Finding Fraser(96)

Her response was only to make that very Scottish noise in the back of her throat and stomp off.

There the matter might have rested, had I not returned late last night to her kitchen, with an aim to steal one of the sugary doughnuts she had inexplicably produced in the afternoon. As I opened the kitchen door, however, I spied the following:

· one lit candle, jammed in old wine bottle, centered on large wooden table

· one new wine bottle, red, open

· two wine glasses, filled

· one plate piled high with afore-mentioned sugary doughnuts

And finally…

· the backs of two heads, tilted together, voices pitched low in conversation.

I leave you to draw your own conclusions…



- ES



Comments: 14

HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:

True love for Mary and Henry. Hooray! Glad that you are well, Miss Emma. Perhaps you may become a Scottish farmer yourself. You even start to sound the part…!

(Read 13 more comments here…)





The day before I was to return to work, Morag had actually agreed to let me take the bike out for a test ride. So, naturally, I’d headed straight for the library.

Katy had come over and offered me a polite hello. My shocked expression must have been evident, because she’d looked a little embarrassed and told me that I’d been missed. I’d grinned at her and headed straight over to the computer terminal, my head held high.

Writing about Morag and her neighbour Hendry (okay, okay, so I didn’t do a great job of inventing aliases) took my mind off Hamish’s disappearance. But it hurt. It hurt and I wanted him back. I still had that note he had signed with a heart. That had to mean something.

My spirits sank further when there was no email from Jack, but I chastised myself for it. It was Hamish I needed to concentrate on. I might be writing about romance Scottish-farmer style, but what I really needed was romance, Hamish-style. After I finished posting, I decided to walk across the street and talk to Geordie.

When I stepped inside the office of the garage, Geordie was there already, going through a pile of invoices. As soon as he caught sight of me, he quickly moved over to stand behind the desk.

“I’m not catching,” I insisted. “The scabs have all fallen off.”

“Charming,” he said. “But there’s no use you hanging about. Hamish is in Dores—has been all week.”

“All week?” I said, relief washing through me. So that was why he hadn’t been to see me, at least for the past week. He hadn’t even been in Nairn. “Why?”

“It’s a—a big job,” said Geordie. He gathered his papers into a pile and scurried into the garage without even saying goodbye.

Which didn’t explain why Hamish hadn’t called or sent flowers. But it was something.





Fair Form…

12:15 pm, August 4

Nairn, Scotland



Back to work for me today, and feeling fine. Things are starting to feel normal again.

Almost completely normal.



- ES



Comments: 0





I didn’t really have time to post, and only put something up because I was in checking for comments. But the site had fallen strangely silent.

So, yeah … pretty much nothing felt normal. My relationship with my Highland warrior was over before it had really begun, and I hadn’t breathed a word of it online. I had become a serial blog-liar.

Things picked up a bit once I started work, though. The cafe was busy all morning, and at one point there was an actual line-up for coffee.

My public had clearly missed me.

But the best part happened right in the middle of the lunch rush. The bell on the door jingled, and I looked up to see Hamish.

I rushed over for a hug, but he side stepped me.

“Keep it professional, aye?” hissed Ash, as he brushed by me to wipe off one of my tables.

Sandeep rolled his eyes and held up one finger at me, which I took for permission to go into the back for a minute with Hamish.

When we got into the kitchen, he took my head in his hands and gently kissed me—on the forehead.

“I’d heard you were a wee speckled hen,” he said. His voice sounded so wonderful, I thought I might cry at the very sound of it. But then the words sank in.

“They won’t scar,” I said. “The doctor promised, as long as I don’t scratch, and I’ve been super careful.”

“Aye,” he said, thoughtfully. And then again. “Aye.”

I gazed up at his face, brown with the summer sun beneath his baseball cap. “I so missed you,” I whispered. “Why didn’t you call?”

“Ach, it’s been rare busy,” he said, and patted my arm with two fingers. “I must get back—Geordie only gave me a minute, aye?”