Page 4 of Priceless (Return to Culloden Moor #7)

CHAPTER FOUR

I t took half the night for Jacob to realize that his regulars in the corner booth were playing a drinking game. The four gentlemen’s table was half covered in pints, both empty and full. And they guzzled and laughed in unison.

Clear signs of a drinking game.

Jacob checked his phone once more, in case Laira came back on, then headed over to find out what the game was and to assure his friends their steady patronage was appreciated.

Considering the way they nudged each other and pointed, he realized he was more involved in the game than he could have guessed.

“Right then. Out with it,” he barked. “What’s this game, then?”

Old Virgil snorted his latest swallow out through his nose while his fellows burst out laughing again.

“Ye’ve had too much, obviously,” Jacob said. “Shall I ban ye for the rest of the night?”

“Pity, pity,” Martin Fergusson begged. “Ye’re the game, mon. Ye’re the game.”

Jacob turned and lifted a brow at the slightly more sober Abby Abernathy, who explained, “Ye have to admit, ye’ve taken quite the shine to yer own mobile, aye?

We wondered if Mistress Woodbrey might be tryin’ to entice ye with some pictures of her whatnots.

But in any case, we take a drink each time ye check yer wee phone.

And if ye happen to smile afterwards, then we take two.

Thus far, ye dinnae seem too pleased with the pictures she’s sendin’. ”

“Though, to be fair,” Roger Gowry offered, “we cannae say we’re dyin’ of thirst, here.”

“Aye, aye.” Virgil, seated deep in the corner, leaned forward and pointed his nose at the phone in Jacob’s pocket. “Though, we could start a new game if ye’d like to share those pictures.”

Jacob rolled his eyes. “No one is sending me pictures, ye old goat. I’m waitin’ for a message is all.”

Abby rubbed his hands together over his empty glass. “Do tell, son. What sort of message?”

“From Stevens, my supplier. He doubts he can deliver this week.”

Eight eyes flew wide.

“Aye, he says he cannae keep up with yer rate of consumption. I may have to go dry while he stores up?—”

After swallowing that bit of horror, the four of them realized Jacob was just taking the piss and waved him away.

“Dinnae be cruel, Jocko. If ye dinnae want to share ye’re dirty little secrets with us, just say so.”

He gave them a curt nod. “I’m sayin’ so.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Virgil, and that was that.

Jacob filled a tray with empties and returned to the bar.

Jocko. Everyone in town called him that, after his grandfather, out of veneration for the man who’d passed the place on to Jacob.

A long line of Jacobs had kept the place since the time of the Jacobites.

Every other generation was called Jocko.

Jacob wanted to be known as Jacob, after his late father who had gone the blue-collar route.

But the locals knew the tradition, and once Old Jock passed, Jacob graduated from Young Jock to Jocko.

If he’d had a son to whom he could pass ownership, he’d have moved on to being Old Jock.

Young Jock.

Jocko.

Old Jock.

The three phases of his life. He just wasn’t in any hurry to be called old a hundred times a day, so maybe it was better he’d never had offspring.

After hours of waiting, his phone vibrated. He had a text, but he left the phone in his pocket and smoothly made his way back to his office where he locked the door and got comfortable in the green leather guest chair. He didn’t want to rush. His responses had to be credible. He had to be careful.

Poor Laira believed he was AI. To tell her now that she’d been mistaken would end it.

And truth be told, he was enjoying this wee game, all the while justifying his actions with the belief that he was helping someone.

He was a willing ear, a virtual shoulder, and it seemed Laira Harris, from Castle Rock, Colorado, required just that.

The house is quiet again, but I don’t feel quite so alone. I thought my sister was a nutcase for suggesting this, but maybe not, huh?

A wise sister. A brilliant sister.

Hah!

How are you this evening? Any prairie dogs follow you home?

He winced. That last bit might put her in mind of a stalker, and it could scare her away.

Marked safe from prairie dogs.

What is on the schedule tonight? A movie in? Meeting friends for drinks?

Wow. No. A friend asked me to lunch but I just couldn’t do it. We know each other too well. There really is no reason to get together and rehash the same old stuff. I guess we’ve both run out of original material.

I understand just what you mean.

He nearly told her he was suffering from the same problem in his neck of the woods, but he backtracked in time. He could only be comforting and reassuring. He couldn’t commiserate. Or at least he didn’t think AI was to that level of replicating human interaction just yet.

So, a night in?

Definitely. Besides, that walk around the neighborhood counted for human interaction, didn’t it?

If you’re just getting started, it was an important baby step. Tomorrow, maybe you can take two.

I’m all about baby steps these days. How about some suggestions.

He needed to be brilliant, to keep her interested, distracted from her woes. But how?

What interests you?

He jumped up and switched on his computer, found the AI website he often used now instead of Google.

I can hardly remember. Maybe nothing interests me anymore. I might be a lost cause.

Nonsense. You just need a nudge. Let’s start with some lists. What sports interest you?

I used to watch football with my husband. We enjoyed that. Now I don’t even remember who plays for the Broncos.

Jacob winced. Her husband again.

How about travel? Do you have a bucket list?

No. My husband was a home body, which meant I’ve been pretty much a hermit myself.

Right. We’ll come back to that.

What do you like to eat?

I have always loved ice cream.

Excellent. Let’s start a bucket list for you for tomorrow. Top of the list, go for ice cream. Not to the local store, but to an actual ice cream shop. You will find plenty of choices in Denver and surrounding areas.

He asked AI for a list, then sent it to his phone and forwarded it to her.

What else would you like to do tomorrow?

That will do for now. Thanks. Goodnight.

You’re finished with me?

Yes, for tonight. I’m tired.

Time for bed so soon?

No. I have to wait until seven. I promised my sister I would stay up until then. But she’s not here to know.

Why would you cut your day so short? Do you work in the morning?

I don’t work. I retired young, when my husband did.

Distract her!

Then you might stay up and watch a new movie. Maybe it will give you ideas for traveling.

If you are a fan of romance, might I suggest the Outlander series?

Dear Lord! He didn’t know how old she was. If she was quite old, watching Outlander might cause a heart attack.

Never heard of it. But I will find something. You’re right. I should try to get my body clock back to something more normal.

Good girl.

Forgive me. I misspoke. I do not know your age.

…

I’m fifty-four.

So young to be a widow. Too young to be finished with the rest of the world. We must get you out in it.

I know…

Fear not. Baby steps. And you already have the next step planned.

Ice cream.

Yes. Ice cream.

Goodnight.

Sweet dreams.

Yeah. Maybe I’ll dream of ice cream.

Jocko was magic. Raina was brilliant. And I was going to have to admit to her that she was right. But that didn’t mean I had to do it before she got back. She had no access to her phone, couldn’t call out, couldn’t send emails. My sister was literally off the grid for another five weeks.

Raina had worried, had even debated turning down the job because she didn’t want to leave me alone, but I promised her I wasn’t that fragile.

I’d lied.

But that next morning, when I woke up from a deep and dreamless sleep, I didn’t feel fragile anymore.

It was like a powerful drug had finally left my system, and the brain fog had lifted.

I actually heard birds singing outside my window, which made me wonder if they’d been quiet out of respect for the dead, or if I’d just been deaf to anything that sounded like happiness.

Paul would have rolled his eyes if I’d suggested such a thing. “The birds are birds. They haven’t got a clue,” he’d have said. “And you haven’t been deaf, you’ve been depressed. Go get a prescription and get over me already.”

I had no doubt that was exactly what he would have said. And hearing that voice in my head again reminded me that he was gone forever. My arms were empty, and they were going to stay that way. The thought nearly sent me back to bed. But then I remembered—I had something on my bucket list today.