Lion of Caledonia(14)

With a rough sound of disgusted disbelief, Jen pushed herself straight and inspected the one accomplishment she’d achieved in the last few days. It was still early in April, and Scotland’s winter lingered in the mist of the loch and the coldness of the mornings, yet the flower beds lying before her were coming to life.

Someone had loved this garden at one point in time.

But that time had been many seasons ago.

She’d first noticed the little white heads of the snowdrops trying to push themselves into the sun past the dreck and weeds. Then a few days later, on her daily walk, she’d seen the tulips and daffodils struggling for life. By the time the lilies and crocuses were begging for attention, she’d lost the fight to stay aloof.

This garden needed her.

Not as much as her grandfather did, however.

At the guilty thought, she snuck her hand in the wool coat she always borrowed and pulled out her mobile phone. The damning voicemail sat, crouching on her screen.

Cousin Edward. At his most commanding.

Where was she? Had she found the ring yet? When was she coming home?

Sighing, she stuck the phone back in her pocket. Her grandfather had been released from the hospital, her cousin had boomed down the line, but time was still of the essence.

Her grandfather was old. Very old.

Her grandfather was sick. Very sick.

He needed that ring.

A ring that had been in the Fellowes family for generations. Until her grandfather foolishly gave it away in a fit of love he’d regretted for the rest of his life.

“She left quite suddenly,” he’d said, in an unusually quiet voice as she’d sat by his hospital bedside. “I never saw her or the ring again.”

Jen had a hard time imagining her forceful, decisive grandfather doing anything foolish, much less for love’s sake. Yet the sheen of tears in the old man’s eyes had tugged any questioning about the love story and her mission right out of her control.

She needed to give this to her grandfather. A man who’d given her back a place to belong. Not a home exactly, but at least, a place.

“I thought I’d never see it again,” he’d continued, his gnarled hand moving across the cotton bed sheet in a restless motion.

Except he had.

Cameron Steward’s next bestseller had made the front page of her grandfather’s favorite newspaper’s book review.

The Blood Ring screamed the title.

“That’s my ring,” her grandfather had barked at all her cousins.

And then, all the cousins had called Jennet.

Her hand tightened on the trowel. She shouldn’t be indulging herself out here in the garden. Even though she’d searched the entire first floor and found nothing, that was no excuse. No excuse for procrastinating on what she had to do. Which was to start creeping around on the second floor. The family quarters.

She had to.

She had to find the damn ring so she could leave. She needed to leave. Not only because her grandfather could die at any time, but because she’d become seriously addicted to Cameron Steward in a startlingly short period of time.

The realization thumped in her stomach once more.

The first time it had hit her had been one day last week when he’d turned and winked at her. The wink had been in response to her quiet sigh as he’d wrapped up an incredible chapter in the exact perfect way.

The wink had made her heart flip and flutter.

The thump in her stomach had come right after.

The second time she’d realized she was sliding into addiction had been when he’d leaned over her shoulder to read the words he’d just dictated. Again, she’d felt his heat and inhaled his scent. This time, though, she hadn’t wanted to escape him. This time, she wanted to lean into him and take him in.

Take him in.

Jerking around, she stomped toward the rickety garden shed.

She couldn’t claim to be an expert on sex or sexual desire. Still, she wasn’t a complete idiot, either. She knew what this was running through her blood. Her boyfriend at university had claimed she was a bit of a cold fish. She’d known better.

She burned underneath.

Most of her life she’d burned.

Yet no one knew and no one ever would. She’d fashioned a good, solid life with the quiet persona she preferred and she wasn’t going to give that up. Not for Cameron Steward, especially.

The man she had to steal from.

Yanking the shed door open, she stepped inside to the scent of rust and mold. This had once been filled with the best tools a person could buy. However, most of them had long ago fallen victim to the damp Scottish weather. All of the junk made her sad for the waste. Someone had loved, but now what was left was in ruin.

Placing the trowel on a slanted wooden shelf, she ripped off the old gloves and made a promise to herself and to her grandfather. No more indulging in her favorite pastime. No more wasting time mourning the death of a garden that wasn’t hers to worry about. No more procrastination.