Sadie's Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  “God damn ye, Dwyn!” Alec turned, grabbed hold of the edge of his desk, and heaved it over on its side. The light metallic clatter bouncing on the hardwood floor beside his boot made him look down. All anger drained from him, leaving only the darkest, bleakest sorrow in its place.

  The brooch lay on the floor in pieces. The rare agate had been knocked free of the setting and come to rest several feet away from the now slightly bent silver pin. The precious symbol of his oath to Sadie now perfectly mirrored how terribly wrong everything had gone.

  Alec sank to his knees, hopelessness bowing his head as he carefully gathered the pieces of the broken jewelry up with shaking fingers. “How can this be?” he whispered. Closing his eyes, he pressed the fisted jewelry to his heart. He sucked in a shaking breath and rocked forward, curling around the ache boring through him.

  “How can this be?” he whispered again, silently praying that something or someone would hear his tortured soul and give him the answer.

  Chapter 25

  It was way past midnight. She should be in bed at least attempting to get an hour or so of sleep. Sadie scooted her chair closer to the tiny window of her room, propping her arms on the sill and resting her chin atop them. Maybe it would snow tonight. Her gaze traveled higher, picking out several pinpoints of light winking in the darkness. Nah. Too clear. No snow tonight. Not that she really cared. Ever since her life had gone into the shitter, she didn’t really give a damn about anything.

  A rough, gravelly groaning sound, something like a cross between a stalling engine and a bleating lamb, rumbled and purred beside her. Sadie ignored it, staring unblinking up at the stars. A solid furry thump head-butted her arm, demanding she pay attention. Sadie straightened in her chair, scooped the insistent cat off the window ledge, and settled him in her lap. “Not sleepy either, Harold?”

  The battle-scarred cat closed his eyes, making that blissful face only a cat can make when its human scratches in the elusively perfect spot under its chin. His whiskers twitched forward and his front paws worked back and forth in a steady rhythm that perfectly counted off the sound of his dysfunctional purr. Makin’ biscuits. That’s what Miss Martha called it when Harold kneaded his paws like he was working dough.

  Sadie rested her head on the back of the chair, drawing in a heavy breath and releasing it in a despondent sigh. She dared not sleep. Sleep brought dreams, and dreams triggered more tears. She and the ache of bone-tired weariness had become old friends. Even after hours of scrubbing the bed-and-breakfast from top to bottom, she’d doze just enough to get her through the next day—a day that would be just as bleak and hopeless as the one she’d just survived.

  They’d been the same, these past couple of days. Spent cleaning Miss Martha’s establishment until even Miss Martha herself shooed her away, saying she’d done enough for one day. Then she’d make sure no MacDaras were anywhere to be seen on Main Street so she could go to her second job at the café, washing dishes and hoping like hell that none of the MacDaras would show up. The deep, rumbling sound of their Scottish brogue out in the dining area always made her want to cry.

  The judge had given her probation and a manageable fine—he’d had to deal with Delia’s court appearance first on that same morning, so he’d shown pity on Sadie for being cursed with such a sister. That was the only bright spot in all this mess. Delia’s lawyer had given her documents stating that her portion of the inheritance was now exhausted and she was not to get within five hundred miles of Delia Williams or Realm Spinners Productions at risk of legal ramifications.

  A bitter chuckle escaped her. Whatever. If she never saw that bitch again, it would be too soon. Within a few days, she’d have enough money scraped together to leave Brady. She didn’t know where she was going, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be California or anywhere near any of Delia’s connections.

  Running her hand down Harold’s rough, patchy coat, Sadie sadly smiled down at the old cat. “At least you don’t look at me like everyone else does.”

  Harold responded with a toothless yawn and butted his head into the palm of her hand.

  No one in Brady had ever said anything to her about that day, but Sadie could feel their eyes boring into her whenever they thought she wasn’t looking. She didn’t really blame them for disliking her. After all, the MacDaras and their park were well loved and respected in the community. Thanks to her stupidity and the destruction wreaked by Realm Spinners Productions, Highland Life and Legends had been forced to close early in the season for repairs. The holidays were coming and now many in Brady were without employment—all thanks to her.

  Sadie scooped up Harold and relocated him to his favorite spot on the bed. The cat gave her a “go to hell” look and a throaty rowr.

  “I have to get another scene finished and uploaded tonight. They offered me a bonus in this week’s check if I could get them at least three more installments.” Sadie fired up the old computer Miss Martha had let her borrow. It would take the ancient machine a good fifteen minutes to hum and click its way to functional status, but it was all she had and definitely better than nothing.

  Thumbing through the notes she’d jotted down throughout the day, Sadie mentally reviewed the status of her meager finances. Miss Martha didn’t pay her in money, but the clean room and the free food were worth their weight in gold and enabled Sadie to squirrel away every penny from washing dishes and uploading daily chunks of stories to the website she’d found last year. She’d managed to build up quite a following and her readers were voracious.

  The Forum paid her a percentage of the fee they charged readers for every download. The site was dedicated to binge readers who loved to follow ongoing stories the way television addicts followed their favorite series. Cover art wasn’t necessary, so she wasn’t out that cost, and the site itself provided line editing for a small fee. By her calculations, by the end of this week, her check from the site would be almost five hundred dollars, for three different series of stories. It wasn’t much, but it was a start toward rebuilding her life—and it was enough for a bus ticket out of Brady.

  Rebuilding my life. Yeah. Right. She’d never have a life again—not without Alec. Sadie closed her eyes, refusing to give in to tears. One minute at a time. Just get through one minute at a time. She pulled in a deep breath and slowly blew it out, forcing the painful memories away—his touch, his voice, the warm scent of him sleeping beside her. She shook her head, digging her thumbs into her throbbing temples. Enough. It’s over. She shuttered the images, the sensations, everything away, shoved them back to the carefully locked corner of her mind. I can get through this.

  Thankfully, Miss Martha had finally stopped trying to get her to go to Alec and talk things out. What the hell was there to talk about? She’d betrayed him. Thinking back, Sadie clearly saw it all pieced together and put in place like some horrific jigsaw puzzle. If she’d just paid attention, she would’ve figured out what Delia was up to and she could have blown the whistle—somehow stopped her. But no—she was too wrapped up in Alec and all the things a life with him could hold. And look where that got you.

  Sadie plopped down in the rickety wooden chair in front of the small table holding the computer and raised her hands, wiggling her fingers in midair. “Enough. Time to pour all this relationship angst into words.”

  Harold raised his head and blinked at her.

  “Sorry, Harold. Go back to sleep.” Sadie logged in, called up the latest file, and started typing.

  Who knew that the complete loss of all your hopes and dreams could trigger such great stories?

  Chapter 26

  “If ye willna let me in to see her, I shall sit right here until she comes outside.” Alec plopped down in the porch rocker and drummed his fingers on the cold, damp armrests. He’d been trying to corner Sadie for two days now, and God-a-mighty the woman was more elusive than the slyest fox. And he’d be damned straight t’hell if Mistress Martha wasna helpin’ Sadie avoid him. Whose side was the meddlin’ old woman on?
>
  Miss Martha shrugged from behind the screen door and pulled her wool scarf higher about her neck. “Suit yourself. Freeze your ass off out here on the front porch.” As she pulled the main door to, she chuckled and spoke through the screen again. “I’m sure it’ll make your mother very proud to discover she’s raised a son too stupid to realize that houses have back doors too.”

  “Dammit.” Alec glared at the front door of the bed-and-breakfast as it bumped shut, the curtains and blinds behind its glass swaying from side to side as if mocking him too. The span of three days since the incident had been a long, painful separation from Sadie and he’d given the confused lass all the space he could stand t’give her. ’Twas time this foolishness ended and Sadie returned to him, back where she belonged.

  “I kent ye had a back door too!” he shouted at the closed door. He’d just figured that since the weather had turned so bitter cold, Sadie wouldna take the long way through the sleet and snow to get to the job he’d found out she had at the café. And why the hell had Delilah Morrow given Sadie a job washing dishes? Ye’d think the entire town had turned against him, tryin’ t’help Sadie strike out on her own and leave Brady. Damn Southerners. Worse about takin’ in strays and stickin’ together than any clan of Highlanders.

  “Alec!”

  A shout from the street interrupted his fuming. “Now what?” he muttered, jerking about to find the person unwise enough to speak to him right now.

  Grant rolled down the window of the utility truck, squinting against the sleet and snow gusting in his face. “Come. Dwyn, Mistress Lydia, and Máthair said to bring ye to the boardroom immediately. Get in afore we all catch our death in this wicked weather.”

  “What do they want?” Alec didn’t move. Instead, he looked past Grant and directed his question to his brother Ramsay watching him from behind the steering wheel.

  “Why the hell are ye askin’ him? I’m the one sent t’fetch ye,” Grant said.

  “Because ye lie every time yer lips move and I’m in no mood for yer games.” Alec stomped down the steps and to the street, navigating the slippery sidewalk with the agility of a Highland goat. He shoved his hood back from his face, yanked open the door of the truck, and stuck his head inside. “What the hell do they want, Ramsay? The truth, mind ye.”

  Ramsay shrugged and nudged an elbow toward Grant. “It’s as he says. They didna get into the particulars with us. Just said we were t’bring ye. Now.”

  “Shove over.” Alec pushed Grant, moving him across the truck seat a bit faster. He slid in beside his brother, slammed the door shut, then rolled up the window. “It’s ne’er good when those three put their heads together.”

  “It’s even worse than that,” Ramsay said as he carefully steered the truck over the ever-slickening road. “I heard them say somethin’ about instructions or some such from Mistress Martha.”

  Mistress Martha. Alec’s gut tightened. That could only mean one thing. This meeting had something to do with his Sadie. He motioned toward the road. “Can ye no’ go any faster?”

  “Not in this mess,” Ramsay snorted. “Can ye no’ see the ice buildin’ up on the road?”

  After what seemed like forever, Ramsay finally parked the truck in front of the public keep housing the boardroom to Highland Life and Legends. Alec shouldered open the truck door, then hurriedly slipped and slid his way into the building. One hand on the door, he turned back to his brothers just getting out of the truck. “Get with Frank and get some salt spread before someone falls and breaks their neck.”

  “The park’s closed,” Grant argued.

  “Aye,” Ramsay chimed in. “There’s no one about.”

  “The maintenance crew is still here and so are a few of the ladies that work in the shops over the holidays. I’ll no’ have anyone hurt because of our laziness. Now off wi’ ye. Do as I say.” Alec waited. He was in no mood to be crossed and if his brothers valued their hides, they’d not argue again.

  Grant and Ramsay shot him dark looks icier than the weather but didn’t say another word. Instead, they got back in the truck and headed out to follow Alec’s instructions.

  Alec strode inside, shaking his coat free of moisture and stomping the slush off his boots. Shrugging off his coat, he tossed it across one of the benches lining the hallway. The closer he got to the boardroom, the more he felt as though he was walking into a trap. Dwyn plotting alone was ne’er a good thing, but Dwyn plotting with three old women could be deadly.

  The three of them stood at the end of the room, in front of the whiteboard, behind the long boardroom table. Alec thumped the door closed, senses heightened. He was about to be ambushed. He could feel it in his bones.

  Dwyn, his mother, and Miss Lydia turned in unison—their expressions confirming Alec’s suspicions. Best get this over and done. He took a deep breath and strode toward them. ’Twas always better to meet a battle head on. “Ye summoned me?”

  “Summoned is such a harsh word, son.” Sarinda smiled, the caring motherly smile she always assumed when preparing to give one of her children guidance that they’d best not ignore—not if they valued their arse.

  “What’s this about?” Alec remained on the other side of the table, planting both hands atop one of the straight-backed leather chairs. He dug his fingers into the leather, holding tight. This conversation could be one hell of a ride.

  “Martha sent word that Sadie bought a bus ticket.” Miss Lydia stepped forward, scowling at him as though it were his fault. “Some place in Texas. The farthest she could go with what little money she had.”

  Panic slammed into him like a hammer to his chest. “When?”

  “She bought it yesterday. The bus leaves early Saturday morning.” Miss Lydia pecked a gnarled arthritic finger hard atop the table. “You better get your ass in gear, boy. You’re about to lose her.”

  Alec threw the chair aside, stomped forward, and leaned across the table. “I have been ‘gettin’ me arse in gear,’ but yer damn sister has been helpin’ Sadie avoid me!”

  “No she hasn’t!” Miss Lydia met him across the table, her nose nearly touching his. “She’s just been making it look that way so Sadie wouldn’t get suspicious about whose side she was on.”

  “Calm down. Calm down.” Dwyn gently pulled Miss Lydia back while at the same time giving Alec a narrow-eyed glare. “Shouting and fighting amongst ourselves willna get this problem solved. It takes a cool head to plan a successful battle.”

  “I agree,” Sarinda chimed in. “Dwyn and I have been discussing this issue for quite some time.” She gave Alec a disapproving look. “We talked at length while ye were locked in yer office cooling down.” She lifted her chin and smugly folded her arms across her chest. “I believe we’ve come up with quite the promising solution, and all the details are finally in place.”

  Alec backed up a step, forcing himself to control the urge to saddle his horse, grab Sadie up, and ride off with her into the mountains. Nay. He wouldna do that—yet. “I’m listening,” he said, amazed he sounded so much calmer than he felt. “What is this plan?”

  Dwyn began the pacing that always signaled the advisor was excited about what he was about to share. A sly smile lit up his face and twinkled in his eyes. “As Sarinda and I see it, there are several issues we must help Sadie overcome before she’ll allow herself t’return to ye. Even if ye’d been able to talk with her earlier and tempt her into coming back, the woman has many demons to exorcise before the two of ye could be truly happy. The goddesses have shown me so, and ye ken they’re ne’er wrong.”

  “Go on,” Alec said, shifting in place to keep his tension in check.

  “That girl needs to realize that what her sister did wasn’t her fault,” Miss Lydia interjected. She shook her head with a sharp jerk, a murderous scowl puckering her face. “Sadie could no more control that bitch than I can control the weather.”

  “True,” Dwyn said, regaining the floor. “But that’s just one of the lass’s demons.” He smiled kindly at Miss Lydia an
d motioned for her to step back and let him do the talking.

  Miss Lydia pursed her lips tightly shut and stepped back.

  Dwyn turned back to Alec. “Sadie must also learn that ye dinna believe she was responsible either and that ye admire her for the fine, strong woman she is.”

  “Aye,” Alec agreed. “I’ve been tryin’ to get to her to tell her that and more.”

  “Tellin’ her will no’ make her believe it in her heart.” When Alec started to speak, Dwyn held up a hand for silence. “The root cause, the main issue we must repair to win Sadie back…” Dwyn paused for dramatic effect, the long, drawn-out minute making Alec want to lunge across the table and shake him. “Is Sadie’s inability t’believe in herself and truly know that she’s worthy of bein’ loved.” Dwyn stepped forward, slowly nodding as though everything was suddenly quite clear. “And Miss Lydia, Sarinda, and I have come up with just the plan that will set her well on the path t’healing.”

  “The bus leaves Saturday.” Alec swallowed hard, the thought of Sadie riding that damn bus out of his life nearly choking him. “We’ve got but two days to set this plan of yers in motion. Can it be done in time?”

  “Aye.” Dwyn smiled, then turned and winked at both the ladies, who currently looked as though they were about to burst with the delicious secret they shared. “We didna think ye’d mind, so we took the liberty of setting things in motion. Now you and I need to hie up to our rooms to pack a few bags for our trip.”

  Chapter 27

  “Ms. Sadie Williams?”

  Sadie stopped scrubbing the baseboard behind the entryway table. She curled into an even more awkward position, peering under her left armpit to see whoever or whatever it was that fate was about to smack her with this time. Sludge-spattered black shoes and jailhouse-gray slacks. Official-looking. Institutional-like even. Great. Now what level of hell is Delia going to throw at me?