Finding Fraser (31 page)

His expression was puzzled, but since this
was so much better than hurt, I kept going. “In one of my—uh—other
favorite books, the best part is that the female lead gets to help out the hero
once in a while, too. There’s a bit of balance, somehow. A partnership. If you
can write your female characters a little less physically perfect and a little
more like rounded humans who can actually have a role to play in their own destinies,
you’ll have it nailed.”

He took a big swallow of his tea and managed
a smile.

I reached over and squeezed his hand. “The
story was fantastic,” I said. “I can’t wait to read the whole thing.”

The color in his neck flushed right up his
face. “Thank you, Emma. Your standards may even be higher than Rebecca’s, and
that’s saying something. I think you may have offered the kindest slam any of
my books has ever received. And now, I’m afraid, I have to run.”

He got up, paid the bill—gave me a wry
smile and a wave, and was gone before I could say goodbye.

Fabulous Findlay…

4:00 pm, June 22

Edinburgh, Scotland

I’ve spent the last few weeks reading
books written by Jack Findlay, a Scottish writer I met in——ah——extraordinary
circumstances before I left the US.

These are marvelous stories. You can find
out more about them at his website. And a little blackbird has told me that
another one is due, based on the life of Scottish hero William Wallace. Watch
for it soon!

- ES

Comments: 153

HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:

Jack Findlay is second favorite writer to
Herself. His books romantic and adventure. You SO lucky to meet him! You live
my dream, Emma. But still——we wait patiently to hear of your true
love. Does he ride horse?

 
(Read 152 more comments
here
…)

After
tea with Jack, I managed to find an Internet cafe to make the blog post and
still be only twenty minutes late for Sandeep.
No
chance to read all the comments, though – they were coming in so fast and
furious. For a guy who had so many empty seats at his reading, he sure had a
lot of fans.

Sandeep spent the entire drive home raving
about all the features on his new machine, so at least he wasn’t angry with me
for being late. Ash slept in the back, curled in the one corner of the van that
wasn’t filled with giant espresso machine parts. I listened to his father rave
on, and thought about Jack Findlay.

I felt like I had spent two hours (and
twenty-five minutes, according to my boss) kicking a puppy. I mean—bad
enough that no one had shown up to Jack’s reading event. But then I had to add
insult to injury by giving him my expert opinion on what was wrong with his
books? His broken foot still hadn’t healed, he was clearly struggling with
self-confidence issues and I had stomped all over the female character in his
story.

The blog post was the only remedy I could
come up with.

I’d missed seeing my boyfriend, AND ruined
Jack’s day all in one.

I tried to take my mind off Jack by thinking
about Hamish. About how I’d persuade him that a night out didn’t need to involve
Geordie and the boys. About how much fun we could have, just getting to know
each other better.

But even the idea of seeing Hamish soon
couldn’t banish the look of pain on Jack’s face as he walked out of that tea
shop. Well, maybe he could go home to his Rebecca for comfort. I’d actually
forgotten her existence until he mentioned her again, just as I’d forgotten to
look to see if he wore a ring or not. So, after all that time together, I still
didn’t know if he was married or not. Not that it mattered—it had to be a
pretty committed relationship, with the reverential way he referred to her.

As Sandeep chirped on about his new machine,
I slumped in my seat and considered how big a vat of espresso I’d need to drown
myself.

Five hours of winding roads and a major
two-hour traffic jam brought on by an errant collection of sheep and a cranky
farmer brought us back to Nairn just after ten. After helping Ash and Sandeep
unload the enormous machine into the back of the cafe, I headed home to Morag’s
on my bike. Sandeep had looked at me like I was crazy to refuse a drive, but my
backside was tired from all the sitting, so it was a relief to stand up on the
pedals and stretch out my legs. It looked like it might have been raining
earlier in the village, but the evening brought a light breeze that cleared the
sky, and a blanket of stars lit my way home.

The clean air smelled like spring, and I thought
about sneaking some of Morag’s leftover bannock for a midnight snack before
bed. My stomach rumbled at the thought.

I’d made it just past the outskirts of the
town when I bumped through a pothole in the dark and my front tire began to
make an ominous hissing noise. I tried to keep pedaling, but after a revolution
or two the tire was completely flat. I hopped off and rolled the bike forward,
hoping the valve had just been pinched or something, but the evil shard of
green glass gleaming up at me from between the treads removed all hope.

At least the rain stayed away. I
contemplated pushing the bike back to town, but with Hamish away with Geordie,
the garage would be locked up tight. I decided to finish walking the route to
Morag’s and beg a ride in her truck in the morning to get the tire repaired.

Even at that late hour, the inky sky was
tinged purple at the eastern edge, and, with a strange pang in my gut, I
thought about leaving. Another month and I would likely have enough money saved
for my return ticket. As comfortable as I felt with my life in Nairn, I could
hardly bear the thought of returning to all the unknowns back in Chicago. I’d
sold everything. I had no apartment to go back to. And what about my life in
Nairn? Even just imagining the return home made my stomach ache.

As I pushed my bike along the edge of the
road, bits of gravel shot into the ditch with little
tings
as the rim rubbed against the road. I pulled my hood up
against the evening breeze and leaned forward to flip the headlamp on. Its
comforting beam shone a clear path down in front of my wounded wheel as I
pushed the bike along.

My mind wandered back to Hamish. With his
broad shoulders and long, muscular frame, he was everything I’d dreamed about
when seeking my Fraser. His hair was fair, not red, it was true, and the
baseball hat was not a look I’d choose, but he could be talked out of it
eventually. Maybe. He was kind and funny, and I was pretty sure he liked me as
much as I liked him.

Pretty sure.

In spite of my best efforts, his erratic
work schedule meant we’d not managed enough alone time to prove his interest
without a doubt. I’d not seen him in a kilt yet, either, but if he pulled it
off half as well as Jack Findlay had, I was ready to have my socks knocked off.

Anyway, if he was content to take things
slow, I was happy to oblige. I was only really worried about one thing. He’d
made it clear since we’d met—really even from that night in the bar in
Edinburgh—that his ultimate goal was to make it to America.

That should be a good thing, right? I had to
go home soon, myself.

Didn’t I?

My bicycle rim thudded rhythmically on the
road, as I tried to sort out what I was really feeling. I hadn’t come to
Scotland planning to stay. But now that I had to seriously think of leaving—well,
it had me feeling panicky. The irony of panicked thoughts at a
return
to the US wasn’t lost on me,
either.

A set of headlights washed over me from
behind, and I automatically moved off to the side of the road. Luckily it
wasn’t too deep a ditch. And I was at least halfway home.

Home.

My stomach clenched. It was the first time
I’d thought of my little place at Morag’s as home. Chicago seemed in another
lifetime. A whole world away.

I realized then that the headlights hadn’t
swished by me, as expected. I turned to look, shading my eyes from the
brightness, to see the vehicle had slowed to a walking pace directly behind me.

I lifted my hand to wave. “Hamish? Thank
God! I’ve blown a tire. I’m so glad you’re here!”

No answer.

I stopped, and the van slowed to a stop,
too. Right in the center of the lane, idling.

My heart started beating a little faster. If
not Hamish, who would stop behind me? The road was not a minor one, but it was
nearly midnight on a weeknight. I’d seen fewer than a handful of vehicles,
mostly heading to local farms.

I stared into the headlights long enough
that they left twin spots on my retinas.

Something wasn’t right.

I turned and started pushing the bike again,
my whole body tingling with adrenaline. The van didn’t move—just sat
behind me, idling. I started to run, still pushing the bike. It didn’t even
occur to me to leave it behind.

I’d been running a full ten or fifteen
seconds when I heard the van’s engine rev. My heart roared along with it,
especially when I heard the gravel spitting out from under the huge tires. In
less than a second, the van was beside me.

My legs turned to water. I had time to be
grateful that I hadn’t tossed the bike in the ditch, as without it I could
never have remained standing when the window rolled down.

Hamish stuck his face out.

“Hey babe,” he said. “Thought ’at might be
you. Want a lift?”

It only took a few minutes to sort out. I
was furious—beyond furious—that he would frighten me like that, and
told him so, in no uncertain terms.

“But babe, I was just listenin’ to a song,”
he said, “on mah way to see yeh.”

He pointed to his iPod, sitting on the dash.
“Beachboys ‘Surfer Girl’—look, yeh can see for yerself.”

Sure enough, the menu was still rotating
across the screen.

“When I spotted yeh in the road, I slowed
down righ’ away.”

“I waved to you and called …” I said, still
feeling wobbly-legged, even though I was sitting down.

“And I waved back, and pointed to mah
headphones. I didn’t know yeh couldn’t see me. I didn’t even realize you were
frightened until I had to hoist yeh into the van because yer legs gave out.”

At least I didn’t wet myself, I thought,
grateful for small favors.

We drove on in silence until his headlights
lit up Morag’s farm sign in the distance. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I said,
at last.

He nodded affably. “I understand. You were
frightened. Look, let me make it up to yeh. I’ll keep the bike in the back and
we’ll mend it in the shop in the mornin’. And I’ll come back and drive yeh in
to the cafe, aye?”

As it was long past midnight by that time, I
nodded gratefully. Hamish pulled his van into the yard, and I jumped out to get
the gate, but he put a hand on my arm.

“Wait,” he said. “I’ll leave the van out
here on the road, and tha’ way it won’t wake the old lady.”

I felt a strange tingling somewhere south of
the pit of my stomach. And the wave of tiredness that had washed over me
receded instantly. The bit of my brain that was still angry at him for the
stunt on the road called out weakly in protest.

“So—ah—you want to come in,
then?” I said, my mouth strangely dry.

He grinned. “Well—if you’d care to
show me around …”

I was out my door in a flash, the tiny, admonishing
part of my brain instantly crushed by something that had nothing to do with
logic.

He took his time, putting on the parking brake,
and checking the bike was safely stowed in the back before he walked around the
front of the van to meet me by the gate.

He took one of my hands in his. “Emma, I’d
like to formally apologize for frightenin’ you,” he said.

I looked up at him. “Accepted. And I for
yelling.”

“Aye,” he said. “Our first fight, resolved.”

He leaned down and kissed me then, slowly.
The tingly feeling took up permanent residence.

This was Not a Bad Thing.

Stepping quietly, our fingers still twined
together, we walked through the gate and up the path directly to the barn,
skirting the farmhouse. There were still lights burning in the kitchen. As we
walked, I realized that Hamish’s lips had been on mine while I leaned against
Morag’s kissing gate. I felt that somewhere, someone was ticking an item off a
list with my name on it.

We walked through the barn, giving it no
more than a cursory look.

“Yep,” he said, as I pointed out the stalls,
“Hay, animals, smells like shite—it’s a barn a’right. Where’s your digs,
lassie? Is tha’ it?” He pushed me up against the door to my room and kissed me
again.

Then he undid the top button of my coat.

I grabbed his lapels and pulled him inside.