by kc dyer
7:15 pm, July 3
Nairn, Scotland
Morag is making noises about getting Wi-Fi at her farm. I am encouraging her in the direction of getting a computer, too, because the lightning moments in which I can actually post a blog here at the library and Tourist Center are getting fewer. But I believe I just have time to share a magical moment I had last night on the shores of Loch Ness.
Yes, that Loch Ness.
I found the perfect setting for a romantic picnic with my Highlander, and while I was waiting to him to arrive, a beautiful white stallion arose from the water. He had been swimming in the loch! He trotted out of the water and shook himself before running off.
Has anyone ever heard of a horse doing this? Swimming for the sheer joy of it? It was a beautifully warm day, apart from the little bit of rain that fell. Maybe he just wanted to cool off.
Another mysterious Highland memory for me.
- ES
Comments: 23
HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:
Oh, Miss Emma. It must have been the water horse! Claire’s beastie! Your picnic sounds so romantic. To have true love such as you and Hamish share is a rare wonder. I envy you.
(Read 22 more comments here…)
To: [email protected]
From: SophiaSheridan@angstandarg*t.com
July 3
Emma,
I’ll get straight to the point. I’ve had it with communicating only through your blog. Jollying you along has not worked, and I insist on a proper reply to this email. I expected you’d be back long before this, but your stubbornness has won out, as usual. I fully assumed your little jaunt into madness would last two weeks——three at the most. And here it is July!
I hope you are not taking our parents’ tacit acceptance of your bizarre behavior as some kind of approval. NO one is happy about this abandonment of your family responsibilities, trust me. Regardless, your six month tenure is nearly maxed out and you will have to return sometime in the next four weeks, or sooner. I’m writing to tell you that, in spite of all the worry and anxiety you have caused Paul and me, you are still my sister, and may stay here until you find a new job and get back on your feet.
I hope you recognize this for the generous offer it is, and accept with good grace. Please let us know when your return flight is expected to arrive.
Sophia
To: [email protected]
From: JackFindlay@*range.co.uk
July 3
Dear Emma,
Well, I must say it was a big relief to receive your email after the crazy one I sent you recently. I was quite thrilled with your story of the water horse emerging from the loch, and that you shared it with me before posting it to your blog made me feel strangely privileged.
But no luck, alas. I scanned the daily papers, but could find nothing referencing a lost animal. Of course, this may well be because I am in Stirling at the moment. (My editor allowed me the addition of a small re-write, and at last the new book is now at the printers.)
Have you had any luck with the more local newspapers? Will let you know if I hear anything, although I am sure it is just as you surmised; a young steed that needed to cool off. Keep your eyes peeled, though. If it is possible for anyone to see a mythical beast, I have no doubt it will be you.
All best,
Jack
The ride home after I’d posted to the blog seemed much longer than usual. The day had been hot—truly hot—and even the road seemed to be steaming at me as I pedaled the last mile. It was a huge relief to swing myself wearily off my bike at the kissing gate at last. I pushed the bike through and walked it toward Morag’s barn. I could see her on the hillside above, as she and her new farmhand walked the fields, checking the sheep. She’d hired the farmhand a couple of weeks earlier, and since he lived in the next town over, he didn’t need a place to stay. My spot as a boarder was still secure.
I felt bad about taking the room and not being more help around the property, but when I’d said so, Morag just shushed me down.
“When yer a burden, lass, ye’ll know it, for ye’ll be out on your arse on the road there, bicycle an’ all.”
She’d said this with a sly grin, but I didn’t doubt it for a moment, so I made an effort not to add to her work, at any rate. I swept out the barn whenever I had the energy, and had learned where all the various harness parts were stored in the low shed nearby.
It had been a long day at work, and Sophia’s email arriving just seconds after I’d posted did not make me feel better. However, my latest blog post about the creature in the loch had met with a huge flurry of interest, so I cheered myself up by answering as many of the commenters as I could. And Jack’s words had made me feel better, too.
I didn’t reply to Sophia.
But that didn’t mean she hadn’t got me thinking. It hadn’t really occurred to me that there might be a limit on my stay, beyond the eight weeks I had originally planned for. Of course, there had to be some kind of timeline of how long a tourist could stay. But … only six months? That couldn’t be right.
I swung open the large barn door, deep in worried thought, and walked right into the chest of one Hamish Lewis. I hadn’t seen him for nearly a week, so the touch of his body on mine flooded me with … mixed emotions. I wanted to feel only relief—and his skin on mine—but I felt a bit sick, and a bit worried, too.
Sophia and her threats vanished for the moment, anyway. I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, but he held up a hand to me.
I stopped in my tracks, arms still in the air.
He was wearing earbuds attached to his phone, and his head bobbed gently for a moment, before he flicked the screen with his thumb.
“Important call?” I asked, reaching up again.
He shook his head and gave me a sheepish smile. “Springsteen. ‘I’m On Fire’. That song slays me every time. I jes’ had to hear the end.”
He leaned down to brush his lips on mine. “Miss me?”
I kissed him back with everything I had.
“Ooh,” he whispered. “You’re on fire, too, baby.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I’d always been lousy at playing hard to get, even if it meant I was second fiddle to The Boss. “I am pretty hot.”
“Tha’ you are.” He pulled out a paper bag from behind his back. “Brought you something. It’s a special night, baby.”
That old tingly feeling flooded back, tsunami-style.
He pushed past me into my room, and flopped onto my bed, before tossing me the bag. “Go on. Open it.”
Inside was a small paper American flag. On a stick.
“Tomorrow’s Independence Day,” he said. “That makes today Independence Day Eve. And I want to spend it wi’ you.”
“Um. Okay.” I smiled and waved the flag at him. “Thanks. It’s just …”
I was going to say that Independence Day Eve was not really a thing, but I couldn’t get it out, because he kicked his boots off one at a time and beckoned me over.
“Come to Uncle Sam,” he said, and patted the bed. I was beside him in an instant, and he reached over to pull my face down for a kiss.
“Hey now baby, is he good to you?” he hummed, and his fingers toyed with the buttons on my shirt.
I closed my eyes. This moment had been so long in coming; I was prepared to even dismiss the Uncle Sam cracks.
Hamish sat up on the bed, his baseball cap on still backwards, and unbuttoned his shirt. All the saliva dried up in my mouth. He looked good, but whether it was the heat of the day or my own hormone rush, I was having trouble articulating.
“I—I …”
“It’s all righ’ lass,” he interrupted, reaching into his pocket for a small foil packet. “No worries. I thought ahead.”
He rolled past me and stood up beside the bed. The torchlight gleamed off the pale skin of his chest. He leaned down and tilted my chin up toward his face with one hand. With his other hand he took my hand and placed it on his flat stomach.
He grinned down at my expression. “Wha’ de yeh think of ’em?” he asked as he gently lifted my glasses off.
“Them?” I said entirely befuddled by the feel of actual male skin beneath my fingertips. “Think of who?”
He chuckled softly and dropped to his knees beside the bed to kiss me again. I actually had to lean against him at that point. Turns out it’s not only fear that makes my legs wobbly.
But his words brought my head back into the conversation.
“Mah abs. No’ bad, eh? I’ve been doing sit-ups at the gym, but ah’m not quite to a full six-pack yet. When we get to California I want to make sure that I’ve got the righ’ look.”
I thought they had the right look already, but it gave me a moment’s pause that it was he and not me pointing out his assets.
He kissed me again, which took my mind off just about everything, and then paused to slide my windbreaker off my shoulders.
I put my hand on his stomach again. I had to admit, his abs did feel pretty good. As a matter of fact, I could not remember ever having felt such good abs. My weak knees agreed. I closed my eyes and tried to lock the sensation in my memory forever.
He began to unbutton my shirt. I took a moment to thank whatever gods were out there that I had worn my prettiest pink bra that day. Kissing me again, he held me close, so that I was kneeling on the bed, feeling the skin of his stomach on my own for the very first time.
“There’s a girl’s section at the gym, y’know,” he whispered.
“Ah … a what?” The blood was rushing away from my head at that point, so I wasn’t hearing all that clearly.
“A girl’s section. Fer’ if yeh want to get yerself a bit more bikini-ready. There’s still time, aye?”
His lips trailed down my neck.
More bikini-ready?
This stung enough to get through the lust haze. I mean, since I had come to Scotland, I had been walking or riding my bike everywhere. I was in the best shape of my life.
For a brief moment, I wondered how Claire would react if Jamie had ever told her she needed to do sit-ups. And then the parts situated below my brain decided that maybe it was not the best moment to take offense.
Pulling my hands away from where they had been feeling the muscles on his back, I quickly tucked my shirt between us so it covered my stomach, while strategically allowing the pink bra to show to its best advantage.
But something was niggling.
His ear was beside my mouth at that moment, so I took the opportunity to whisper in it.
“Uh—Hamish? Still time for what?”
He leaned back and ran one finger along my bra strap. I felt a surge of relief that his attention was off my abs for the moment.
“Before we go to California. Together.”
He beamed at me. “I’ve sorted it all out wi’ Geordie, after we talked on our drive. I can make this happen, babe. We’ll soon be hittin’ those Los Angeles beaches together, aye?”
I closed my eyes and sighed. As I did, he leaned forward and kissed my collarbone. I felt my will power melting away. What was so wrong with going to California with this gorgeous man?
And yet somehow, my mouth kept talking.
“It’s just—I hardly ever see you lately. And when we do get together, it seems the only thing you ever want to talk about is going to America. Living in California. And—I don’t live there. I don’t even live near there.”
He flopped down on the bed. “I cannae help if I’m interested in where ye come from, Emma. Chicago can’t be that far away from Los Angeles. Think o’ them beautiful beaches, aye?”
He undid the top button on his jeans and pulled me down beside him.
The problem was, I couldn’t think of anything while he was touching me—not clearly, anyhow. And while part of me—most of my lower half, truthfully—wanted me to quit talking and just enjoy, the teeny part of my brain that was still functioning demanded clarification.
“Look, I know I came here on some kind of wild goose chase in search of someone who—someone like you. I didn’t really know what I was doing. But since I’ve been here—Hamish, I’ve found a home. A place I love. This is that place. I have friends here. I helped a baby come into the world here. Three babies, if you count those lambs, right? I’ve seen the weather at it’s worst, and I still love it. And I found you, Hamish. That is—we found each other. This is where I want to be. Here in Nairn. With you.”
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “You’re an American, Emma. Yeh can’t stay here forever.”
“I—I know that. I need to sort it out, somehow. But Hamish—America is a very large country. And Chicago is nowhere near California. It’s like from here to Madrid—maybe further, actually.”
We stared at each other in silence a moment. The electric torch light on the wall suddenly seemed to cast a far harsher glow than it had just moments before. I nervously pulled my shirt across my stomach.
Hamish reached out to squeeze my hand.
“You’ll look fine in a bikini,” he said softly. “We’ll get yeh a spray tan before we go—that’ll cover up all the problem areas. Everyone looks better with a tan.”
I opened my mouth, but was saved from replying by the sound of his phone, buzzing from inside his jeans pocket. He stood up and flipped it open.
He glanced at the phone, smiled wryly, and then looked down at me as he refastened the button on his jeans.
“Emergency at work, pet. Apparently Alec McGuffin’s chrome fenders are ready and Geordie needs me to run into Aberdeen with him. Sorry. I gotta head in.”
“Now?, Hamish. Seriously … not right now?”
He pulled his shirt on over those serrated abdominal muscles and jammed the damned baseball cap back on.
“Look, babe, mah work has to come first, aye? And I’ll be back by tomorrow night.” He reached over to my wee bedside table and slipped the condom packet back into his wallet.
A little part of me died right then.
As he went to close the wallet, a stiff piece of cardboard stuck out.
“Ach—wouldja look at that,” he said. “I found a spare pass for the gym.”
He snapped the card on the table then reached down and pulled me to my feet. “A couple of weeks on the weight machines will do yeh a world o’ good,” he said, kissing my neck. “The endorphin rush alone will change yer mind about the whole California thing.”
He kissed me again and then pulled on his jacket. He stood at the door to my room, the barn night-light emitting a low glow that bathed him in what appeared to my near-sighted eyes as a halo.
“Don’t worry, ba-by,” he crooned. “Everything will turn out all right.”
He closed the door softly and I buried my face in my hands.
I stood in the shower a long time that night. The water had cooled more than my ardor— it allowed my brain to think again. And after the shower, I lay in bed and contemplated the Jamie-shaped hole that I’d been trying to stuff Hamish into. Maybe the fit wasn’t as skin-tight as I had first hoped, but I could make it work. I knew I could.
Hamish stayed true to his words and gave me some space. The problem was, after a few days of thinking things through, I didn’t want to any more. Thinking had given me little beyond sleepless nights, and a pretty decent resentment built up against any mention of spray tans and gyms. But it didn’t change the way I felt inside about my Jamie. Besides, I wanted to touch those abs again.
I woke up a week to the day after our last encounter determined to tell him so, but the morning didn’t start well. Pedaling to the library left me feeling woozy and confused. Katy arrived before I even had time to log in, so I had to leave without posting.
Within ten minutes at work, I dropped a whole stack of plates as I was unloading the dishwasher.
There was no greater sin in Ashwin’s world than breaking a clean plate, and he elbowed me aside imperiously to sweep up the mess. Even Sandeep yelled at me.
I crept away into the back to get ice, an
d to my embarrassment, leaked a few tears as I reached into the freezer.
“Get ahold of yourself, Sheridan,” I muttered into the frozen silence. It felt so good in there. So cool. I decided to go out and apologize to Sandeep. I couldn’t afford to lose my job over something as stupid as a couple of plates.
I pulled my head out to see Ashwin, staring at me.
“You’re talkin’ to yerself,” he said, shortly, but then his tone softened. “And your face is rare flushed.”
I wiped my eyes. “I’m okay. I just have a bit of a headache. I’m sorry about the plates, Ash.”
Holding the bag of ice in one hand, I turned to leave the kitchen, but Ashwin put his hand on my arm. “Ash …” I said, but he reached up and touched my cheek.
“Either yer just entering puberty, or ye’ve got the chickenpox,” he said. “Yer face is covered in spots.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I had chickenpox in fifth grade,” I said, and fainted dead away.
I have a vague memory of a conversation with a doctor, though I have no recollection of how I’d made it to his office.
“Young lady, I’m afraid you have indeed succumbed to chickenpox,” he said, washing his hands. I stared at the water sluicing across his long white fingers. “When were you exposed?”
“I have no idea. Maybe at work?”
He dried his hands on a paper towel. “Aye, perhaps. I’m surprised to see it, in truth. Most people get it over with as children.”
“I don’t have any children,” I mumbled. “I’m never around children.”
The doctor spoke to someone behind me. “The confusion is normal, I’m afraid. This’ll be no easy week,” he said, and I turned to see Morag sitting there. “It’s fair serious for an adult to go through.”
She nodded at him and smiled at me kindly, and then suddenly we were in her truck.
My glasses knocked against the side window as she drove.
“I’m sorry, Morag,” I whispered, so my head would not fall off my neck.