by Hoss, Sarah
Bending down to retrieve it, she quickly answered. “Uh, I’m sorry. You took me by surprise.” Abigail walked into the kitchen to get a drink. Suddenly, her throat felt very dry. “How did you get my number?”
“My apologies for being so forward, but it was listed in the email you sent me. You said I could call.” There was a pause. “Was I mistaken to have done so?”
Abigail threw her hand to forehead. Duh! She had said he could call and she still had no idea why she had written that. She could hear what sounded like a chair swiveling. She tried to picture him, what he might be doing.
“Right. Sorry.” She shook her head in astonishment at her own absentmindedness. Focus. “You’re fine, and I’m glad you called.” She rolled her eyes. How could she have forgotten? “So, how are you?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
“I’m okay. I was dusting the house when you called.” She paused in front of the fridge and played with a magnet on the door making it stick and unstick.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“No.” Oh God, don’t let him hang up. “It’s alright, really. It’s nice to be able to put a voice to a name after all this time.” Reaching into the fridge, she grabbed a small bottle of orange juice.
“Aye, it is. Yours is lovely.”
Blushing, Abigail twisted off the cap, took a drink, and then went to sit down on a bar stool at the kitchen counter.
“Thank you. Yours is better than I expected.” Her heart pulsed a quicker beat. Again, she tried to picture how he looked in her mind. She had grown fond of him and their chats and respected him for his love of history. Often she’d dreamt of him, wondered about him when they would have their chats and here he was, on the phone. Probably as close to him as she would ever get, but that was okay. In her mind, she had created a handsome, heroic Scotsman like something right out of a movie and maybe that is where it should stay.
“Abigail—”
She closed her eyes and relished the sound of him saying her name. Say it again.
“I’m calling for a reason. Louisville Kentucky is holding the Annual MacFie Highland Games and I’ve been asked to come to represent our clan from Scotland.”
“Grant, that’s exciting, congratulations.”
“Have you ever been to the Highland games?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course. I love them.”
“I’m pleased to hear that, because I hoped I might have a date for the event.”
Abigail’s hand paused in midair. She repeated his words in her head.
“Did you just ask me to go with you to the games?” Her heart beat faster. Please let him say yes.
“Aye, I would like for you to accompany me to the games. I hope you’ll say yes.”
Abigail jumped from the stool and silently did a little dance of happiness. As if someone was watching her and she’d just noticed, she quickly resumed her composure, and said, “Grant, I would love to.”
“Wonderful. Our first date.”
“Yes and thank you for asking me.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
“Um, Grant, might I ask a favor?”
“For you, anything.”
Abigail bit a fingernail. “Would you please send me a picture of you? I haven’t the slightest idea what you look like.”
He laughed and the sound was deep and rich. The kind of laugh that came from someone who did it often. It went into her ear and straight to her heart.
“You’re right. I’ve seen you in the picture with the shield, but you have seen nothing of me and I apologize. I want to say that you are lovely.”
She smiled to herself at his words. “Thank you.”
“Welcome. So, I’ll send you a picture and a little bit about me in the next email. As it is, I must go for now. It’s after midnight, and I’m getting tired.”
Abigail choked on her drink. “Oh, of course. Sorry to keep you.”
“Nay, don’t apologize. And if I may ask, please don’t sell the shield yet. I would love to see it when I get there.”
“Oh, I don’t plan on selling it,” she said, smiling. “I’ll see you in a week then.”
“Until then.”
“Bye.”
“Goodbye.”
Hanging up the phone, Abigail sat on her stool and stared out the window. She’d gotten to speak to History Buff and his name was Grant MacFie. She repeated the name over and over in her head. She couldn’t wait to get on the computer later and see a picture of him. To finally put a face and voice to a name was exciting.
Abigail went back to the living room and finished cleaning. She smiled to herself as she thought of the good things that would happen in a week.
Chapter 7
Malcolm strolled into the diner on the corner of Jackson and Ohio Streets and sat down at a booth. Music from the 50’s played on a jukebox in the left-hand corner at the back of the diner. Memorabilia littered the walls, which were painted light teal and had metal trim around the middle. Pictures of Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and Frank Sinatra sat side-by-side. Old albums, a slightly used guitar, and a pair of black-and-white saddle shoes had become a part of the décor.
A couple sat at the bar and the woman leaned into the man and asked him a question. The man nodded and dug into his pocket for change. He watched her as she made her way to the jukebox.
“Can I get you something to drink, sugar?”
Malcolm glanced up at the waitress who was dressed in a waitress’s uniform of the same era. He smiled as he watched her blow a bubble with her chewing gum. This was one of the things he liked about America. Their love of its history.
“I would like a cup of tea, please.”
Raising her eyebrows, she winked at him. “Sure thing. Here’s a menu. I’ll be right back.”
What he wouldn’t give to have a home-cooked meal from Scotland. As it was, he would have to endure the food of America. Some things he had tried weren’t too bad, but it just wasn’t home.
When the waitress came back, she sat down his drink and pulled out a pad of paper to take his order.
“I’m waiting for friends.”
“All right, I’ll keep an eye out for when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” he said and glanced out the window as she walked away.
Malcolm turned the business card over and over between his fingers. “Take Me Back in Time Antique Store. The owner is listed as Abigail Crenshaw.”
He peered up from the card to stare out the window. The waitress approached and took orders from Christina, John, and Graham.
“Sir?”
Malcolm stirred from his thoughts and glanced at the waitress.
“Are you ready to order?”
He was. His stomach growled. There was a mixture of the sweet-smelling pies sitting in the pie holder on the counter and the greasy allure of hamburgers and bacon.
“Give me the Number Three and hold the tomato, please.”
The waitress winked at him. “You ordered that just like an American, but your accent gives you away.”
“Shhh, don’t tell anyone,” he said, and she laughed.
Malcolm turned to the others. “I’ll go on Wednesday to get the shield. You know the drill by now.” Tapping his fingers on the table, he thought for a moment before speaking.
“How much longer do we have, John?”
Sighing, he replied, “Two months.”
Malcolm leaned back against the teal and white leather seat, stretching his arm out over the back. “We may have to change our plans. Time is running out, and it’s time I can’t afford to lose.”
Chapter 8
The bell above the door rang, alerting Abigail of a customer. Rolling her head to stretch her neck muscles, sore from l
ooking down at paperwork for hours, she stood and left her office.
Sunlight shone in through the two large storefront windows. The crystal bowl in the left window decorating the corner was caught in a rainbow light display. She glanced over to the front of the store where her employee dusted and then strolled toward the counter. A gentleman stood to the side of the door examining a roll top desk. His back was to her and she studied him.
He was tall and had a head full of short, blond hair. The man wore Levi jeans that fit exactly as they should and a brown jean jacket. Her eyes ventured down one more time to his ass before she spoke.
“May I help you?” She rested her hands on the counter.
The man straightened and turned slowly to glance over his shoulder. As he walked toward her, Abigail felt her heart beat faster. He was gorgeous. Never had she seen such a perfect specimen of a man in all her life. He walked with an air of security and strength. The smile he gave her was meant to disarm and it worked because for a brief moment, she forgot she was in her store and he was a customer.
Shifting her feet, she focused on the task at hand. How embarrassing to be caught string at him like some lovesick kid.
“Yes, I believe you can.”
“Oh my gosh, Grant, it’s you?” Shaking her head in disbelief, she looked him up and down one more time. She would know him anywhere for she had stared at his picture long enough to memorize it.
“I can’t believe you’re here. You’re early.” Stepping around the counter, she took a few steps closer to him. “I wasn’t expecting you until Friday.”
He stared at her for a moment as if he had no idea what she was talking about but quickly schooled his features. Why? Maybe she’d surprised him and threw him off guard.
“I had the chance to get an earlier flight.”
“Wonderful.” Waving at him to follow her, she said, “Come with me. We can sit in my office and talk.” Turning, she led the way.
Malcolm stood still for a moment trying to gather his wits. She thought he was Grant, which meant that Grant and this woman have been in contact. SHIT! Grant was getting close, too close. Time was running out on him and he couldn’t get this close to his goal only to have Grant screw it up for him. He had to think fast.
“Grant, are you all right” She stood near her office door.
He smiled for her sake. “Aye, no need to worry. I was listening for a moment is all. I thought I heard my phone ring.” He strode toward her though his feet itched to turn and go. He didn’t know what was going on but he was on a mission. He would play along because in the end . . . she had what he wanted.
“You’ll have to come to dinner tonight, please.” Abigail reached for a piece of paper and scribbled her address down on it. Handing it to Grant, she smiled. “We could talk and get to know each other better.”
“I think that would be a wonderful idea, but I would like to take you out to dinner instead. That way, we can relax. What time?”
“Okay, how about six-thirty?” She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow in question and smiled. She had always wanted to meet the stranger that had crept into her life almost a year ago. They had many things in common. When he’d said he was coming to America she didn’t think she had ever been so excited in her life, except when she found out the shield was real. Now, he was here and he was gorgeous. She could get lost in his brown eyes forever.
An antique clock ticked away the seconds behind her head.
“Six-thirty it is then. I look forward to it.”
“Great, me, too.”
He laughed, and the effect was smooth like honey. Warm and thick. She melted.
“Now I would love a tour of your store.”
He stood and reached out his hand for her. Placing her palm in his, she stood and walked around the desk. His hand was large and warm and she loved the way it felt holding hers.
“This way.”
She strolled through her store, acutely aware of the sexy Scotsman following two steps behind her. She pointed to a creamer standing near an old pie cabinet. They spoke about the year of the piece and how it was used. She watched Grant as he studied the store and all the pieces she had. He was truly interested in history as she was, one of the things she loved about him. Their mutual enjoyment of the past was what had brought them together in the first place.
Grant’s cell phone rang, and he excused himself. As he took a couple of steps away from her, she took the moment to busy herself, sneaking glances at him from under her lashes. She pretended to wipe away dust that didn’t exist from the creamer.
“Abigail, I’m sorry. I must leave. Forgive me.”
“No,” she said as she waved her hand in the air, “it’s okay.”
“You’re sweet.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I look forward to tonight.”
She could feel her cheeks heat. “So do I.”
Chapter 9
Malcolm sat in his car outside of 1745 Lexington Dr. The gray, stone-washed house sat back on a small lot in a manicured neighborhood. Lights lined the flowerbeds in the front and a security light perched on the back corner of the house near the garage. Anyone who approached the back door triggered the light. He decided to come early so he could scope out her house and the neighborhood. He needed to know who came and went and when. When he decided to start scoping Abigail’s place out, he was trying to find a way in. Who would ever have thought she’d invite him. Maybe this time, luck was on his side. The shield would either be his salvation or his damnation. Only one of those choices was acceptable. Since the shield wasn’t at her store, it had to be here at the house.
The clock on the dashboard read 6:10. The car window was down and he turned to search the area when a dog, somewhere a couple of houses away, started to bark. The quietness was deafening and set him on edge. He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel. Looking straight ahead, he watched as a family sat down to dinner. Everyone at the table sat in a glow of soft light. The mother dished out the food to everyone and the father ruffled one of the boys’ hair and they laughed. So picture perfect it belonged on a postcard and he had to look away. His heart was broken and another piece fell.
Thoughts of his wife floated through his mind like a dandelion on the wind, slow and lazy. He missed her. No, not missed her. His heart ached for her. People say that all the time that their heart aches, but he truly felt the pain. He pictured the last time he saw her. Their anniversary, and he’d surprised her by taking her out to dinner. He opened the door on the car for her and held out his hand. Just as she stood, the wind picked up and rustled her strawberry-blonde hair. Blue eyes sparkled with love for him as she looked at him. There was no one like her.
Slowly, as he bent to kiss her, she whispered, “I love you, Malcolm.”
A tear slipped down his cheek at the memory. He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs completely. I’ll make it right, Keltie, I swear.
He slowly exhaled, then stared at the door. Opening and closing his fists, he stood still. It didn’t get any easier each time he did this. He rang the doorbell and waited. This woman had his shield and he was determined to get it back and quickly since it seemed Grant was on his way to America this very second. Malcolm balled a fist. He had less than one day to get the shield and get the hell out of town.
Abigail opened the door, and he smiled. He could do this. Stepping into the house, he began his perusal of her home. He took everything in—which rooms lay where, where the back door was, and most important, he noticed there was no security system. This would make their job a lot easier.
“I’m glad you came.”
“Me, too, and I thank you for having me.”
As Abigail grabbed his hand he glanced down at the connection. “Follow me, I have something to show you.”
Such a simple gesture. Innocent i
n nature, yet it flooded him with a mixture of emotion. He wasn’t here to be her friend. Hell, she didn’t even know who he truly was. She thought he was Grant. Plus, the only hand he wanted to hold was that of his wife and as soon as he got the shield, the sooner he could make that happen.
Entering the living room, he turned to peer at the wall on his left. There it hung.
His history, his family heirloom, his salvation.