success and failure.”

  Not really surprised that he wasn’t exactly sure what point the magic-maker was trying to make, Niall merely grinned back and shook his head. “I don’t think we need to worry about the protesters bothering your people, unless they start renting Ezra’s boats.”

  “Or they set up a new staging ground right here in the middle of town,” Titus said, opening the door and walking into the station.

  Niall gave a sigh as he followed, hoping the theurgist was only speculating and not speaking from knowledge he’d gained on a recent visit to the Trees of Life.

  • • •

  Niall turned down Logan Kent’s driveway and immediately noticed two things, the first being the new mailbox made of thin strips of wood and fashioned to look like the old beehives traditionally woven from sea grass sitting on a perfectly straight, sturdy post where the dented and rusty old metal mailbox had once stood—or rather, had leaned. The second thing was that all the potholes in the quarter-mile gravel driveway had been graded smooth and the overgrown branches that had scraped his truck on his last visit had been cut away. All of which were nothing compared to what Niall found when the house came into view and he saw the roof was in the process of being reshingled, the steps and porch decking had been repaired and painted, and the ugly plastic banking that had been wrapped around the foundation on his previous visit was gone.

  There was no way Logan Kent could have done all of this all by himself in the two weeks since Niall had been here. The flagpole had been painted and straightened. The garden was tilled and already planted, he noticed as he continued looking around. There was a new clothesline in the side yard, the light color of freshly peeled cedar indicating it was only a few days old, and last year’s growth of dead grass and brush in the two-acre clearing surrounding the house had been mowed.

  Hell, the Special Delivery Fairy must have decided to gift Logan with a small army of elves instead of a new cookstove, because there was no way an arthritic, recently sick, seventy-something man could have done all this work.

  Logan came walking out of a fairly large shed brushing sawdust off his shirt, spotted Niall still sitting slack-jawed in his truck, and walked over sporting a huge smile. “The saw was running so I didn’t hear you drive in,” he said when Niall’s wits returned enough for him to finally get out of the truck. “What brings you out this way today, Chief MacKeage?”

  “Actually, you, Mr. Kent. Vanetta was worried that you had suddenly stopped eating, since you weren’t in yesterday or this morning.”

  “I got wrapped up in a project I’m working on and didn’t want to take the time to drive into town. Come on, I’ll show you,” he said, gesturing for Niall to follow as he headed back to the shed. “I’ve been setting up a saw jig so I can mass-produce beehives.”

  “Like the one out at the road?” Niall asked, stepping into a well-tooled wood shop.

  “Naw; that was just a fun little thing I made from scrap wood. These here,” Logan said, lifting a large square of wood off a wooden frame, “are real working hives. After I make several for myself, I’m gonna start selling them on the Internet. Only I’ll send them out as kits people will have to assemble so it’ll save on shipping costs.”

  Niall looked around the shop in amazement. “How many hives are ye planning to keep for yourself?” he asked, seeing three fully assembled hives lined up against the back wall, each on a handmade wooden platform with legs, making their total height between four and five feet tall.

  “Silas suggested I start out with just five my first year to see how things go.”

  Niall brought his attention back to Logan. “Silas?” he repeated.

  Logan nodded. “Silas French. He’s been helping me out around here the last couple of days.” He lifted the hive frame he was still holding. “It was his idea I start a beekeeping business. He said that five hives will give me a good crop of honey that I can sell at a pretty good profit right off this first year. And there’ll be even better profits the following years, since I should make more than enough to pay off my equipment investment in the first two years while still having money left over to spend.”

  “Is Mr. French a friend?”

  “Naw, he’s just traveling through. I was down in Turtleback visiting one of my old logging buddies a couple a day
s ago, and on my way home I come across this younger fella wearing a large backpack walking up the road just outside of town.” Logan gave an arthritic shrug. “He didn’t look like a tourist, so I figured he might be heading to that colony down the road from here, and thought I might as well give him a ride since I was going right by it. Turns out he’s just a guy who enjoys traveling around looking to work for room and board. You know, like a hobo.” He grinned. “He asked me if I had any stuff I needed done, and I thought, why not—figuring, how much can one man eat?”

  “He couldn’t have accomplished all the work I’ve seen here in only a couple of days,” Niall said, undecided if he was amazed or frightened by Logan’s trusting nature.

  “Naw, I did most of it over the two weeks since you been here, because . . .” His cheeks darkened as he set the hive frame back on the workbench. “Since I didn’t have nothing else to do.” He turned to Niall and grinned again. “Silas said that if I got some shingles he’d redo my roof, which he just started yesterday. And he dug the posthole for the mailbox and rigged up a pretty neat box grader we filled with rocks that I can haul behind my pickup to grade the driveway. And the man cooks a mean steak on a barbecue grill, so I figure for what it was costing me to eat at the Moose, I can feed the both of us. That means I’m getting work done for practically free.”

  Niall walked out into the yard and looked around. “Where’s Mr. French now?”

  “I don’t rightly know at the moment. He’s got a habit of suddenly stopping what he’s doing and going for a walk in the woods. He says it clears his mind and feeds his soul. Chief MacKeage,” Logan said, moving around to face him, “I know you might think I’m crazy to take in a complete stranger, what with all the weirdos and serial killers running around these days, but Silas ain’t like that. Within ten minutes of talking to the man, I realized he’s just a free spirit. He’s educated, too, and knows all sorts of stuff about nature. And he’s not only good with tools, he’s good at building them—like the grader we made for my driveway. And he understands business, especially what he calls cottage industries, that one person or a family can do to earn their living.”

  He grinned again, waving at the shed. “Like the bees. I can earn money from beekeeping almost right up until the day I die, because Silas explained it’s more about keeping a close eye on things than a lot of hard physical labor. He said when I taste that first spoonful of honey out of my own hive, I’m gonna think there ain’t nothing sweeter on earth.”

  He stepped closer, his cheeks darkening again. “And Silas said selling honey and beeswax and building and shipping out hive kits was a perfect business for a husband and wife to do together, so I’m getting everything all set up so I can surprise Noreen. She uses honey in a lot of her baking.”

  Niall looked around at all the work Logan had been doing to his homestead in the last two weeks and realized that except for the roof, it was all mostly aesthetic—a lot of little things that would give a woman pleasure to look at and have pride in when family and neighbors came calling.

  Things that would make a wife want to come home.

  “Have you seen Noreen?” Logan asked, as if reading Niall’s thoughts. “You live right next door to that shelter she’s staying at, don’t you?”

  “Aye. And I do see her just about every day, but only in passing.”

  “How’s she seem, then? I mean, does she look to you like she’s eating good and getting plenty of sleep and all? Norrie gets to working so hard sometimes that she forgets to eat, even when she’s up to her elbows in food. And then she gets herself overtired and has trouble falling asleep at night. Oh, Lord, where’s my manners?” he said, suddenly stiffening. “Norrie would take a strip out of my hide for not inviting you in for a cup of coffee.”

  Niall started to say he needed to be going, but decided to stick around and see if Silas French didn’t return from his walk soon, as he’d like to meet the man. He just hoped Logan could at least run a coffeemaker. “Thank ye, I’d love a cup,” he said, going to his truck and grabbing the box of cinnamon buns. “And since ye didn’t come in town this morning, I thought I might bring the Drunken Moose to you.”

  Chapter Ten

  It was early afternoon before Niall made it back to Spellbound Falls, never having made it to Turtleback because he’d spent the morning at the Kent homestead waiting for Silas French to return—which he never did. Niall strode down the lane, deciding to check out the company Logan was going to buy his beekeeping equipment from. He now had a picture in his phone of the catalog’s back cover Logan had brought out to show him the honey extractor and protective clothing he intended to order this week.

  Alarmed to see his station door open when he reached the bottom of the lane, Niall scaled the stairs and strode inside to find two men holding one of the desks several feet off the floor. “Oh, Niall!” Hazel Callahan said in surprise, abandoning her project to rush over to him. “I thought you were spending the day in Turtleback Station.”

  Niall glanced briefly at the men still holding the desk, noting their expressions had gone from resigned to guarded upon hearing his name, then looked down at the excited woman in front of him. “What are ye doing here, Hazel?”

  She also glanced at the men, then took hold of his arm and led him out onto the porch. “I talked Sam into unlocking the station so I could start . . . ah . . . well, I’m getting your office organized,” she whispered to his chest, her cheeks flushing as she finally looked up with a sheepish smile. “When Birch and I ran into Peg at the bake sale this morning, she mentioned you needed a secretary, so I decided . . . I thought you might . . .” Hazel threw back her shoulders on a deep breath. “I want the job.”

  “I don’t have a secretary’s salary in my budget yet.”

  Her smiled turned brilliant. “That’s perfect, because I don’t want to be paid.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t need a salary.” She clasped the front of his jacket and leaned closer, actually standing on her tiptoes. “I already have more money than I know what to do with, Niall. Only you can’t tell Birch I told you, okay?” She dropped to her heels and went back to smiling. “What I don’t have is a reason to get out of bed every morning.”

  “Have you discussed this with Birch?”

  Hazel nodded. “On our walk home from the bake sale.”

  “And she agreed?” Niall asked, putting just enough edge in his voice to let her know he was expecting a truthful answer.

  Hazel nodded even more emphatically. “Birch understands how important it is for me to feel needed.” A twinkle came into her eyes. “Especially after I pointed out that she can’t just drag me off to the middle of nowhere, then expect me to sit at the shelter reading romance novels all day.” She turned serious. “You don’t have to worry that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve helped establish several large charitable organizations, so I’m quite skilled at running an office, dealing with people, and managing budgets.” The twinkle returned, making Niall realize he was gaping. “And if you don’t mind my bragging, I was the most sought-after fund-raiser in Montreal, which means I’m also very good at getting people to part with their money.” She took another deep breath and went back to staring at his chest. “Please let me be your secretary.”

  “Done,” he whispered so he wouldn’t shout. “On the condition you deal with the town councils,” he added, taking hold of her arm and ushering her back inside before she changed her mind. “Assuming you’re the gentlemen Sam sent me,” he said to the men now leaning against the desk, their feet crossed at the ankles and their arms folded over their chests, “I’m Niall MacKeage, and I believe you’ve already met my secretary, Hazel Callahan.”

  Both men said nothing; the dark-skinned gentleman appearing slightly bored and the blond-haired gentleman studying him with emotionless blue eyes—that is, until Shep came racing through the open door and the blond straightened to his feet.

/>   “What the—Sam never said anything about a K-9 on the force. I don’t like dogs.”

  “You’ll like Shep,” Niall said quietly.

  The other man also straightened. “The dog’s name is Shep?”

  Niall merely nodded.

  “My name is Shep.”

  “Then I suggest you change it.”

  The man pointed at the K-9 in question, who was ignoring everyone in favor of letting Hazel admire his vest. “Why can’t you change his name?”

  “Because I hired him first. So you might want to pick another name if ye don’t want me picking one for you.”

  Jayme Sheppard went back to leaning against the desk with his arms folded in front of him again, his sharp brown eyes no longer appearing bored as he cracked a small grin. “I’ll answer to Jake.”

  Niall looked at Cole. “I thank ye for your interest in the job, Mr. Wyatt. Hazel will write you a check for a plane ticket home.”

  That put some emotion in those eyes. “You’re firing me? Just because I don’t like dogs?”

  “Nay. I’m firing you because I don’t like men who don’t like dogs.” Niall crossed his own arms over his chest. “You want the job, I’ll give ye two days to decide if you can work with Shep—on the condition he’s willing to work with you.”

  “You’re leaving the decision up to a dog? His brain is the size of a baseball.”

  “Yet he appears smarter than you,” Jake muttered. “Get with the program, you moron, or I’m going to fire you.”

  “Hazel,” Niall said, stepping in front of her. “I know it’s not part of your job and I promise not to make it a habit, but would ye mind going to the Drunken Moose and getting me a sandwich? I missed lunch.”

  He almost laughed, she looked so disappointed. But apparently also astute, she gave him a wink and headed for the door. “Do you like ham?”