Loving the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  Wiping her tears with her gown, Charlotte nodded. “Can you believe it? Two boyfriends, and both of them knocked me up.”

  “But how?”

  Charlotte blinked at her. “The usual way,” she said, her face turning bright red. She wiped at her tears again, and Sadie let out a frustrated breath.

  “I know how. What I mean is, weren’t you using something? You’re old enough this time to know about birth control. What did you and Daddy do all these years?”

  “Frank had a vasectomy just after Caroline was born,” Charlotte told her through a short round of hiccups. “In my entire life, I never used birth control. And I didn’t even stop to think this time. It just…it just happened,” she ended with another round of weeping, burying her face in her hands again.

  Sadie let her mother cry instead of asking if Callum hadn’t at least been bright enough to use something himself.

  Sadie stood up and decided her mother needed a cup of tea. Personally, she needed something a little stronger. It was as she was getting the brandy down from the top shelf of the cupboard that Sadie suddenly realized what all this meant.

  She was going to be a sister again.

  The bottle of brandy forgotten on the counter, Sadie ran back to her mother, pulled her up out of the chair, and hugged her fiercely.

  “We’re going to have a baby, Mom. I’m going to be a sister again.”

  Charlotte looked up, blinking in surprise. Slowly, and with the immense power of love behind it, she smiled the smile of a woman coming to terms with her condition.

  “You are, aren’t you? You’re going to be a sister again because I’m going to have a baby.”

  “This is wonderful, Mom,” Sadie whispered, as if she could keep their precious secret just between them, not even wanting the house to hear it. “You can marry Callum if you truly love him, but you can also raise this baby yourself. You know I’ll help you. No pressure. No history repeating itself. You’re not a scared girl of sixteen this time. You have me.”

  “Oh, sweetie. You have no idea how hard it was back then and the struggles we faced, what with your father trying to finish school and working at his family’s mill to support us.”

  Charlotte hugged her quickly and then moved to put the kettle on to boil before she placed the brandy back in the cupboard, taking down two teacups instead. She talked while she worked.

  “I do love Callum. I’ve known that for months now.” She turned and pointed a china cup at Sadie. “I wouldn’t have gone to bed with him if I didn’t,” she said firmly. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Sadie took a seat at the table, recognizing her mother’s need to be busy. She quickly nodded agreement as a dutiful daughter should.

  “It’s just that I don’t want to have to marry him,” Charlotte continued. “Your father loved me, Sadie. But I always felt that he could have gone on to greater things if he hadn’t had us to slow him down.”

  “Dad loved running the lumber mill,” Sadie quickly interjected. “And it never stopped him from pursuing his hobby of Maine history.”

  “He could have been a professor,” Charlotte countered, turning to take down the teapot.

  “He could have been,” Sadie agreed. “But that would have meant leaving these woods, and you and I both know that never would have happened.”

  Her mother turned to her again, her tear-swollen eyes hopeful. “Do you really think that’s true, Sadie? That I didn’t hold Frank back?”

  Unable to sit any longer, Sadie got up and went to her mother, taking the forgotten teapot from her hands and setting it on the counter with the cups. She took her mom by the shoulders and looked her square in the face.

  “Dad loved you, me, Caroline, and his life here. How can you doubt that?”

  Charlotte pushed the hair from her face with a trembling hand and let out a tired sigh. “I don’t. It’s just that I’m so confused right now. And scared. How am I going to tell Callum he’s fathered a child? The man’s forty-eight years old. He’ll practically be on Social Security before our kid even gets her driver’s license.”

  Sadie dismissed that worry with a chuckle. “I’ll teach her to drive if Callum can’t handle the stress. It’s okay, Mom. People are having children later in life now. You won’t be the only gray-haired lady at the PTA meetings.”

  “I’m going to have to tell him soon, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, you’ve got to tell him. But that does not mean you have to marry him.”

  It was Charlotte’s turn to laugh. “Of course I do, sweetie,” she said, patting Sadie’s cheek and then moving back to pour the boiling water into the teapot. “Callum MacKeage is one of those old-fashioned men. Once he knows I’m having a baby, he’ll probably drag me to the minister before I’ve even finished telling him.”

  Charlotte shot a grin over her shoulder that said she found that idea amusing. “If he doesn’t have a heart attack first. The poor man is so hung up on proprieties. That’s why he always parks his truck down the road instead of in my driveway, so people won’t know he’s visiting me so late,” she said, waving at the window facing the street. “And he tried hard not to show it, but he was mortified that you found us together tonight.” She winked at her daughter. “And naked, at that.”

  Sadie laughed. “Then he really would have keeled over if I’d arrived earlier and actually found you in bed together. And I would have, if Eric hadn’t shown up at camp.”

  “Eric actually ventured into the deep woods?” Charlotte asked, tongue in cheek.

  Everyone in Pine Creek knew that Eric Hellman hated the woods. And everyone thought it ironic that the man owned an outfitters store.

  “He only took a few steps on actual dirt,” Sadie assured her. “And he drove like the devil to get in and out as fast as he could.”

  “But why make the trip? He knows you come into town on the weekends.”

  “He found an old diary that belonged to a camp cook who knew Jedediah. And he couldn’t wait for me to see it.”

  “I tried calling you today,” Charlotte said, bringing the tray of tea to the table. She lifted one brow. “Did you forget to charge your cell phone again, or did you break another one?”

  “I—ah—I sort of lost this one,” Sadie admitted.

  Charlotte sighed into her tea on the pretense of cooling it off. She looked over the rim of her cup, and Sadie could see that her mother was trying very hard not to laugh.

  “Hey. It’s physical work that I do,” Sadie defended herself. “But the cell phone’s nothing. You should have seen Eric’s face when I told him I lost the GPS at the same time.” She suddenly sobered. “I lost Dad’s camera, too, Mom.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Charlotte quickly consoled, understanding what the loss meant to Sadie. She reached over and patted her hand. “You still have the one Frank gave you for your tenth birthday.”

  “But it’s not the same. And now I don’t dare use it. I don’t want to risk losing that one, too.”

  “Then I’ll buy you a new one,” Charlotte said, sitting up and smiling at her plan. “And you can have it fixed so it doesn’t make a noise when you use it.”

  “Then I’ll be worried about losing your gift.” Sadie blew into her own tea. “I’m better off just buying my own. That way, I won’t feel bad if something happens to it. I’m too damn sentimental.”

  “No, sweetie. You’re too damned absentminded,” her mother said, not unkindly. “You’re always so busy being curious about everything that you keep overlooking the details of life. And that’s why you need a husband.”

  Sadie didn’t respond to that half-truth; she might need to work on getting her act together, but she sure as heck didn’t need a husband to do it for her. So, instead of arguing the point, Sadie drank the soothing chamomile tea and basked in the warmth of her mother’s kitchen.

  Yes, this was why she had come home today. Charlotte’s mothering was a balm to her soul. Her mom was grounded in reality, always able to put things in the proper p
rospective for Sadie, always able to give Sadie the confidence she needed to continue moving forward despite the guilt she wore around her neck like a granite tombstone.

  It was her fault that Caroline and her father were dead. She had caused the fire that had killed Caroline and disabled her dad to the point that he had only lived five years, until he died from a weakened heart at the young age of forty-one.

  Frank Quill had returned to the burning house, and it had been Sadie, not the innocent Caroline, he had pulled from the flames.

  A preventable, senseless tragedy. And not once, ever, in the eight years since had her mother or father condemned Sadie for the loss of their younger daughter. In fact, they had both gone out of their way to convince her that they cherished the one child God had left them while they mourned the one they had lost.

  Sadie loved them both so much for that.

  And she loved her mom’s friendship now. Charlotte Quill always met whatever life gave her head-on, since finding herself pregnant at the age of sixteen, through the tragedy eight years ago, through her husband’s death three years ago, and now as she found herself pregnant yet again.

  Sadie only hoped that someday she could be half the woman Charlotte Quill was. Because she needed very much to be the sort of big sister this unborn child could look up to.

  Chapter Seven

  Sadie was out of bed and halfway down the hall before she realized she should have been feeling bare feet touching the hardwood floor. She stopped in the doorway of the bathroom and stared down at the bandages covering her feet. She wiggled her toes, then shifted her weight from one foot to the other, testing for pain.

  There was none. Not a twinge or even the memory of pain.

  Sadie sat on the edge of the tub and lifted one leg to her knee, quickly unwrapping the bandage and twisting the bottom of her foot toward her.

  Well, hell. There weren’t even any scars.

  She quickly unwrapped the other foot and examined it closely, stretching the skin and running a finger from her toes to her heel, looking for the tiny little cuts that should have been there.

  There wasn’t even any redness.

  Sadie dropped her foot to the floor and stared out at the empty hall. Cuts didn’t heal, much less disappear, in twenty-four hours. It wasn’t possible.

  And it sure as heck wasn’t magic.

  Sadie looked down and wiggled her toes again. If she hadn’t pulled the small pieces of glass from her feet herself, she would say that it had all been a dream—or a really good advertisement for the salve she had used.

  But it was not magic.

  She had to see that priest again. She had to sit him down and make him explain how rubbing some over-the-counter medicine onto his cane could heal her feet. And she also would insist that he explain why he wanted her to believe it was magic in the first place.

  “Sadie? What are you doing sitting on the tub and staring at nothing?” her mother asked, walking into the bathroom. She pointed at the floor. “And what are those?”

  Sadie grabbed the bandages and tossed them into the trash by the sink. “They’re just some padding to help prevent blisters on my feet,” she quickly lied. “I’ve got to get some new boots this weekend. Do you remember that Dad used to own a small handgun? Do you still have it?”

  Charlotte frowned at her. “A handgun? What’s that got to do with blisters?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that I remembered Dad always carried a gun whenever we hiked. And I was wondering if you’d kept it.”

  Her mother’s face wrinkled with worry. “Why?” she asked, sitting down on the closed toilet, facing Sadie. “Are you having trouble at the cabin? Has someone been bothering you out there?”

  Sadie shook her head. “No, Mom. Nothing like that. I just thought I should probably have some sort of protection with me.”

  “You can’t mean to carry a gun, Sadie. Frank only kept that for emergencies.”

  “And that’s all I want it for. What? You think I’m going to walk around with it strapped to my hip like a gunfighter? Mom, I’m miles from nowhere out there. I just want to know that I can take care of myself if a problem arises.”

  “But a gun, Sadie? Do you even know how they work?”

  “Now, that’s a sexist remark.”

  “You know what I mean. Gender has nothing to do with ignorance. You’re going to shoot yourself in the foot.”

  “Dad taught me to use a gun when I was twelve.” She grinned at her mother. “And he also made me promise never to tell you.”

  And she still shouldn’t have told her, judging by the scowl her mother gave her just then.

  “I don’t have it anymore,” Charlotte told her. “After Frank died, I gave it to Sheriff Watts to get rid of.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like guns.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes. “Mom, you’re living smack in the middle of hunting country. Every damn pickup in town has a gun in the back window.”

  “That’s different. Those are rifles, meant to put meat on every damn table in town,” she shot back, standing up and glaring at Sadie. “And if you don’t feel safe in the woods anymore, then maybe you should move home and forget about that stupid park.”

  Sadie also stood up, mostly from surprise at her mother’s outburst. “I thought you supported the wilderness park.”

  “Not if it means my daughter has to live in the woods like a hermit and carry a gun in order to feel safe.”

  Sadie blew out a frustrated breath and scrubbed her face with her hands. She pushed her hair behind her ears and forced herself to smile. “Well, jeez. If it bothers you so much, forget I even mentioned the gun. I am perfectly safe doing my job.”

  “But that’s just it, Sadie. It’s not just a job to you. That park has become an obsession. From the time Eric Hellman called you in Boston, you’ve become a driven woman. You left a perfectly good career and all but ran up here in less than a week. And just look at you,” she said, grabbing Sadie by the shoulders and pivoting her around to face the mirror. “You’ve lost weight.”

  “I’ve toned up,” Sadie countered, glaring at her mother in the mirror.

  “And you’re not taking care of yourself,” Charlotte continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Your hair hasn’t seen a pair of scissors in six months. You’re not using any sunscreen, and you have two hairy caterpillars for eyebrows.”

  “I’m going to the salon today.”

  Charlotte lifted Sadie’s left hand and turned the palm toward the mirror. “Look at that,” she said. “Calluses the size of quarters. Scratches. Bug bites. Broken nails.” Her mother examined the fingers on the hand she was holding. “Or are you chewing your nails again?”

  Sadie pulled free and stared into the mirror, unable to utter a word.

  Charlotte spun her around to face her. “You’re so obsessed with this park that you’re ignoring the details of life again. You’re not even thirty yet, and you’re already becoming one of those addlebrained old spinster cat ladies.”

  Sadie could only gape at her mother. “I date,” she snapped, pulling away.

  “You go through the motions,” Charlotte said fiercely, not backing down. She waved an angry hand in the air. “And you spend those dates systematically driving the poor guys away before they can even get to know you.”

  “Those poor guys are dorks. I gave three of them my cell phone number, and they never called.”

  “You gave them the number of a cell phone that is always broken.” Charlotte waved her hand again. “It’s those damn details, Sadie. You’ve got to start living in the present, not the past. And not in some future shrine to your father and sister. I want you to live in the now.”

  Deciding it was definitely time to end this conversation, Sadie moved forward and took her mother into a fierce embrace. “I will, Mom. I promise. Starting today.” She leaned back and smiled. “I’ll go to the salon, spiff myself up real pretty, and I’ll even buy a new outfit for our date tomorrow night.”
r />   Charlotte’s expression was skeptical.

  “And I promise,” Sadie said, placing a hand over her heart. “I’ll be the epitome of charm and grace for Morgan MacKeage.”

  Morgan MacKeage tightened the knot at his neck with a severe jerk, then tugged at the front of his silk tie with an impatient hand. He lifted his chin to free his throat and scowled at his reflection in the mirror.

  “Ya can’t mean to wear those braids in your hair tonight,” Callum said, walking up and looking pointedly at the small braids running down both sides of Morgan’s head.

  Morgan turned slightly and examined one of the braids. “And why not?” he asked, glaring back at Callum in the mirror.

  “Because men don’t wear braids in this time.” Callum snorted and tapped the back of Morgan’s head. “Nor do they wear their hair so long. You look like a heathen.”

  Morgan walked to the dresser and picked up a short leather strap. “I am a heathen,” he acknowledged. He pointed at Callum. “And I’ve agreed to go on this accursed date only because you nagged me into it. But it will be a cold day in hell before I cut my hair for a woman.”

  Callum raised both his hands in surrender. “I appreciate the favor you’re doing for me. And I’m not asking that you cut your hair. I’m just wishing you could be a bit more…well, more civilized. Just for tonight? Is that asking too much, Morgan, for you to dig out some of that charm you were once famous for?”

  Morgan pulled his hair to the back of his neck and tied it with the leather strap. He grinned at his cousin. Poor Callum had definitely been bitten by the domesticating bug—and she was named Charlotte Quill.

  “And what, pray tell, is wrong with Mercedes Quill, that she needs her mother to find her dates?” Morgan asked. “Does she have pointed ears? Or is she missing some teeth?” His grin turned into a scowl. “Dammit, she’d better not be five feet tall. I get a crick in my back dealing with short women.”