Ms. Meadows raised a brow. “At least he can think on his feet. Did you enjoy yourself?”
She had enjoyed herself immensely minus the excavation of her soul. “It was fine.”
Ms. Meadows’s sharp gaze did its own digging. Already feeling off-kilter, Claire looked away. “I’m beat. If you’re settled in for the night, I’m going to go to bed.”
She and Ms. Meadows exchanged good nights, and Claire shut herself in her room and crawled under the covers still in her clothes. For one night, she would wallow in his scent and the memories before the morning brought a reckoning. It was time to make difficult decisions.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, with Ms. Meadows settled into her favorite chair, Claire paced in her room. Or tried to pace anyhow. It was a half dozen mincing steps from wall to wall along the edge of her bed. Her childhood bedroom in Glasgow had been huge with the walk-in closet and attached bath. She didn’t miss the designer curtains and linens and echoing silence. Her room at Ms. Meadows’s house was cozy and comfortable.
A decision loomed in tandem with her approaching birthday. What was she going to do? She had responsibilities and had made promises. Lachlan expected her to return to Glasgow and become his partner. Her parents expected her to return as well and offer them her allegiance. She had been avoiding hard conversations for years, partly because she didn’t know what she wanted. But mostly because she was a coward.
How much of a coward was now becoming clear as she grew older and more mature. Although, given her flight from Holt’s bed the previous night, more mature didn’t count for much.
Humiliation flared like sticking her head into a kiln, and she had to force herself to not replay her ride of shame home. Holt unsettled her. Not because she was scared or intimidated by him, but the opposite. She was comfortable with him. So comfortable she could feel herself wanting to tell him everything. But they weren’t in a relationship.
Her future awaited in Scotland. For the first time, she was ready to face the consequences of her birth and her choices. Had she been unfair to her parents? Weren’t most teenagers unfair to their parents?
As loath as she was to admit it, her parents had been right about one thing. Music hadn’t brought her fame or fortune. It had been a fun detour, but she’d not found true happiness onstage. Was happiness worth chasing when it was fleeting anyway? Maybe given time, helping run Glennallen Whisky would make her happy. Or at least leave her satisfied.
Needing a distraction from her life’s conundrum, she pulled the tarnished silver box from under her bed and took it to the kitchen. While Ms. Meadows napped, Claire would polish the box and surprise her with it. It deserved pride of place.
A wooden crate with shoe and silver polish was stashed in the hall closet. It took a fair amount of work to uncover the beauty of the silver, but it was even prettier than she’d expected. A metaphor lurked but she ignored the niggling sense of irony.
The clack of Ms. Meadows’s cane on the wood floor came as Claire was finishing the last side. Ms. Meadows entered the kitchen with a smile, but it vanished when she spotted the silver box on the table.
“What are you doing?” Grooves carved by time and travails emphasized Ms. Meadows’s age.
“It’s the silver box from the shed. Isn’t it lovely?”
“I told you to leave it alone.”
“Yes, but I thought—”
“You thought you’d stick your nose where it didn’t belong, eh?” Ms. Meadows snatched the box from the table and clopped back down the hall toward her room. Each strike of her cane transmitted her anger.
Claire rocked back in the seat, still holding the polishing cloth. While she felt fully chastened by a favorite teacher, Ms. Meadows’s reaction had also stoked her curiosity to new heights. What could provoke such a reaction?
Claire waited for something else to happen. Nothing did. Finally, when lunchtime came and went without Ms. Meadows making an appearance in the kitchen, Claire fixed a sandwich with crisps, poured a glass of tea, and knocked on Ms. Meadows’s door. There was no answer.
Worry coalesced into an uncomfortable spiky ball in Claire’s stomach. She didn’t want to invade Ms. Meadows’s privacy, but what if she had collapsed and needed medical attention?
With her heart fluttering like a trapped bird, Claire turned the knob and pushed the door open enough to see inside. Half expecting to see Ms. Meadows sprawled on the floor, Claire let out a long breath when she saw Ms. Meadows sitting on the bed with her hands in her lap and the silver box at her hip.
“I brought you lunch if you’re hungry?” Claire remained in the doorway. She’d already intruded by taking the silver box from the shed.
Ms. Meadows gestured her in then let her hand fall back to her lap as if it were unbearably heavy. Claire took small steps inside and set the tray on the nightstand. When Ms. Meadows didn’t speak, she backed toward the door.
“No. Stay. I should apologize,” Ms. Meadows said.
“It’s I who should ask for your pardon. I overstepped and I apologize. I didn’t realize—” Claire’s gaze bounced to the silver box. She cleared her throat. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”
Ms. Meadows’s gaze rose from her lap to meet Claire’s eyes. “Will you come and sit with me?”
The only place to sit was on the end of the bed. Claire perched on the mattress and tucked her hands under her legs, intensely aware of the polished silver box between them.
“It’s been twenty years or more since I last opened it.” Ms. Meadows lay a hand over the top. “I decided to leave my ghosts behind, but seeing it again…”
“Can I help?” Claire wasn’t certain if Ms. Meadows needed help of the physical or emotional kind. When Ms. Meadows didn’t answer right away, she asked tentatively, “What’s inside?”
Ms. Meadows didn’t break eye contact with the silver box. “Mementos.”
“From your husband?”
Ms. Meadows shook her head slightly. “My son.”
Claire straightened at the offering of new information, fighting a spark of anger at the unknown man. Why hadn’t he called or visited his mother? “I didn’t realize you have a son.”
“Had a son. He’s passed on.”
Claire darted her tongue along her dry lips before whispering, “I’m sorry.”
“It happened a long time ago.” Ms. Meadows pursed her lips in what resembled a small smile, but nothing about her countenance lightened. “Sometimes, though, the years seem like days, and I wake up hoping it was all a bad dream.”
Curiosity overwhelmed Claire, yet she couldn’t bring herself to add to the grief already shrouding Ms. Meadows. A platitude seemed as out of place as prying questions. Claire simply touched the back of Ms. Meadows’s hand as an offering of sympathy.
Ms. Meadows accepted, clasping Claire’s hand in a grip that was stronger than expected. Her hand was warm and papery soft. They sat in silence, side by side on the bed, their hands resting on top of the smooth, cold silver box that put Claire in mind of a dug-up coffin.
Claire’s Glennallen grandmother had not liked hugs, jammy hands, rambunctiousness, or loud singing. In short, she had not liked Claire. Although, to be fair, Claire had not liked her much either.
Ms. Meadows was different. It seemed a shame she hadn’t had a house full of children and grandchildren to bake for. Kids who would have loved to explore the woods and play hide-and-seek and build tree houses. She wouldn’t have minded a mess. After all, she hadn’t minded Claire’s messes.
“My son died in a car accident right before he graduated high school. He was only eighteen.” A waver in Ms. Meadows’s voice had Claire holding on even tighter to her hand as if she could somehow shore up the faltering tower of Ms. Meadows’s emotions.
It was an irony not lost on Claire that she had cut off her parents around the same age. While Claire hadn’t died, had her parents grieved her loss? Had Claire been selfish?
The box obviously held pain, but also a g
reat deal of love. “Do you want me to put it back in the shed? Or leave you to look inside?” Claire asked.
Ms. Meadows took in a deep breath and let it shudder out. “No. Stay. I don’t want to be alone.”
The words echoed over and over in Claire’s heart. She didn’t want to be alone either. Not anymore. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure if returning to the Glennallen fold would alleviate her loneliness or exacerbate it.
Ms. Meadows pulled the box into her lap and retrieved a tiny key from the drawer of the nightstand. Her hand shook, making it difficult to fit the key into the lock, but Claire didn’t offer to help. This was something Ms. Meadows needed to do on her own. Finally, the key slid home. Ms. Meadows hesitated, then flipped the box open quickly as if acting before she could change her mind.
A posed picture of a smiling young man wearing a tuxedo stared back at them. Ms. Meadows returned the boy’s grin as she picked the photo up. “His senior picture. He was handsome. Girls called the house all the time.”
Claire took the picture when Ms. Meadows held it out to her and studied his face. He had the same broad forehead and blue eyes of Ms. Meadows. His dark wavy hair was worn shaggy in a style that had been popular decades earlier. Optimism and good humor shone from the picture.
If he’d lived, he would be old enough to be her father. He would have experienced love and loss, joys and hardships. Instead, he was forever locked in the ignorance and innocence of youth. Knowing the future that awaited the boy in the picture made her heart constrict.
“Kevin missed his curfew. He was always one to push the boundaries. Samuel and I were angry with him. We were going to give him what-for when he got home. Grounded for two weeks, Samuel said.” Ms. Meadows touched her son’s face with a finger, her eyes watery. “The sheriff showed up instead and I knew. As soon as I saw his face, I knew.”
“I’m sorry.” It was a useless thing to say, but Claire had nothing else to offer. While she had faced hardships, she never been burdened with such a loss.
“Lost control of his car on a curve and hit a tree. Thankfully, he’d dropped his date off already and was headed home alone. Speeding, of course. Probably doing his best to beat his curfew.” Blame tainted Ms. Meadows’s voice.
“It’s not your fault.”
Ms. Meadows waved off the words like a gnat. “I’ve had nearly forty years to come to terms with it. Samuel and I tried to be good parents. Most of the time, I think we were, but I’ll always wonder.”
Tears Ms. Meadows wouldn’t appreciate her shedding stung Claire’s eyes. “Anyone would be lucky to have you as a mother.”
Her declaration came out with an embarrassing amount of vehemence, but she couldn’t walk back the sentiment, because it was true. Ms. Meadows transferred her regard from her own pain to Claire.
“What about your mother and daddy, girl? Do they wonder where you are? Do they worry?”
There was no doubt her parents did wonder, but was it because they missed her or because of the business? For the first time, she wondered whether she should give them a chance to show her.
“Won’t they be missing you this Christmas?” Ms. Meadows asked when it was clear Claire wasn’t going to answer.
The pang she felt was something new. Regret perhaps? She forced a tease into her voice. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Ms. Meadows?”
Ms. Meadows tilted her head as if putting real thought into the question. “I’ve been alone a long time. I didn’t think I’d like having someone all up in my business twenty-four seven. But I like you, girl, and no, I don’t want you to leave.”
Claire’s spine curved with the relief of her answer.
“However…” The word hung between them, and Ms. Meadows peered over her glasses at Claire. “You are a young woman, and you have holed yourself up with me to avoid something. Or someone. That’s all well and good for now, but you need to face up to your life soon.”
Claire didn’t even try to deflect. Ms. Meadows would only parry and drive her point home. “You’re right, and I will. I’m not quite ready yet, though. Is that okay?”
“Of course it’s okay. You are welcome to stay here as long as you need.” Ms. Meadows closed the silver box and hugged it to her waist. “I’d like to lie down with my memories now if you don’t mind.”
Claire closed the bedroom door behind her and retreated to make herself a cup of tea. She sat and stared at the scarred top of the table for a long while. The silence of the house held a new quality. It was expectant. It wasn’t wolves or bobcats in the dark woods she needed to fear, but change. The inevitable force of change stalked closer.
After assuring herself Ms. Meadows was settled for the afternoon, Claire walked to the main road and set out toward the Pierson farm. The raging waters of her emotions from the night before had settled if not into a placid lake at least into a navigable river. She would focus on living in the moment. And the moment required she offer Holt an explanation, even an apology.
It was another unusually lovely day, and she enjoyed the walk. When she got to the drive leading to Holt’s family farm, she stopped to pull her jumper off and tie it around her waist. Holt’s truck wasn’t at his cabin, but parked next to the red barn straight out of a children’s book.
Now that the moment was upon her, nerves had her slowing. There was still time to turn around, return to her room, and hide under the covers. A man emerged from the shadow of the barn to root around in the bed of the truck. His broad shoulders and baseball cap were becoming a not just familiar, but welcome stomach-tumbling sight. A zip of energy got her feet moving forward as her heart pounded faster.
Her body’s reaction took on a syncopated feel. Thump. Thump. Shuffle. Shuffle. It was a dance set to music her body recognized. The last time she’d felt this way was onstage while holding a crowd in the palm of her hand.
Holt looked up, his gaze plugging into her like another energy source. He didn’t move to meet her halfway. What did that mean?
She stopped on the other side of the lowered gate of his truck. Explanations lodged in her throat, too big and too many to parse, and she wasn’t sure if he even wanted to hear them.
“Howdy.” Not a hint of what he was feeling or thinking transmitted in the word.
“Hullo. I…” She swallowed. “I’m terribly sorry, Holt.”
“Could be I need to apologize. I didn’t mean to…” Now he was the one who seemed to lose his ability to speak.
“You did nothing wrong. Nothing. I was scared.”
“I scared you?” His hands tightened on the frame of the truck.
“Not physically.” A nervous half laugh escaped. “I mean, you are a fine specimen of a man. Brawny. Big.”
Her gaze dipped of its own accord to between his legs as if she had suddenly developed X-ray vision. Or wished she had anyhow. Rolling her eyes to the side, she forced her attention toward something more innocuous, like the goats frolicking in their pen. She squinted.
“Is that goat … Bloody hell, two of your goats are fornicating. Right there in the open. Right there in front of the other goats.” She shielded her eyes as if the goats might be offended by her presence during their intimate moment. “Is that normal?”
“I consider sex a normal healthy aspect of life, so yes, totally normal. And kind of fun too, if done correctly,” Holt said so blandly she dropped her hand and looked him in the eyes. They were sparkling with humor. “I’m pretty sure you had fun last night, didn’t you?”
“Of course I had fun.” She huffed a little in surprise. “You’re not angry with me?”
“Angry? No. Confused as all get-out? Yes.” He moved to the end of the truck and half sat on the tailgate, crossing his feet at the ankles and curling his hands around the edge. His worn jeans did good things for his lower body, and the black T-shirt with the Highland slogan across the pocket did wonders for his chest.
“How are you single?” The question that had been niggling at her since they’d met popped out.
His eyeb
rows shot up. “How are you single?”
She pointed at her chest. “Me? I think that much is obvious.”
“It’s not obvious to me. You’re gorgeous and funny and have the sexiest accent on the planet.”
She made a scoffing sound as she tucked her hair behind her ear, knowing a blush spread like a rash along her cheeks and neck. “Please. You’re the one with the sexy accent with your drawls and howdys and aw shuckses. I’m a complete mess.”
“Are you?” Holt cocked his head.
“Look at me.” She gestured up and down at her ill-fitting clothes from the thrift shop. Of course she’d picked them on purpose. Her tight, sexy tour clothes would have torpedoed her plan to live incognito in Highland.
“I’ll admit you’re aren’t exactly cotillion material, but underneath the baggy clothes is a body I’ll not soon forget. Every time I close my eyes I see you in my bed without a stich of clothes on.”
If possible, she grew even hotter and splotchier. She pushed the sleeves of her shirt up her forearms. “I know that’s not true.”
Holt tipped his head back and closed his eyes, his mouth taking on a decidedly roguish twist.
She stepped forward and slapped his arm. “Stop that nonsense right now. I’m being serious.”
As fast as an adder, he took her hand and laid it over his heart as if he were offering it to her. “I’m being serious too. Last night was special. If I did something wrong or if we moved too fast, I’ll back off. You say the word.”
She searched his eyes but saw only sincerity. The last thing she wanted was for him to back off, but was that being fair to him?
“My life is complicated. My parents—” She pulled her hand free and shook her head, not ready to speak of them so soon after Ms. Meadows’s interrogation. Her feelings were raw where her past was concerned. “I’ve been running away from things since I was a teenager. It’s all I know.”
“Running from what things exactly?”
“Responsibility mostly. A life I wasn’t sure I fit into. Or at least, I didn’t fit into it then. Maybe I will now. I don’t know.”
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