Off Kilter (5 page)

She nodded. “I believe it saved me. No’ at first, perhaps. But when I gave myself fully to it, going back to the roots of where I began—I-I don’t know, Tessa—something came over me. Or into me. Visions of the patterns, the colors, the shapes, and textures. I don’t know where it all comes from, but it fills me up. And letting it out, indulging in it, exploring it, and seeing the result of it … fulfills me. So I’ve stayed, thinking I’ll leave when it feels right.”

“Do you think you will? Leave? Go back to London? Or start over in a new city?”

She shrugged. “I dinnae know. I’m no’ sure it matters so much now, what comes next. Right at the moment, being here is good, enriching, life giving. I’m good. Better than I’ve been, and better than I thought I’d ever be again. So, I’m here. Right now.”

Tessa listened to the words, and heard the soul of the truth in her best friend’s voice. She supposed there would always be a place inside Kira that mourned what was, what might have been—should have been, if you asked Tessa … but Kira very specifically hadn’t. Tessa would still like to look Thomas up. And kick his sorry ass. For starters. But Kira hadn’t expressed that desire either.

In fact, she’d said little to nothing about what had taken place, other than she’d been blissfully happy, planning a bigger home, thinking about starting a family … when Thomas announced their seven-year marriage and almost decade-long relationship
was over for him. He’d already leased another flat before making his announcement and had moved out immediately, leaving her nothing to fight for.

Broken-hearted, broken-spirited, and, from what Tessa could tell, even a full year and a half later, still not certain of the why of it, Kira had had no choice but to move on with her life.

And she had. Brilliantly so, if there was truth in what Tessa had overheard the locals saying about Kira’s unique and untraditional new artisan basketry.

She looked into Kira’s eyes and saw the hint of lingering shadows … but mostly she saw hope and light. Maybe that was the best a person could wish for, coming out on the other side of a tragic set of events … hope, and a little light.

Tessa had no doubt that light would grow stronger for Kira. Her friend wasn’t destined for a life lived in shadows. In contrast, it made her wish there was a glimmer of light in her own life, or that she could trust it would be there, at some point. The darkness she was in felt pretty complete at the moment. And she didn’t know if that would ever change.

“O
nly me?” Roan grabbed up the thick envelope of rejected photos and pushed his chair back from his desk. “Well, that’s a load of rubbish, that is. Let me take a look through these. Surely there are others that are better.”

Eliza merely folded her arms over her short, stout figure, and sighed the sigh of the long put upon. “You’re quite well aware of yer appearance, lad. Dinnae pretend to be all aghast. We’ve got a shot at it, or so Miss Vandergriff believes. I trust her opinion.”

“She’s not a fashion or a model photographer.” About as far from the pretty and the shiny as she could get, actually. Despite efforts to the contrary, Roan hadn’t been successful in eliminating Kira’s houseguest from his thoughts. At all. So he’d finally given in and done his research, telling himself it was merely the wise thing to do, given the level of responsibility they’d placed in her hands—which was a lie he hadn’t been able to sustain for the time it took to Google her name.

When the long list of responses to his search had scrolled onto the screen he’d stopped telling himself anything. He’d been too busy reading. And reading some more. To say he’d been impressed—and, aye, intimidated—by everything she’d achieved at barely a few years past the age of thirty, would be as vast an understatement as saying that he was only a wee bit stunned at what she’d witnessed by that same young age.

“I’m fairly certain her list of awards qualifies her to be a judge of just about any subject that can be caught on film,” Eliza rejoined. “So if she thinks yer pleasant-enough features are the ones we should be pinning our hopes on, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Pleasant-enough is it now? Wasn’t it just last week when you referred to my assets, as it were, as God-given?”

“Well, they all are from his hand,” she said, then glanced over Roan with studied disregard. “No matter the abundance. Or lack thereof.”

Roan had to laugh at that, and caught Eliza’s satisfied smile as well. Theirs was a well-honed routine and though neither would have admitted it, they enjoyed the challenge and the comfort to be found in their spirited exchanges.

“Well, then might I just say I’m surprised that my lack of abundance, as you put it, will be put on display for the judges’ panel. Surely there are other candidates—”

“Well, there would have been Shay, had he returned from Edinburgh in time. I’m certain he’d have taken your place. Easily.”

Roan didn’t rise to the bait. “And I’d have gladly let him. But what about—” He flipped through the discard stack, but the mere sight of his clansmen, ridiculous and goofy grins on each and every face, simply didn’t bear perusing. He definitely wasn’t ready to see the same expression on his own face.

He put the discard stack down, and didn’t touch the envelope with the finalists’ photos—all of which featured him. He glanced up to find Eliza still standing there, staring him down.

“I’ll … handle it,” he told her. “Thank you for bringing them in.” He should be thankful he only had Eliza to deal with. When he’d gotten word she’d be dropping them off earlier that day, he’d expected a showdown with Tessa—which did nothing to explain his disappointment when he’d learned she’d merely left the photos with his secretary.

“The deadline is—”

“Friday. I know.” He blew out a short huff of annoyance,
then made himself smile. It was his only hope of getting his privacy back. “I willnae be missing it, rest assured.”

“I’m sure. We’re all countin’ on ye, lad.” Eliza pointed to the discard pile. “Dinnae be thinkin’ of making any substitutions, is all I’m sayin’. We’re trusting Tessa’s experience. We’re fortunate she was here and willing.”

“Aye, I know it.”

Her gaze narrowed, but when she couldn’t shake his ready smile, she finally nodded. “Good. I’ll post the package when you have it ready. Ferry schedule is changing tomorrow. Coming at half past now, instead of on the hour.”

“Got it,” Roan said, his smile tightening. “Were you able to get hold of the Malaysian distributor? Set up a call?”

Eliza bristled, as he’d known she would. “Of course I did. Set it up for tomorrow at seven.”

“In the morning?”

“I should hope so. You wouldn’t want to be trying to set up a distributorship at three in the morning Kuala Lumpur time, would ye?”

“Right. Seven. In the morning. Brilliant.” He swiveled his chair so he faced his laptop screen. “I’d better go over my notes, make sure they’re coherent enough for me to interpret at the crack of dawn.”

“If ye didnae stay up so late working, it wouldnae seem so early to ye. The rest of the world rises every day as the sun comes up.”

“Which is why I thank the world every day I have a job that leaves rising at such an ungodly hour to those who appreciate it.” When she continued to give him the chiding eye, he turned and smiled more sincerely at her. “Thank you for setting it all up, Eliza. I appreciate all that ye do, and well ye must know it.”

She harrumphed … but finally retreated from the field of battle. “Wouldn’t be able to keep this place afloat for ten minutes if I weren’t around to—” Her grumbling was mercifully cut off as she closed the door behind her, though he could have recited the rest from memory.

Lips curving as they typically did after a hearty round, he brought up the notes he’d taken for the new distributor. After a few minutes of staring at them and retaining nothing, he swore under his breath and gave up pretending he was going to get anything else done until he’d dealt with the more pressing matter at hand—looking at those damn photos.

Just as his hand was hovering over the packet, there was a tap on the door, which opened before he could respond.

Katie stuck her blond head in first, a smile on her face. “I heard a rumor that the finalists have been chosen! Or, should I say, finalist?”

“Go away.”

She just laughed. “Ha! So you are the chosen one. I knew it! Lemme see!”

She came dancing into the office and he barely had time to snatch the packet off his desk and out of her reach before she lunged for it. “What do you mean, you knew it?” He frowned. “Don’t tell me Tessa went and announced it at Angus’s or something.”

“Since when does anyone have to make an announcement around here for word to get out? Actually, Tessa didn’t say anything. If you want to blame someone, you can aim that at Blaine. And he only told me. So far,” she added with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Blaine?” He turned his chair to face her directly. “How the hell—”

“From Kira.”

“Kira?” He leaned back in his chair. “What did she say?”

Katie shook her head, a look of pity on her face. “You were all ready to throw Blaine under the bus before I even explained, but I bring up Kira and suddenly you’re all thoughtful and open to listening.”

“Because Blaine loves gossip second only to … well, nothing, as far as I can tell. And Kira wouldn’t hurt a soul, much less blurt out something like that, to someone like him.”

“Careful,” she warned, her smile still warm, but a bit of steel entering those dark blue eyes of hers.

Though Roan definitely enjoyed having a new friend and sisterly playmate with whom he could enjoy viewing the world around him, he was also well aware that he was second—third in line, actually—for her affections. Right after her soon-to-be-spouse, Graham … and her lifelong friend and former fiancé, Blaine Sheffield.

He held up his hand. “I’m sorry. Even though you know I’m not saying anything that’s not true.”

The storm clouds cleared and she nodded as she grinned. “I know. He really is hopeless. He’s just insatiably curious about … well, everything. And, you know, go with your strength, right?” She held her hand up to stall his rejoinder. “Anyway, the story is that Kira was on her way here with the goods—”

“Kira dropped them off?”

The pitying look returned. “Seriously, you should see yourself right now. It’s as if you’ve been told someone took your present from under the tree before you’d had a chance to shake it. How is it a man as confident as you won’t just walk up and ask the woman out, for God’s sake?”

“Like I said before, it’s complicated. And I’m not going to talk about it,” he added, with enough warning in his voice to make sure she understood he wasn’t simply baiting her. Kira had been back since the spring before last, but she’d not been the delightful girl he’d remembered growing up with, at least not upon her immediate return. In fact, she’d looked downright … ravaged. She hadn’t talked much to anyone, taking refuge, instead, in her grandmother’s old croft, spending all her time making it livable again. Then she’d surprised everyone by re-birthing the unique weaving her direct lineage of MacLeods had been well-known for. Even the best of the island gossips had only been able to learn that her life in London, including her marriage to a university professor, had come to a bad end, and that she’d returned home to get on her feet once again.

The last thing she’d needed then was a childhood friend hitting on her, not that he’d have intruded on her solitude during those early days. But he’d always had a soft spot for her growing up, and that soft spot, it seemed, was still there. Though she’d kept mostly to herself, he’d become sort of a self-appointed protector. She didn’t know it, but he’d kept watch over her, in a general, non-stalkerish way, and … more or less made sure she was okay. She’d begun weaving a month or so after her return, and her work was the means by which he had made contact with her; it was strictly professional. She’d never encouraged his attention, or that of anyone else, as far as he knew. And he’d know. He’d made it his business to know.

He’d watched as she’d come back into her own, observed the color returning to her fair skin, the vibrancy in her voice as she interacted with the other villagers, and the light sparkling in her lovely, hazel eyes. But even as she’d healed, there was no indication she was viewing their personal interactions as anything but professional inquiries as to her work output and when it would be ready for sale. Roan well knew all the signs when a woman was interested in him. She exhibited none of them.

So … he didn’t go there. Not with her. Not for fear of being shot down, per se. But because he didn’t want to put any awkwardness between them, or harm what rapport they did have. Losing that would matter to him. So … he simply didn’t ask for more—not without some indication it would be welcomed. He consoled himself that she wasn’t encouraging interaction of that kind with anyone on the island.

He was biding his time. It wasn’t as if there was anyone else sparking an interest.

Tessa’s scowling face and wild red curls flashed through his mind, but he promptly dismissed that subconscious blip. She’d sparked his notice, all right, but not in a good way.

“So, what happened with Kira and Blaine?” he asked Katie as much because he wanted to know, as to banish thoughts of Tessa. Again.

“She was on her way here, but stopped in at Mildred Anne’s to pick up some dye for a new weaving design she’s hatching. Blaine was there, and they struck up a conversation.”

“And?”

“And, what? If Blaine wants to know things, he has a way of getting people to talk. If Sheffield-McAuley had ever bothered to figure out his strengths and exploit them, who knows the things he might have accomplished—which, you know, you could do, too. He’s very useful. Instead of disparaging him or underestimating him, you should consider how he could help you, industry-wise. He’s a very smart guy.”

“I’m sure he is. Speaking of Sheffield-McAuley, when is Blaine going back to your family’s firm?”

She just rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Possibly about the same time I do. Never. By following me here, he’s managed to break free, just like I did. That freedom is amazing and not a little terrifying. But while I have a path laid out for me now, he doesn’t. He has dreams, goals, ones he’s craved for a very long time, and I have no doubt, at some point, he’s going to follow them, and be ridiculously successful. But you have to understand we just escaped a life of familial tyranny, so until we’ve figured out exactly where we stand with our respective mummies and daddies,” she went on, adopting a credible Scot accent, “‘tis no’ likely he’ll be headin’ anywhere.” She propped her hands on his desk. “In the meantime, be smart and use his mad information-gathering skills to help grow your market.”