Angus

by Jo Jones

  “Aye, I ken.” Angus nodded. “I wish tae apologize tae the lady for taking one of her apples, and inquire what work I might do for recompense.”

  Grif’s eyebrows dipped into a V, seconds before he erupted into a full belly-laugh and pushed his way through the door, bathing them in the yeasty aroma of fresh, hot bread.

  “Beware, Lucy,” Grif said to the trim, curvaceous backside seemingly poking out of a large oven. “It appears we’ve an honorable gentleman on our hands.”

  “Good,” she replied, pulling a large, three-sectioned pan of steaming, golden-crusted bread from the oven. “An honorable gentleman wouldn’t have left his bread to burn.” She turned the loaves out onto a rack, laughter evident in her soft voice as she slathered the tops of each loaf with melted butter. “Perhaps I’ll give him your job,” she teased, turning to face the two of them. “If you can cook, sir, I might even—” She stopped mid-sentence when her gaze met Angus’.

  An odd sensation pooled in his belly. ’Twas as if he recognized her from a long-ago connection. Impossible, of course. He’d never seen her before. ’Twas more than just a few centuries with naught but the company of fellow warriors, that drew him to her. He wanted to explore what made this lass stand out from any others he’d known in his previous life.

  Her warm, dusky-brown eyes held his. Did she feel it too?

  Finally, Angus managed a short bow. “ ’Tis my pleasure tae meet ye, lass.”

  Her pretty mouth hung open a little before she recovered and came forward, hand outstretched. “Welcome, Mr….?”

  “This is Angus MacLaughlan. Of Clan MacLaughlan,” Grif added. “Angus, meet Lucy Barnes.”

  Angus enveloped her small hand in his large grip, holding it a bit too long before he remembered to release her. Long, thick, ebony curls, captured in a single tail at the back of her head, bounced with a life of their own at her slightest movement.

  He traced the heart-shape of her face with his gaze before returning to her wide, chestnut eyes, dark lashed, and slightly angled. But it was the barely-there dent in her chin that captured and held his attention. A few unruly locks of hair curled around her face, likely dampened from the steaming loaves.

  “I promised Angus breakfast,” Grif interjected, breaking the awkward silence.

  “Aye.” Angus finally agreed, loathe to leave the moment behind. “If ye’ve work for me, that is. For my meal and the apple.”

  Lucy blinked, pulled from her own obvious appraisal of Angus. “Apple?”

  “Yeah,” Grif tucked a toothpick into the corner of his mouth. “I caught the scoundrel eating one of your prize apples.” His lips flattened to a tight line, a mere slash in the stubble on his thin face.

  Lucy’s eyebrows rose sharply. “Horrors!” She slammed a fist on either side of her slim hips. “You’ll dispense the usual punishment, of course.”

  Grif shook his head in dismay. “I will. Best you leave, though, and let me see to it.” He moved across the kitchen to a wide work area, picked up a large, glistening knife and fingered the edge. “This should do it.”

  A jest, Angus mused, though neither of them showed the slightest bit of humor on their faces. He’d considered himself very adept at reading people, but despite their initial welcome, these two didn’t seem inclined to forgive his theft, regardless of his offer to work it off.

  Prize apples? Had Soni dropped him into some sort of exceptional orchard? He’d only had the one quick bite, unable to savor even that in his rush to defend himself. Had he known Grif would turn out harmless, he’d have no’ wasted the valuable fruit.

  Soni might have at least warned him.

  Grif turned his back on Angus and could be heard wielding the knife in quick, staccato cuts. On what, Angus couldna see, but the smell of sweet onions suddenly competed with the bread and whatever simmered in the pot Lucy had gone to stir. ’Twas the beefy broth he’d smelled earlier, if his long dormant senses could be trusted.

  “Sit there,” Lucy instructed, pointing to a stool against the wall. She softened the command with a teasing smile. “Just for the record, breakfast and the apple are on the house.”

  Angus shot a glance at Grif, then back at Lucy. “I thank ye for yer generosity, but I canna accept the breakfast unless I can work for trade.” When Lucy hesitated, he pressed forward. “I saw a stack of empty baskets in the orchard. I ken they’re waiting tae be filled?”

  “All right,” she conceded after a moment, her dark curls dancing as she nodded her head. “After breakfast, fill six of those baskets you saw. Grif will drive out with the trailer, later, to get them. Before they go into the cooler, they’ll need to be sorted and four boxes filled for a delivery this afternoon.”

  “Aye,” Angus replied, wishing for a way to draw out the conversation so she’d no’ disappear as Grif suggested. “ ’Tis agreed. Thank ye.”

  “By then you should be ready for the lunch that’s included in the trade.” Lucy held his gaze for a long second before turning away. “Grif, the beef stock is about ready if you want to start the minestrone. I’ll work on the chowder and prep the salad bar.”

  Angus watched as she turned away, conscious of how her clothing hugged her trim body. Though small, she appeared graceful, confident, perfect.

  “I’ll do all that,” Grif protested. “Do what you need to out front and leave my kitchen to me.”

  Lucy gave him a pointed look.

  “Fine,” Grif conceded, his deep voice vibrating with humor. “Leave your kitchen to me. We’re good here.”

  “Okay.” She struggled to suppress a smile. “I’ll be back in a bit to do the pies “Can I trust you not to bail on me again?”

  At Grif’s exaggerated shrug, Lucy’s gentle laugh followed her through double doors into another room.

  Her footsteps had barely faded when Grif rolled a small table on wheels in front of Angus. “Here you go, my friend. Pecan studded pancakes, and a meat-eater omelet, as promised.”

  The steaming pancakes sent a heavenly aroma into the air, but ’twas the eggs, bursting with sausage, bacon, onions and cheese that captured his attention. His mouth watered as he picked up a fork, eager to taste what his eyes had already devoured. “Thank ye. ’Tis a banquet.”

  But when Grif set a thick slab of still-warm bread in front of him, along with a small bowl of fresh butter, Angus was lost. He slathered the butter on a chunk and popped it into his mouth, savoring the combination of yeasty bread and sweet-cream butter, as the crunchy crust flaked on his tongue and mixed with the soft center.

  Heaven.

  He may have actually groaned out loud. He looked up to see if Grif had noticed.

  “As good as your mama’s?” Grif queried.

  ’Twas a jest, he knew, but it stabbed his heart just the same. Surprisingly, it was as good as his mother’s, or at least as good as a centuries old memory could compare. “Had it no’ been so long since I’ve tasted hers, I’d say ’twas from the same loaf.” He smiled and indulged in another blissful bite.

  From the other room, a light melodic sound filtered through the double doors. Lucy half-sang, half-hummed as she went about her work.

  Her voice, soothed him. Called to him. Mayhap he’d have to pilfer a few more apples to work off. Two days’ worth, anyway. But Soni would likely no’ appreciate his dallying wi’ a pretty lass when he’d been tasked to accomplish his heroic deed in such a limited time frame.

  He felt a sliver of annoyance. Soni should come now, show him the deed or take him away before this unusual attraction to Lucy became something more. Already he wished to know her better, spend more time with her, hold her close and taste—

  Och! Come then, Soni, Dinna tease and torture me further.

  He finished the bread and took a heavenly bite of eggs, scooped up another and wondered how he might convince an obviously confidant and capable lass to suddenly need an act of bravery.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lucy jerked as the pepper she poured, spilled over the top of the shaker
and scattered across the counter. “Good grief,” she muttered before a series of sneezes overtook her.

  It was childish to pretend she didn’t understand why she’d been so distracted for the last half hour. For years, she’d had countless homeless, vagrant, and down-on-their-luck people–even families–drift through her doors for a free meal, but none had captured her attention, or her imagination, like the Scot sitting in her kitchen right now.

  Something intangible, drew her to him. He had a strange aura of agelessness, despite his obvious youth and something other than his kilt and sexy accent set him apart from the rest. She was sure there was much more to him than his striking presence, more than broad shoulders and tightly contained strength beneath his unusually appealing period costume and quiet demeanor.

  Shaking her head, she silently chastised herself for her foolishness. What did it matter? He’d move on like all drifters do, and she’d still be here filling salt and pepper shakers and baking pies.

  She loved this place. This town. These people. This was home. But still…every now and then, she wondered what would happen if she allowed herself to dream.

  A glance at the wall clock kicked her heartbeat up a notch. Where had the time gone? She’d never make it through her to-do list before it was time to open.

  After cleaning up the pepper, she raced through prepping the mini condiment racks on the tables in her diner and resisted the urge to straighten a table of locally sourced honey in the retail area. Instead, she hurried through the double glass doors of the cooler and display room to make sure today’s orders were ready for pick-up and the long rows of fresh fruits and vegetables were stocked.

  She’d hated discontinuing delivery service to her long-time patrons, but Blake’s accident and subsequent refusal to help with even the light chores had left her short-handed. She had one sales clerk to cover the cooler sales and the gifts and antiques section, while she manned the restaurant, kept the pies coming and tried to manage the orchard.

  Already overworked, Grif almost single-handedly worked the kitchen. Thank God, he’d come into her life. She’d be lost without him.

  Her thoughts turned to the new drifter. Though he’d shown up much like Grif, they couldn’t be more different. Recalling her surprising, and embarrassing, reaction to the Scot, her face warmed despite the chilly temperature of the cooler.

  She wouldn’t mind if Angus stayed around for a while. There was something admirable about his sense of honor over a pilfered apple. Besides, he seemed a willing worker and two extra hands and a strong back, especially that tartan-draped one, would be a godsend in the sorely neglected orchard.

  Even if he was a distraction.

  Scanning the rows of gleaming fruit on her way to the stock room, she checked her orders and pulled out her small stash of fresh, white daisies. Putting her mother’s favorite flower on the tables each morning not only brightened up the farmhouse-style diner, it kept her mother’s memory close throughout the day.

  Not that she needed a reminder. Her mother’s influence was a constant thing in her life, giving her strength when things became difficult. But she’d never had to lean on her memory quite this hard. The orchard business was teetering, and her store was barely getting by. She’d pretty much failed her brother, who needed her now more than ever, despite his declarations to the contrary. No matter how hard she worked, how much she coaxed Blake to move forward, to get past the past, he was so immersed in his misery, she felt powerless to motivate him.

  All that aside, he still needed a roof over his head and food in his belly, and if she didn’t get moving, she’d be unable to provide either.

  She headed for the kitchen with barely enough time to get the daily pies baked for today’s lunch crowd. The twelve pies for the festival’s pie-eating contest, and the special orders for six each of her signature applesauce and applesauce-custard pies, would have to be pushed to this evening. She’d be baking into the night.

  Somehow, she had to find time to drop off the weekly order at Ashton’s Community Caretakers on her way to the park to finish setting up the booth for tomorrow. Grif was buried with kitchen prep and there was no point in asking Blake. Maybe Angus could help. She could even hire on for a few days. She couldn’t afford anything long term, but even if he only stayed until the festival was over, it would make a big difference.

  ~ ~ ~

  The morning flew by. With tourists flocking in for the annual twin-town football game and festival, the diner and store had been packed with a frenzy of customers. Lucy had enjoyed a rare morning of excellent sales in what she called her trifecta. The diner, store and fruit-and-vegetable corner. She’d even sold a couple of antique pieces.

  Thank God, she breathed. One good revenue day wouldn’t save the business, but it would lift the cloud of doom a degree or two.

  “Quite a morning,” Grif grinned as he brought out more fresh pastries. “These folks do like a bit of sweet after their breakfast, don’t they?”

  “Isn’t it great?” Lucy replied, taking a second to scan the room. “The cooler needs restocking as well as several of the merchandise displays.”

  “I’ll see what I can do before the lunch crowd hits.”

  “No, Grif.” Lucy gave him her sternest look. “You’ve worked like a whirling dervish all morning, cooking and even helping bus tables. You’ve got enough on your hands. Besides, the lunch crowd will be arriving any minute and you’ll be back slaving over a hot stove again.”

  He laughed. “It’s been crazy, all right. I didn’t have time to do more than point Angus at the right tree, give him some quick direction on picking, sorting and boxing, and leave him to it.”

  “I’m grateful for whatever he gets done. And for whatever wayward wind blew him into our orchard this morning.” She started a fresh carafe of coffee. “What’s your take on him?”

  Grif lifted a bin of dirty dishes from under the counter and shrugged. “The man’s got some secrets, but don’t we all? I get the feeling he’s been through some tough times. I guess my answer is, I like him so far.” He gave Lucy a quizzical look. “What about you?”

  It was Lucy’s turn to shrug. “I like him, too. So far.”

  Grif raised an eyebrow. “I thought so. But don’t forget he’s a drifter. Here today, gone tomorrow.”

  “No need to worry.” She patted Grif’s shoulder and grinned. “Some of you don’t turn out half bad.”

  He grunted and headed back to the kitchen.

  A young couple approached the counter and she shoved thoughts of Angus aside as she smiled and welcomed them.

  Business first and then…business last.

  ~ ~ ~

  Angus stepped out of the cooler, stretched and peered at the sun to gage the time. The orb had reached its zenith while he’d picked, sorted and packed the boxes of apples Lucy’d requested. Hoping he’d met her expectations, he grinned, imagining how she’d tell him, if he hadn’t, with her pretty, expressive face and her bobbing hair. ’Twould be worth a sassy lecture, just to watch her. Though he’d wager she’d no’ lecture him a’tall, but give him one of her dazzling smiles and set him about the task once more, likely with the promise of another meal.

  He stepped into the kitchen, hoping for a glimpse of her, but it was Grif who greeted him with a jerk of his chin as he skillfully slid a steaming mound of meat, onions and melted cheese from his grill onto an open bun and ladled thick soup into a paper bowl.

  “Perfect timing.” Grif snapped a lid onto the bowl. “I’m swamped with lunch orders. Can you run this sandwich back to Blake?” He jerked his head in the direction of the house he’d pointed out earlier, as he put the bowl and sandwich into a bag, folded the top and handed it to Angus. “The side door will be open. Don’t bother knocking. Just go in. You’ll likely find him in the family room, drowning his sorrows in pilfered beer and the boob-tube.”

  “Aye,” Angus nodded, putting a hand beneath the sack to steady it. “ ’Twould be my pleasure.” He wanted to ask what a boob-t
ube might be, but he refrained.

  Lucy burst through the double doors and grabbed two plates of steaming food from a tall counter. “I need a chicken fried, and two Phillys, one with salad, one with chowder.” She tossed a grin at Angus as she backed through the doors with both hands loaded. “Apples all set?”

  “Aye,” he answered, but the doors were already swinging closed in her wake.

  “Come back when you’re done,” Grif said turning back to his work, “and I’ll fix you some lunch.”

  Angus closed the door to the sounds of Grif’s knife busily slicing and dicing and the sizzle of something new hitting his grill.

  As he approached the old farmhouse, traffic sounds faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peacefulness that drew him toward the spacious front porch. The circle of old trees, standing as stalwart as sentries, shaded the structure and gave it a sense of belonging and endurance. ’Twas the kind of forever place a man would be proud to come home to. Such a treasure was no’ in the stars for him, but he found comfort knowing it belonged to Lucy.

  He felt a vibration, whether from the ground or the air, he wasna sure. As he got closer, the swelling sound of screeching, banging and whining, thumped rhythmically from the house. He couldna ken the source of such a racket! All his senses went on alert as he cursed the lack of a single weapon, concerned the lad inside may be in harm’s way. Later he would bargain for one of Grif’s knives, but that wouldna help him, nae the lad, right now.

  Angus found the side door Grif mentioned and slipped inside as quietly as possible. The effort was pointless. Had he been a fiery dragon of lore, he couldna make enough noise to be heard in this din.

  Following the sound, he turned a corner, went through an open doorway and spied a slim, lanky lad slashing wide, angry brushstrokes across a canvas in time to the deafening beat. Red lines overlapped but could not annihilate the black ones beneath. The boy gripped the brush with his right hand, dripping and spattering red paint onto the floor like a freshly opened wound. He’d tucked his left arm close to his body, his hand curled and pressed into his belly as if trying to crush a pain within. The loose gold-colored band he wore, twisted oddly over the back of his wrist.