Finding Fraser(90)

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: emmasheridan@gmail.com

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.”