by Amy Vansant
“Again?”
“She killed my da.”
“Sean? How is that—”
“Na, the man whit raised me after...after ah jumped tae the eighteen hundreds. After ye died.”
“Right. That time I died.” Catriona sat on the bed beside him. “Why would she kill your father?”
Broch took a deep breath and leaned his head against the wall behind his bed. “She came tae murdur me. Ah think she wanted tae see if she cuid. She didnae believe we cuid die lik’ ye did.”
“And by we, you mean time travelers?”
“Aye.”
“But she killed your dad instead?”
“Nae exactly. She stabbed me and her friend wi’ the mossy teeth cut mah da’s throat.”
He looked down at the scar on his belly. The wound had been ragged and bleeding when Catriona found him on the Parasol Pictures lot.
Catriona’s attention also fell to his abdomen. “Is it me, or does that scar look redder than it did yesterday?”
Broch nodded. Even in the filtered light of the lot security lights peeping through his blinds, he could see the scar looked more angry than it had for some time.
“That’s whaur she stabbed me.”
Catriona gasped. “That’s where she poked me.”
“Whit?”
“She mentioned you and poked me there.”
“When?”
“Uh, I may have run out to ask her some questions while you were sleeping.”
He scowled. “Ah tellt ye tae come git me if ye gaed anywhere.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was a spur of the moment thing.”
He took her hand in his own, recalling the dream. “She’s dangerous, Cat. Fiona murdurred me efter all, bit ah cam ’ere instead o’ dying.”
Catriona sighed. “She is the worst.”
He chuckled, and noticed for the first time that Catriona wore a long shirt and no pants.
“Ye’ve git nae pants on.”
She glanced at her bare legs. “No kidding. I just woke up thanks to you screaming in here.”
“Whit time is it?”
“Almost five. You slept for, like, twelve hours.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Och. Ah guess ah did need mah kip.” He grinned and pulled back the sheets. “Sae dae ye. Ye want tae hop in?”
Catriona laughed and stood, slipping her hand from his grasp. “Oh no you don’t. Get up and get dressed. We have a lot to do today.” Her gaze roamed his chest. “You’re all sweaty.”
“Ah wis havin’ a nightmare aboot the time ah wis stabbed tae death. Ye’d be sweaty tae.”
She leaned forward to lightly touch the edges of the bandage beneath his left arm. “We’ll have to change this and bag it again for your shower. I wish we had—” She gasped.
“Whit?”
“I know where there’s a tub. There’s one in the empty apartment across the hall. How did I forget that? Hold on.”
Catriona strode from the room. Broch heard her leave and enter her own apartment. He stood and wrapped his great kilt around his shoulders like a robe. By the time he’d relieved himself, Catriona had reappeared in his bedroom with a key in one hand and a squishy, golden ball with holes in it in the other.
“I got this sponge in a gift basket once but never used it,” she said, shaking the squishy thing. “Follow me.”
He followed. Catriona crossed the hall and used her key to open the door there. Inside was an apartment similar to his own; just as sparsely furnished, but larger. She walked into the bedroom and then into a large bathroom as he shuffled along behind her. At the back of the room sat a large, footed tub. Catriona walked to it and turned on the water, testing it for temperature.
“Ooh, bubble bath. Bonus,” she said, snatching a bottle from a nook inside the wall behind the tub. She poured a liquid from it directly beneath the running faucet. Broch took a few steps forward and peered into the tub to find it frothing with foam.
Catriona grinned at him. “You can use this tub to bathe until you’re healed. You can sit in here and keep your wound above water.”
“Bit ah lik’ mah showers.”
“I know you do, but they’re a mess for that gunshot wound. Give this a shot. No pun intended.”
Catriona stood from her perch on the edge of the bath and he could see something had changed in her expression. The faintest hint of a smirk had developed on her lips. She slid her hands under his draped kilt and across his chest to his shoulders, slipping the cloth from its perch on one side to expose his wound. Gently, she peeled away the bandage and tossed it in the trash.
Gliding her hand along his chest to his opposite shoulder, she pushed against the cloth, asking him to remove the makeshift shawl. He pulled his shoulder forward to resist.
She leered. “Come on. Drop it. Since when are you shy?”
The kilt fell from his shoulder and he grabbed it at his waist.
“Ah ken undress myself,” he said, trying to appear cross. He attempted to spur on his pretend irritation to keep from scooping Catriona into his arms and carrying her into the adjoining bedroom. He wasn’t sure if he had ever seen anything as wonderful as Catriona in an oversized t-shirt.
Get in. I won’t look.” She turned her back to him.
He dropped his kilt to the ground and stepped into the tub, easing himself into the warm water.
Heaven.
The bubbles closed around him.
“Are you in?” she asked.
“Aye.”
Catriona turned and smiled. “Look at you. You look like a commercial. All you need is a rubber ducky.”
She turned off the water and dropped to her knees to plunge the sponge into the bath. Her hands brushed dangerously close to his hip.
“Ah can take mah own bath,” he said.
“I know.” She reached across him to grab a bottle from the shelf. As she did, he could see the side of her breast through the armhole of her shirt.
“Keep the heid,” he muttered under his breath. In his mind, he began to walk through the steps of fashioning a pot hook to distract himself from his own desire, but his eyes could still see. He watched Catriona, mesmerized by her movements as she poured soap into the sponge, squeezing it until it began to lather.
“Ah ken whit yer doin’,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked upon the sheet of bubbles with gratitude. Were it not for them, he feared the surface of the water might look something like the picture of the loch ness monster Catriona had once shown him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Catriona. The skin on her neck and chest had grown flush. Her lips seemed fuller than usual. As if they were begging for him to kiss them...
He turned his head away from her.
Na. Dinnae give in. She’s goan tae marry ye first if it’s the last thing—
He felt something soft touch his chest and turned back to find Catriona cleaning the area around his wound, careful to avoid the stitches. The soft touch of the sponge on his tender flesh ran a thrill through his body. She moved on, dipping the sponge into the water by sliding it down his abs and then drawing the water up the undamaged side of his chest, stroking to his shoulder.
Broch tilted back his head to rest it against the ledge of the tub, his eyes closed. He couldn’t remember ever feeling as comfortable and aroused at the same time before.
“I need you to lean forward a bit so I can do your back,” whispered a voice in his ear. He opened his eyes and found her face close to his, those full lips brushing his cheek.
He was losing the battle. He could feel it.
Dinnae leuk at her.
He closed his eyes again and leaned forward.
Think aboot somethin’ else. Think aboot…Scootlund. He pictured himself galloping on his steed across the wild moors, his hips moving with the motion of the horse beneath him…
Och na. Dinnae think aboot riding. Fur the love of—
The sponge eased down his back and he groaned with pleasure.
He
’d almost reined in his thoughts when Catriona kissed the back of his neck.
That’s it.
His eyes sprung open and he grabbed her, pulling her into the bath. She screamed and fell on him, belly-to-belly and he kissed her to stop the racket. She kissed him back, clinging to him as he pulled her hips against him.
She slid across him, losing her purchase on his bubble-covered chest. A second before impact, their wild eyes met. Both knew there was no stopping her momentum.
This is goan tae hurt.
Her elbow jammed into his bullet wound. Broch barked in pain. She scrambled to move, slipping face-first into the divot between his pecs.
His arms pinned, Broch feared she might drown there.
Her weight balanced on her nose, Catriona’s arms rose from the bubbles like a bird about to launch. Sputtering, she grabbed the sides of the tub and hoisted herself up and back on her knees, straddling his shins.
Broch squeezed his eyes shut as the sharp pain beneath his arm subsided. When he opened them again, she was staring at him, panting much as he was, her wet white tee clinging to her breasts, her face dripping with bubbles.
“Things like this are always much sexier in movies,” she mumbled, flashing a lopsided smile. “Are you okay?”
“Ah’m fine. Bit ah need tae gae noo afore we end up in an identical predicament.”
He slid his legs up and stood, his hand covering his nether regions, and stepped out of the tub to grab his kilt. He wrapped himself with it.
“But you’re not done with your bath,” she said, the playful smirk he’d seen earlier returning for an encore.
He shook his head. “Ye’re a temptress and ah willnae fall fer yer tricks.”
“I think you just did.”
“Och.” He waved her away. “Ah’ll meet ye in a bit.”
He strode out of the bathroom and headed straight for his apartment. He wouldn’t feel safe until his own door was locked behind him.
When it was, he closed his eyes, leaned against the door and took a deep, cleansing breath, picturing Catriona in her wet tee.
Mebbe marriage isnae sae important.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Catriona scurried back to her apartment leaving a trail of bubbly water in her wake.
So close. Almost had him.
It hadn’t been right of her to trick him into the bath but all’s fair...
Catriona removed her tee and dropped it in her bathroom sink with a slap, still grinning about the tryst that almost was. The way he’d lifted her like she didn’t weigh a thing and pulled her into the bath. She didn’t know what was more of a turn on—him, or feeling like she weighed nothing at all.
She twisted the knob of her shower and heard her phone spring to life in the other room.
Figures.
She jogged back into her bedroom and dove across her bed to reach the cell.
“Hello?”
“Do you have running shoes?” asked Sean on the other side of the line.
Catriona scowled. “Yes. Probably as new as the day I bought them. Why?”
“I need you to run a five-k today.”
Catriona chuckled and pulled herself up to a sitting position, flashing her window a sideling glance as she covered her naked body with a sheet. She had to remember at any moment big sis could be staring through her blinds with binoculars.
“That’s funny,” she said.
“I’m serious.”
“Seriously on crack.”
“Teena Milagros received another death threat that seems specific to a charity run she’s in this morning. I tried to talk her out of participating but she wouldn’t listen.”
“So you want me to run with her?”
“You and Broch.”
“Broch? Oh that should be fun, trying to find him the proper clothes for this. When?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“In the morning?” Catriona’s eyes opened so wide she thought they might roll from her skull. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“But that’s—” she looked at her phone. “That’s like three hours away.”
“Right, so you have plenty of time to find some clothes and get downtown.”
“But I need, like, a month to train.”
“I’ll text you the details. I already have you registered.”
Catriona fell sideways and planted her face in the pillow next to her, chanting. “No no no no.”
She could hear Sean’s tinny voice calling her from her phone. “Cat? Catriona?”
“Fine.” She put the phone to her ear again. “Fine. Consider it done.”
“Be on your toes.”
“See? This is hopeless. I didn’t even know you were supposed to run on your toes.”
“I mean bring a gun.”
“Naturally. What’s a fun run without a gun strapped to your tiny running shorts?”
“Be careful.”
“Of course. Good-bye. You suck.”
She hung up and closed her eyes. She’d nearly fallen back to sleep when her phone dinged. Sean had texted the directions as promised.
“It wasn’t a dream,” she grumbled.
She took a quick shower and rummaged through her drawers and closet for things that could be considered ‘running clothes’ if someone drank heavily and squinted one eye. For practice, she jogged into her living room wondering if she had time for a cup of coffee.
Something large moved on her sofa and she yelped.
Broch sat up.
“Och wummin ye scared me tae death.”
“Scared you? What are you doing lying on my sofa like some giant scruffy dog?”
“Ah tellt ye ah’d meet ye. Ye were in the shower so ah waited.”
He stood and she saw he wore his kilt beneath a plain gray t-shirt. She hadn’t yet deciphered what made a day a kilt day yet.
He clapped his hands together. “Whit ur we daen today?’
Catriona peeked into the jar that held her coffee and found it empty. Muttering under her breath, she turned to address the Highlander. “Well, assuming I don’t drop dead of a heart attack in the first ten minutes, we have new plans. Sean wants us to run a race with Teena Milagros.”
“Run a race? Whit happens if we win?”
“We get to feel good about ourselves, I guess. We’re just there to protect Teena. It’s a fun run for charity.”
“A fun run?”
“Oxymoron, right? That’s what I thought.” Catriona spooned a dollop of peanut butter from a jar and pressed it against her tongue. “Want some?”
“Aye.”
She dug another spoon into the peanut butter and handed it to him.
“Breakfast of champions. I need to find you some clothes.”
Broch said something that sounded like hmmwrrrnnnlllowes and it took her a moment to translate from peanut butter to English.
“You’re wearing clothes, got it. But you can’t run a race in a kilt.”
“Ah hae in the past.”
“I’m sure, but nowadays, you have to have the proper clothes and shoes, or the runny people lose their minds.” She put the peanut butter jar back in the refrigerator. “Or they feel superior to you and I don’t want to give them that either.”
Broch handed her the licked-clean spoon. “How come Teena needs oor hulp?”
“Someone’s threatening her. Who knows? Crazy fan, probably. We have to keep an eye out for trouble until the wacko moves on to his next obsession.”
Broch nodded.
“We’ve got just enough time to get you some clothes.” She grabbed her purse and her gaze fell to her own untrendy shoes. “Maybe me, too.”
Catriona drove them to the nearest open athletic store and found Broch size fourteen running shoes, sweat wicking shorts and a matching tank.
“You know what they say about big feet,” she said as she walked their booty to the checkout counter.
“Whit?”
She snatched two pairs o
f running socks from the display near the register. “Big socks.”
One of the best things about Broch’s time-traveling issues was she could use moldy-old jokes and they were always new to him.
She used the studio’s credit card and asked if they could change in the store before leaving. Granted permission, they did so and then circled around the fun run check-in area, searching for a parking spot.
Broch groaned as they made their third loop around the block. “It wid hae bin quicker tae donder fae the store.”
Catriona growled as someone a block ahead of her found a spot. “I’m not walking a foot farther than I have to today.”
After finding a spot, they hurriedly strode to the check-in table.
“Whaur am ah running tae?” asked Broch as Catrina pinned his number to his back.
“Back here. It’s a loop.”
“Whit’s the point o’ that?”
“That’s always been my question in situations like these. That, and why would you run when you own a car?” She looked him up and down, admiring his body in the skimpy running outfit. “You look like you were born to wear that.”
He winked. “Ye dinnae keek tae ill yerself.”
Catriona spotted a short, curvy Latino woman and grabbed Broch’s hand to drag him through the mingling racers towards her.
“Teena?”
The woman’s head turned and her eyes flashed with fear.
“It’s okay, I’m Catriona. Sean sent us.” She hooked a thumb toward Broch.
Petite Teena tilted back her head to find Broch’s face.
“You’re enormous.” She tapped her long, neon-orange nails on Broch’s chest.
He nodded. “Sae ah’ve been tellt.”
Teena hooted with laughter and grinned at Catriona. “I should feel safe around him, no?”
Catriona nodded. “We’ve got you covered.”
“Okay, well, let’s go, right? I want to be up at the front with the winners.”
Teena wove her way through the crowd. Though her large hoop earrings seemed impractical to Catriona for jogging, she could tell the rest of the performer’s skin-tight running outfit was top of the line. Catriona slid her hand across her own crumpled running shorts, attempting to iron them with palm heat. At least she’d invested in a new racer-back tee. That made her feel official.
She glanced behind her to be sure Broch had kept up as they made their way through the crowd. He nodded, acknowledging her attention. While he had all the right clothing now, his body type didn’t say runner. He looked as though he’d made a wrong turn on his way to a rugby match.