Page 13 of Priceless (Return to Culloden Moor #7)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

J acob groaned himself awake and rolled to look at the clock. It was his usual waking time of half nine. He’d actually slept a few hours!

After leaving the bar and his “intervention” two days ago, he’d realized his folly and quickly shot a text back to Vonnie, assuring her he’d been lying when he’d claimed to be in love.

That he’d been desperate for anything that might shut all their gobs and stop them worrying about drugs and gambling and the financial state of the business.

He’d insisted he’d met no one—how could he when he was always at Jocko’s—and he might just need a couple of days off.

Obviously, I need a break from the rigamarole.

I'll haud the fort. Get yersel’ laid, for pity’s sake.

He winced at the coarse advice, but he knew it came from the wild lassie’s heart. It bothered her that he was alone in the world and more than once had suggested that taking on the widow would be better than having no one at all.

Somedays he was tempted to tell her he and Cora Woodbrey were dating, just to see the horror register on that cocksure face.

So, for a day and a half, he wandered around, nursing his phone, existing from one update to the next, reminding himself that her messages were brief because she was busy playing tourist. He drove down the coast of Loch Ness just for some peace.

Changed the oil in the lorry, and got his hair and beard trimmed.

While he was at it, he reckoned it was fine time he bought a new pair of denims and a new shirt or two.

Ended up spending far more than he’d intended.

He’d have to be careful not to trot out the new kit all at once or he’d never hear the end of it from Vonnie and the team.

But since that day was special, he showered and donned the new green shirt that matched his eyes—not that he noticed such things, but the cashier had.

His new boots were buff black, so no obvious shine to them.

The socks and kecks (underwear) were just for him, of course, but their soft, hole-less state only proved their purchase had been overdue.

He didn’t expect anyone, including Laira, to see them.

He’d come home with three new pairs of denims, two of which he hung in the back of the closet to keep himself from getting too uppity. He’d wear them only when they became necessary. The deep blue and russet shirts hung ready and waiting—an army at the ready.

An army to woo a woman. One for each day she was expected to stay in Inverness.

An expensive black shirt with a pinstripe he stuck with the extra denims. He couldn’t imagine needing it, but it was there in case Laira Harris required a candlelit supper or some such.

But the fact was, he would be lucky if they had much of a chance to speak.

After all, he couldn’t very well stalk her around the city and pretend to run into her again and again.

And yet, he had no better plan than that.

Jocko’s pub was on the list he’d made for her. The question was, would she follow it?

Already, she’d strayed from the plan—a ghost tour in Edinburgh on the first night.

He wasn’t surprised by it, just miffed that he hadn’t thought of that himself and added it to her list of possible itineraries.

And though he was no tour guide for Scotland, he felt as if he’d failed both her and the country by omitting it.

Worse yet, what else had he omitted?

What had truly kept him from sleeping was a late-night exchange with the American lass. He’d just begun to nod off and nearly missed it.

I didn’t text today because I’ve been

…tied up.

Jacob stared at the dots that came and went, trying to read between them.

Should I be worried?

Only if you count bagpipes as a threat.

A cold knot formed in his stomach.

…Go on.

I was window shopping on the Royal Mile and got a little lost. Turned a corner, into an alley—or a close, or whatever they call it here—and there’s this man. Bent over, messing with his sock. The wind kicks up and lifts the back of his kilt…

He smiled—until she kept going.

I was shocked—honestly shocked—that he was wearing underwear. I laughed before I could stop myself.

Ye laughed?

Yes, and when he stood and turned, I said, “I think you’re cheating.”

…

And he said, “I think ye’re peakin’.” We laughed for a long time.

To Jacob, it felt like someone stood at his shoulder and poured a bucket of cold water down his back.

Against his will, an image formed—her in that narrow close, rain in her hair, laughing up at some kilted stranger, and he laughing with her.

The image lodged in his chest like a splinter the size of a knife.

A shared cup of coffee led to an evening walk, which led to dinner, and now—drumroll please—I’m engaged to a bagpiper named Munro!

His jaw locked so hard it ached. He set the phone down before he cracked the screen, then he stood and crossed the flat. His hand found the doorframe and pressed into it—hard—until the wood creaked under his palm. Not enough to break it. Just enough to keep from breaking himself.

When he could trust his fingers not to shake, he retrieved the phone.

I should congratulate ye on what sounds like a whirlwind romance. I should have warned ye about involvin’ yerself with pipers, however. Musicians, typically, arenae to be trusted.

He set the phone face-down and leaned his forehead against the wall, absorbing the quiet until the tightness in his chest eased enough to breathe.

He should have met her at the airport and confessed everything! He should have bought a ticket to get through security, found her as soon as her foot touched down, and confessed!

Oy! He should have never entered that chatroom in the first place!

He took deep breaths and tried to keep his head. Any woman who would fall so easily for a man in one day wasn’t the woman for him in any case.

An angel on his shoulder quickly pointed out that he, himself, had been hoping she would do that very thing once they met face to face…

“But a piper!” He pounded the wall twice with the side of his fist, then stopped before someone down in the bar might think he needed aid.

Jocko?

He considered never replying again, but that would be mean, and he wasnae a mean man, even when sorely disappointed.

Perhaps the shops would take the clothes back…

Aye, Miss Harris?

That was as petty as he would allow himself.

Miss Harris?

Not yet Mrs. Munro, are ye? Or has he whisked ye away to Gretna Green?

I don’t know what that is.

No matter.

I’m sorry. I was just teasing about the piper. I did meet one in the alley, and we did have a good laugh, but that was all.

I went to the National Gallery, saw the Haystacks by Monet. I liked the painting of an ice-skating priest, but I realized painting is not my thing.

His heart and his brain took a wee while to recover. He had to read the first bit three times while she typed away.

She’d been takin’ the piss?

His brain finally kicked into gear. Easy boyo, she wasnae teasing ye, but an AI program. Why would she suspect there was any harm in it?

I went to Edinburgh castle, and by the look of one suit of armor, I think people must have been pretty small back in the days of Mary Queen of Scots. I ate a lot of unhealthy stuff, walked through the Princes Street Gardens and St. Giles’ Cathedral. That’s when I ran into that piper.

For dinner, I went to a restaurant for fish and chips—crazy good! Oh, and I bought a pretty new scarf in a tartan pattern called Isle of Skye. I had no idea Scots named their patterns. Most of them have clan names, but I guess you know that.

Turns out the Harris Family pattern was pretty dull. I’m trying not to read too much into that. LOL.

Sorry. Inside joke.

Jacob’s heart stuttered back to life while his eyes skimmed over the words popping up on the screen. And by the time he trusted himself to respond, it was pounding against his ribs.

Well done, lass. It sounds as if ye got in numerous baby steps, and all in one day.

…

I thought I was looking for adventure. Or a chance to learn something new. Something frivolous. Something interesting. But I think what I’m looking for is…

a chance to feel something. To be moved.

To experience some emotion other than grief.

Maybe tomorrow.

Planning to get on that train to Inverness in the morning.

TTFN. Tah tah for now.

She wanted to feel emotion? Something other than grief?

To Jacob, it sounded like what Laira Harris was desperate for was some romance.

She would be arriving in Inverness at 10:29, 10:30, 12:00, or 1:30. There was no telling which of four trains without asking. He’d just have to make a morning of it.