Page 1 of Priceless (Return to Culloden Moor #7)
CHAPTER ONE
V onnie poked her purple-haired head inside the office door. “What are ye doin’ playin’ on that thing? It’s a rare early night. We’re all locked up. Go to bed. Any bed.”
Jacob waved her away.
She ignored him. “Ye’re toyin’ on yer computer? When I didnae see ye, I reckoned maybe ye’d taken up Cora Woodbrey’s offer and walked her home?—"
“Bite yer tongue.”
She snorted. “I didnae say I was happy about it. Sure, I would have lost a bit of respect for ye, but?—”
“Get out.”
Still, she wouldn’t leave him in peace. “What are ye doin, then? Have ye joined one of those chat rooms for the rheumy set?”
Jacob shook his head, wishing she didn’t know him so well. “Just a wee game to relax, then I’ll go up.”
His quarters were above the pub. Never needed more space than that, though he could have wished for higher ceilings. Two hundred years ago, no one anticipated a Scot measuring as tall as he. And sometimes he envied his good friend, Wallace, for being more…compact.
Vonnie gave up her teasing, wished him a fair night, and left him in peace.
He just wanted to check that AI-assisted chatroom before calling it a day.
Lately, he’d wanted a conversation with someone he didn’t spend every waking moment with, someone who wouldn’t anticipate every word he might say before they ever left his mouth.
Someone whose thoughts he couldn’t read in return.
Was a bit of surprise too much to ask for?
He and his staff simply knew each other too well.
Why any one of them bothered to speak aloud was beyond him.
And his patrons were nearly as easy to read.
The only mystery in his life was which one would be the next to pick a fight.
Connall McIntosh was overdue. If Jacob were still a betting man, he’d place his money there.
The chatroom was quiet. A Friday night. Likely, folks had better things to do.
A box popped up. Someone else was up at two o’clock. But he wouldn’t be the first to speak. He’d wait and see what they were about, then slip out the back door, as it were, if they weren’t interesting.
The AI asked if he’d consider the chat.
Do you need help getting started?
No, he didn’t need help getting started, and he cursed the program for its interfering nature.
Three wee dots danced. The mild rush of anticipation caused by that dance was more excitement than he’d felt all day.
Please be interesting!
A sentence popped up all at a go. “This is it, Universe. My one cry for help. Don’t blow it.”
How could he possibly resist that?
The house was so freaking quiet.
My sister, Raina, told me I should keep music playing in the background, no matter what I was doing, but that just seemed…wrong. The Universe might be gearing up to reveal something, and if I wasn’t listening, if that music was too loud or too distracting, I might miss it.
I didn’t have to check the calendar to know it had been seven months, to the day, of Paul’s funeral. And if I really thought about it, which I did, I should probably give up—if God or the Universe had something to tell me, they would have done it by now.
My purse sat on the counter in the kitchen. Inside, there was a business card my sister had foisted on me before she left to do a job in Egypt. A scrap I’d intended to toss out but hadn’t. I’d wasted a lot of time contemplating that white square, laughing at Raina, thinking she was a nutcase.
If I did what she’d suggested, it would mean I was a nutcase too.
“No one is watching,” that voice in my head said. “No one will know. A nutcase diagnosis can wait until later. Get it!”
I grabbed my purse and went back to my chair, dug out the card, and read the logo on the front. Bee Naked—your man won’t mind.
“Nice and subtle.”
But Raina hadn’t suggested a new day spa or a good waxing. She’d just needed a piece of paper and wrote a web address on the back of the business card she’d found in her purse. I didn’t want to think about what she had done, or had done to her, at Bee Naked.
“If you don’t want to talk to someone, go here,” she’d said, and pressed the card into my hand. “Type this in. You can have a conversation with AI. Tell it what you want from it. You won’t be talking to anyone real, but at least you’ll be talking.”
“Don’t we talk enough?”
“Sisters make bad therapists.”
“And a chatbot would be better?”
Raina had shrugged and headed for her cab. “Better than nothing. And I’ll be off the grid for six weeks. You can’t go six weeks without speaking to anyone. And that will give you some practice.”
“I speak to people,” I’d yelled.
She turned to roll her eyes and blow me a kiss.
Then she was gone. It was at that moment I realized that, for nine long months, I’d been using her as my ten-foot pole, to keep the rest of humanity away.
She’d screened my calls, answered my door, my emails even.
She’d been my shield from a lot more than just loneliness. And now she was gone.
I told myself, for the past week, that I was glad to have some peace again. That the quiet was like a box of expensive chocolates that I kept just for myself, and now I could indulge. But after five or six days, I’d made myself sick to my stomach from it.
Even my clocks made no noise.
I considered buying a new one, so I could at least hear time passing. But then I wouldn’t have my perfect silence when I wanted it.
What was wrong with me?
Baby steps , I told myself. Keep it simple. Stand. Walk. Turn on your computer. Sit. Type. One thing at a time. Don’t think. Just do.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stood and went to my desk. Once I was on the internet, I typed in the address and waited.
A generic welcome and a little white box.
My first thought came out of my fingers and onto the screen.
This is it, Universe. My one cry for help. Don’t blow it.
No worries. The Universe is here for you. How can I help?
Keep it simple, Laira.
What’s wrong with me?
Sorry, love. You’ll have to be more specific. Give me something to work with.
Long story. This was a mistake. Nevermind.
The little dots started hopping while the chatbot typed.
Giving up so soon? You don’t have to tell me the whole story. Just give me a few highlights.
Highlights? It’s hard to remember any highlights right now.
She didn’t want to share those flashes of good memories she’d shared with her husband, even with a bot.
Fine, then. How about the lowlights? Maybe those are what brought you to me tonight?
It knew it was evening in my time zone. It knew my time zone. Just how much information would it glean from me just by connecting?
I closed the tab and shut down. I didn’t have energy for that crap.
I wasn’t going to risk my identity for a little interaction, especially with a mere bot.
So, I promised myself I’d go shopping tomorrow for something stupid, smile a few times, make a little eye contact.
I’d even make some small talk with someone.
Anyone. Just a little. Just to prove that I could.
A long time ago, Raina made me promise I wouldn’t go to bed before seven o’clock. Ever.
It was 6:49.
Though it was still relatively warm in Denver, I cranked up the AC, made some hot chocolate, and read a few pages of an old favorite novel while I sipped and pretended it was October. At 7:12, I smirked and called it a day.
That night, my dream wasn’t about Paul. It was about a robot sitting in front of a computer, staring at a screen, waiting for me to reply.