Page 14 of Priceless (Return to Culloden Moor #7)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jacob stood inside the station watching the rain pour off the long roofs and wondered, as he always did, if Noah had his animals loaded and ready, for it seemed as if the Highlands might be going under.

She wasn’t on that one either.

He stared at his phone and willed her, with all his might, to message him, to tell him she was still on a train, to assure him he hadn’t missed her.

What if she looked nothing like the picture he’d seen on the internet? What if she’d simply changed the color of her hair? Some women did so on the regular. What if she was that brunette that had walked past him? A ginger?

How the bloody hell could he ask her the color of her hair when a bot wouldn’t give a fig? How could he justify asking which train she was on? How could he justify worrying about her when a bot couldn’t worry?

Should he ask and hope she never put two and two together? Should he ask and confess in the same message? At least that way, she’d be looking for him when she stepped off…

What if he just walked up to her, introduced himself, and held the umbrella over her head while she took it all in?

Waiting for yet another train might be the death of him. What if she wasn’t on this one either? He’d have no choice, really. If she didn’t materialize, and soon, he would have to reach out or go mad.

What if he only sent…a dot? What about a single dot? She would look at her phone and wonder…but at least she’d have her text open… A nudge. A wee little nudge.

Jacob woke his phone and stared at their last exchange.

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

TTFN. Tah tah for now.

He should just trust her.

He should just wait.

1:27…

1:28…

1:29…

No sign of it. Had the rain caused a delay? They would make an announcement?—

Bells and horns sounded in the distance. An entire marching band took up the celebration in his chest cavity. The train was here. She’d be on it. He knew it.

All of it had been God testing him.

Patience. He’d learned patience. A tiny bit more than he’d had yesterday.

“Thank ye for the lesson,” he muttered.

A woman in a long tan coat. A furry collar. It had to be her. It had to!

She stepped further onto the walk, out of the main flow of traffic.

Looked both ways, getting her bearings. Then she grasped her bag handles and entered the flow again.

Sharp steps. Keeping up. Glancing up to find the sign for taxis.

Her gaze slid past him, came back. A flicker of a second and she looked away again.

Look again, love. Look again!

Someone bumped into her and stole her attention. She smiled her instant forgiveness, then continued. After she passed, he stepped into the flow and followed her to the taxi stand where she and her bags slipped inside a black beast before he could get close.

Jacob was almost embarrassed–and well he should be–to speak the words aloud. “Follow that car.”

When the woman’s taxi took her just where he’d hoped, to Bluebell House, Jacob paid his own driver and got out. It was twenty minutes later when she stepped outside again, sans luggage, and headed for the waterfront just blocks away.

He kept a full block between them, stopping now and then when he thought she might look back. Thankfully, she never did.

She crossed at Greig Street Bridge. On the other side she turned south toward Jocko’s, and his heart began to hammer. He was able to catch his breath and calm, though, when she sat down on the low wall beside the water and pulled out her phone.

Who could she be calling?

He smiled when his own phone vibrated.

Jocko, Inverness is lovely.

As a Scot, I am pleased ye think so. If I lived anywhere, it would be Inverness.

That’s just because I made you Scottish.

Even so.

I’m hungry. Suggestions?

There’s always Jocko’s Pub, of course, which is on yer list. Or there’s McBain’s or Johnny Foxes. Are ye thirsty as well?

Just hungry.

He struggled to act like a neutral robot.

Might I suggest McBain’s. It’s not far. Good food. Or there’s The Kitchen, on the opposite side of the river.

McBain’s. Give me directions. This is where I am.

She sent him a pin.

Jacob pulled up directions then copied it to her.

He got an unexpected thrill when she stood and started walking. Made him feel like he was controlling a remote-control toy. If only he could tell her to look for the man half a block behind her and throw her arms around him.

She looked out at the river, taking in the scenery. He ducked behind a lorry. If she saw him too many times in a day, she’d know he was stalking her. Would she remember seeing him at the train station?

She lifted her phone in front of her face. A moment later, the message pinged him. She was dictating then.

I’m so glad I came. I think I like this better than Edinburgh. I’m more small towny, I guess.

Then ye’ll love the people. Talk straight with them and they’ll do the same in kind.

She stopped with a block yet to go. In the distance, there was a line of folks waiting to get into McBain’s. She spoke at her phone again.

The line’s too long. How far to Jocko’s?

His stomach jumped into his throat.

One block south, two blocks east, on Queensgate.

Good food?

He certainly liked to think so, but today, he wasn’t sure of anything at all.

They’re always improvin’ their menu.

Long lines?

Likely not.

Perfect.

Aye. Just the word he hoped to hear once she saw the place.

He sent her the exact address like any good AI would, then shifted his arse down the street behind, hurrying to get to the place before she did.

He’d love nothing more than to call Vonnie and tell her to be on her best behavior, but that would only make her ornery.

Whatever Laira was about to see at Jocko’s pub would be the truth.

There was no more cleanin’ to be done. The newest menu had to be good enough.

There really was nothing to do but ride it out.

He hurried around the end of the block and back to Post Office Avenue, to slip in through the back. Lars and Trenton never looked up from the stovetops. Brandon was already elbow deep in dishes. Vonnie passed by the doorway but didn’t look in.

Great luck that.

He hurried up the back steps to remove his new jacket, then came down the same way. Suddenly that doorway to the front of house made his stomach clench. There might as well be spotlights aimed at it. If he so much as crossed a toe over the line, someone would shout out Jocko , and expose him!

He stepped close, looked out, and located Vonnie. The bell above the door clanged and he froze. She glanced at the door, then back at him. One look at his face and she came running.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need a favor.”

“Anythin’ ye can afford?”

“Vonnie. Quickly, now. I want ye to go about the room and ask all the locals, quiet-like, to call me Jacob today. I’m not Jocko, do ye hear?”

Vonnie’s pierced brows came together in a look of pure pity. “Not feelin’ yerself, are ye?”

He sighed. “Somethin’ like that. Just do it, aye? I’ll not come out until ye’ve finished. And as others come through, give ‘em the news.”

“Ye want me to tell everyone–”

“Just the locals. Aye.”

“They’ll think ye daft.”

“I dinnae give a shite, Vonnie. Now, do it…if ye please.”

She shrugged, as if to say it was his funeral.

He stood with his back braced against the doorframe, waiting for Vonnie to finish her first round of damage control, listening closely so he could hear her progress.

A lot of hushed whispers. A few outright guffaws.

And slowly but surely, the bar grew more silent, as if his patrons preferred not to speak at all if they weren’t allowed to call him Jock.

“Excuse me,” a woman said, standing just at his shoulder.

He turned to find the very woman he’d been stalking standing right there. Not three feet separated them.

“Can you point me to the restroom?”

She wore a pale blue blouse under a long white jumper with a loose weave that would catch on anything at all.

She wore denims, and her boots—if that’s what they were—came to a sharp blue point.

Cowboy boots, maybe. Wee gold daisies hung from her ears with diamonds in the centers.

A matching necklace lay flat against the blouse.

Her mouth, pale pink. When she fidgeted with the edge of her sweater, he caught a flash of white and gold on her nails.

Her hair was the same mix of colors as the photographs he’d saved to his phone, blond and gray and gold.

Looked as soft as down feathers. Her eyes were dark, her eyelashes thick and blinking at him.

“The loo,” Lars shouted behind him, when he didn’t speak up. “She’s lookin’ fer the loo!”

Jacob tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. Shock left his face frozen. But he could move his arm, so he raised it and pointed to the left. At the last second, he even managed to lift a finger.

“Thanks.” Her eyes crinkled in the most darling smile before she moved off down the hall.

Once she disappeared, he turned back to the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe once more. This time, to keep his legs under him.

Vonnie shimmied past him from the front, then stopped to stare. “Are ye droolin’? Good God, man, yer aff yer heid!”

Maybe, if he’d rolled his eyes and walked away, she wouldn’t have noticed his new clothes. But he was still suffering from nerves. Laira was there, in his bar, at that very moment! All the chatting and teasing had paid off!

All the lying too. A right grand ruse, he’d played. And now…

What? What the devil did he do now?

He blinked a few times, saw Vonnie still standing in front of him. “Did ye tell them all?”

“I did.”

“Good. Now, make a sign and put it on the front door. But write it in Gaelic, do ye hear? I don’t need tourists coming in here asking what it’s about.”

“As a matter of fact,” Vonnie said, “I’m doin’ the askin’. The name Jocko is painted across the buildin’. Just what’s wrong with sayin’ it aloud now?”

He shook his head. “One day soon, I’ll explain. Just not the now.”

“Not the now. Any reason it cannae be the now?”

“All the reason in the world, lass. Now, get on with it.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll just go check on everyone whilst yer at it.”