Page 12 of Crazy About Jill (Highland Berserkers #1)

CHAPTER 12

J ill curled up on their well-worn leather couch, her laptop balanced on her knees as she completed an Amazon order. The leather creaked beneath her, familiar and grounding when everything else in her world had shifted. She'd loaded up her cart with jeans, T-shirts, flannel shirts, and jackets from the big and tall section, aiming for sizes that would at least be close to fitting the displaced Highlanders. She'd figure out their shoe sizes later, but for now, the basics would do.

Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard as she tried to imagine Alasdair's exact measurements. Six-foot-two at least, broad shoulders that would strain most modern shirts, strong arms accustomed to wielding broadswords rather than smartphones. The task of translating ninth-century warrior builds into modern sizing charts was absurdly mundane given the circumstances.

Even as she hit "Place Order," she couldn't shake the image of Alasdair's piercing green eyes or the weight of the secret her parents had kept all these years. It felt surreal, buying modern clothes for warriors from another time, yet somehow, it felt like the least she could do to help them fit in—even if just a little.

What would Alasdair make of modern fashion? The thought brought a smile to her lips. The man wore a wolf pelt with such natural authority that somehow a simple t-shirt seemed inadequate in comparison. Though admittedly, seeing those broad shoulders in fitted flannel might not be altogether unpleasant...

The sound of footsteps on the stairs broke her reverie. Her father appeared in the doorway, followed by Will and Joe. All three men looked tired but determined. The scent of her father's pipe tobacco—a smell she'd found comforting her entire life—now carried new significance. How many centuries had he carried that habit with him?

“I’ve ordered them some clothes," Jill said, turning her laptop so they could see. "Two-day shipping. Figured they'll need to fit in eventually."

"Good thinking," Will said, settling into the armchair across from her. Always practical, he'd moved past his initial shock and was clearly in problem-solving mode. "We should make a list of everything they'll need."

“I”ve already started one," Jill replied, pulling up a document on her screen. "Clothes, toiletries, basic electronics..."

"IDs," Joe added, perching on the arm of the couch. "They can't exactly go around town without some kind of identification."

Dad nodded thoughtfully. "I've a contact who might help with that. Someone who helped me when I first arrived."

"Another time traveler?" Jill asked, raising her eyebrows, her historian's curiosity flaring.

"No, lass. Just someone who doesn't ask too many questions when the price is right." Her father's lips quirked in a half-smile.

The implication hung in the air—her father had once been as lost as these warriors. The thought sent a pang through her chest. Had he been as bewildered, as vulnerable as Alasdair had looked when confronted with indoor plumbing?

"What about the neighbors?” Will asked. "What do we tell them?"

"For now, friends visiting from Scotland," Dad suggested. "Here to help with the farm for the summer. It might help to explain their...unusual ways."

Jill drummed her fingers on her laptop. "And the Brollachan? Dad, how dangerous is this thing really?" A chill crawled up her spine as she remembered the dread on Alasdair's face in the woods, the way his hand had instinctively reached for a weapon when he'd mentioned the creature.

A shadow crossed her father's face. "Dangerous enough. It feeds on fear and darkness. Can take different forms to lure its prey." He sighed heavily. "I'll need to teach ye all some basic protections. Just in case."

The thought of something out there—something ancient and malevolent enough to frighten hardened warriors—made the warm living room suddenly feel exposed. Jill glanced toward the windows, half-expecting to see something watching from the darkness.

"Druid lessons from Dad," Joe grinned, though his eyes held a hint of unease. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"The warriors will help hunt it," Dad added. "That's what they do best, after all. And they've faced this creature before."

Jill thought of Alasdair, his protective stance when they'd first met in the forest. She had no doubt he would face any threat head-on. That was who he was—a protector, a leader. The thought sent an unexpected warmth through her chest, pushing back against the fear the Brollachan had stirred.

"We should get some rest," Dad said, glancing at the clock. "Tomorrow will be a busy day. The lads will need their first real introduction to the modern world."

As her brothers headed upstairs, Jill closed her laptop and looked at her father. "Dad? Do you think they'll be able to adapt? To find happiness here?" The question wasn't just about the warriors—it was about Alasdair specifically, though she couldn't bring herself to say his name.

Dad’s eyes softened. "Aye, lass. I did, didn't I?" His gaze drifted to the family photos on the wall—a quarter of a century of birthdays, graduations, holidays. A life built from the ashes of another. "They're strong men. And they have something I didn't when I first arrived."

"What's that?"

"They have each other. And they have us." He smiled gently. "Sometimes family is the only anchor you need."

Jill nodded, comforted by his words. As she headed upstairs, her mind drifted once more to the bunkhouse and its inhabitants. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new adjustments. But for tonight, at least, everyone was safe.

And that, she decided, was progress enough for one extraordinary day.