Finding Fraser (34 page)

I was still feeling a little burned by
the glasses remark by the time we pulled into Dores. I mean, I hated my
glasses, too, though I’d gotten pretty used to them since Susan had made off
with my contacts. Still. I didn’t think they looked that bad. And according to
all the fashion magazines, four-eyed nerds were finally in.

Weren’t we?

The village was nestled on the shore of Loch
Ness, along a narrow road that wound through farm fields before swinging back
toward the water. As there was little to be seen other than a scattering of
houses, Hamish dropped me near the village inn.

“Is this where you are going?” I asked.
There didn’t seem to be any commercial buildings at all, apart from the inn. “I
don’t see a garage.”

“It’s a private home,” he said, looking
through his papers. “Called—ah—Sunshine Motors. Must be a fella
workin’ in an outbuilding behind one of these houses. I won’t be long—the
place cannae be hard to find in this wee town.”

The little splatter of rain that had fallen
while we were driving seemed to have cleared, and to the west the sky began to
wrap itself in faint pink streaks. I hopped out at the end of the road and he
drove off, promising to be back in fifteen minutes.

The breeze off the water caressed my face as
I walked along the shoreline. With the cool air, the embarrassment about the
glasses faded and my good intentions returned. I just needed to spend some time
NOT talking with him, I reasoned. That was the whole purpose of this little
jaunt together. And this was the fabled Loch Ness, after all.

I hadn’t even had a glimpse of it before,
when I’d traveled in the dark to Drumnadrochit to find Gerald’s stone circle.
It was amazing to see now, and another ‘Claire site’ that I could check off my
list. I decided to scour the park for a romantic spot where Hamish and I could
watch the sun set together.

Within five minutes of wandering down the
lane away from the inn I had found the ideal location. A section of low, flat
rock lay just above the waterline, out of sight from any prying eyes on the
road above. An old log had floated up on the shore and jammed itself on the
rocks. Perfect for leaning against.

I sat down on the rock, pulling my jacket
beneath me to cushion the surface a bit—and decided it was just right.
Private enough for a little canoodling, especially now that the light was
failing. It was time I took matters into my own hands and move things forward,
to see if Hamish and I were as physically compatible as I believed—I knew—we
would be.

At that very moment, a small child covered
in equal parts dirt and scabs came tearing out of a little lane that emerged
behind some of the larger houses.

“Hide me!” he demanded, and dove behind me.

I jumped to my feet.

“What …? Who are you running from?”

The child grabbed my coat and dove under it.

“Big Bunny,” came his muffled reply. “Big
Bunny’s gonna get me.”

I looked around wildly, half expecting to
see a giant pink rabbit bounding up. Instead, a weary-looking woman came
jogging out of the lane.

“Have you seen a …?” she began; when she
caught sight of the wriggling creature, unsuccessfully trying to hide his lower
half under my jacket.

“Ach, Ruardh, yeh little shite. I’ve got yeh
now.”

She reached down and, grabbing the fugitive
by the arm, looked up at me apologetically. “Ah’m ’is auntie,” she said. “He’s
bolted on me three times this afternoon alone. My sister owes me big time, I
swear.”

She handed me back my jacket. “Ice cream,
Bunny?” the little boy pleaded, as she scooped him up.

“Yer ma can give ye sweeties, laddie,” she
said. “Auntie Bonnie’s all tired out.”

They walked a few steps, and then she paused
and turned back to me with an odd expression on her face. “Y’er not sittin’
down here by yerself, aye?”

“Oh, I’m just waiting for my boyfriend,” I
said. “Why?”

But at that moment, the boy gave a joyful
shout and wriggled loose. With a cry of despair, she broke into a run. The two
of them disappeared back into the thick green foliage of the lane.

I listened for a moment, but the echoes of
the little boy’s giggles and his auntie’s threatening shouts soon faded away
into the shrubbery. I folded my jacket to sit on again, as the peaceful evening
enveloped me once more.

The water was completely calm, and I stared
out across the surface, my eyes following the gentle ripples left by the
evening breeze. The loch itself was long and narrow, but my little section of
beach was in a bit of a protected inlet. Across the water the yellow afternoon
light briefly gave a golden glow to the trees on the opposite shore.

I had just leaned back against the log experimentally,
imagining Hamish’s body pressed against my own, hot and insistent …when I heard
a little splash. I opened my eyes and scanned the water. Had the kid made his
escape again? It couldn’t be him—everything was completely silent.

A low fog was rolling in with the dusk. And
breaking the surface—just at the forefront of the twilight creeping
across the loch—was a head. I rolled up onto my knees and peered through
the gloom. Maybe it was a dolphin, like the ones in the Moray Firth?

A long, white head was emerging from the
dark green waters of the loch.

Not a dolphin head.

I scrambled to my feet, staring. Was it—could
it be …?

Jumping up onto on the log I’d been leaning
against, I rubbed my eyes and blinked, but the head didn’t disappear. It came
closer. My heart pounding like a bodhran, I stood frozen with fear atop that
splintery bit of log.

The nostrils belonging to the head snorted
out a blast of water and steam. The head turned, and huge brown eyes blinked as
it swam toward me.

There was nowhere to go. I was on top of the
log, with my back against the rock wall that I had been valuing for its privacy
just moments before. I opened my mouth to call for help, but nothing came out.

In seconds it was over.

The head, which turned out to be attached
very firmly to a neck and below that to a body, emerged from the water’s edge.
It belonged not to a disembodied monster after all, but to a fine, white horse,
draped in a bit of lake greenery. After arising like Venus from the cool
waters, the horse paused to shake itself from head to tail. Small fragments of
algae or seaweed littered the pebbly shore at its feet. The animal stood a
moment, regarding me, and then blinked its eyes once before trotting into the
bushes that lined the lane leading off from the main road.

A horse—in the waters of the Loch?

The feeling came back into my legs just as I
heard gravel spatter above me, and I ran as if my life depended on it up the
hill to meet Hamish’s truck.

“Sorry I was a bi’ long, luv …” he began,
but stopped when he caught sight of my face. I blathered out the whole story to
him, stumbling over my words, but was so caught up in the magic of it all I
could hardly articulate.

When I was done, he chuckled.

It was not a “laughing-with-me” kind of
chuckle.

“Yer havin’ me on,” he scoffed. “I’ve niver
heard of a horse swimmin’ in the loch. It’s too deep, for one, and it’s near
freezin, still, innit? Now jump in to the lorry, will yeh? I’m right starvin’.
Let’s go see if we can find a McDonalds, aye?”

I climbed in the truck. “No—no, wait,”
I cried, but he’d already spun the truck back onto the main road.

“But—I found a nice little place we
could have a picnic,” I pleaded. “I could show you the splash marks from where
the horse came out. Then you’d know it was real.”

He jammed his hat down on his head. “It’s a
quarter-pounder for me, luv,” he said, shifting gears on the truck. “Dontcha
know that’s what every McDonald has unner his kilt?”

He slapped his leg and roared.

“I haven’t had a chance to find out,” I said
mournfully, but he’d pushed a button on his dash and Springsteen came on to
drown me out, singing
Tunnel of Love
.

Fantastic Figment…?

7:15 pm, July 3

Nairn, Scotland

Morag is making noises about getting
Wi-Fi at her farm. I am encouraging her in the direction of getting a computer,
too, because the lightning moments in which I can actually post a blog here at
the library and Tourist Center are getting fewer. But I believe I just have
time to share a magical moment I had last night on the shores of Loch Ness.

Yes,
that
Loch Ness.

I found the perfect setting for a
romantic picnic with my Highlander, and while I was waiting to him to arrive, a
beautiful white stallion arose from the water. He had been swimming in the
loch! He trotted out of the water and shook himself before running off.

Has anyone ever heard of a horse doing
this? Swimming for the sheer joy of it? It was a beautifully warm day, apart
from the little bit of rain that fell. Maybe he just wanted to cool off.

Another mysterious Highland memory for
me.

- ES

Comments: 23

HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:

Oh, Miss Emma. It must have been the
water horse! Claire’s beastie! Your picnic sounds so romantic. To have true
love such as you and Hamish share is a rare wonder. I envy you.

(Read 22 more comments
here
…)

To:
 
[email protected]

From:
    
SophiaSheridan@angstandarg*t.com

July 3

Emma,

I’ll get straight to the point. I’ve had
it with communicating only through your blog. Jollying you along has not
worked, and I insist on a proper reply to this email. I expected you’d be back
long before this, but your stubbornness has won out, as usual. I fully assumed
your little jaunt into madness would last two weeks——three at the
most. And here it is July!

I hope you are not taking our parents’
tacit acceptance of your bizarre behavior as some kind of approval. NO one is
happy about this abandonment of your family responsibilities, trust me.
Regardless, your six month tenure is nearly maxed out and you will have to
return sometime in the next four weeks, or sooner. I’m writing to tell you
that, in spite of all the worry and anxiety you have caused Paul and me, you
are still my sister, and may stay here until you find a new job and get back on
your feet.

I hope you recognize this for the
generous offer it is, and accept with good grace. Please let us know when your
return flight is expected to arrive.

Sophia

To:
 
[email protected]

From:
    
JackFindlay@*range.co.uk

July 3

Dear Emma,

Well, I must say it was a big relief to
receive your email after the crazy one I sent you recently. I was quite
thrilled with your story of the water horse emerging from the loch, and that
you shared it with me before posting it to your blog made me feel strangely
privileged.

But no luck, alas. I scanned the daily
papers, but could find nothing referencing a lost animal. Of course, this may
well be because I am in Stirling at the moment. (My editor allowed me the
addition of a small re-write, and at last the new book is now at the printers.)

Have you had any luck with the more local
newspapers? Will let you know if I hear anything, although I am sure it is just
as you surmised; a young steed that needed to cool off.
 
Keep your eyes peeled, though. If it is
possible for anyone to see a mythical beast, I have no doubt it will be you.

All best,

Jack

The
ride home after I’d posted to the blog seemed much longer than usual.
The day had been hot—truly hot—and even the road seemed
to be steaming at me as I pedaled the last mile. It was a huge relief to swing
myself wearily off my bike at the kissing gate at last. I pushed the bike
through and walked it toward Morag’s barn. I could see her on the hillside
above, as she and her new farmhand walked the fields, checking the sheep. She’d
hired the farmhand a couple of weeks earlier, and since he lived in the next
town over, he didn’t need a place to stay. My spot as a boarder was still
secure.

I felt bad about taking the room and not
being more help around the property, but when I’d said so, Morag just shushed
me down.

“When yer a burden, lass, ye’ll know it, for
ye’ll be out on your arse on the road there, bicycle an’ all.”

She’d said this with a sly grin, but I
didn’t doubt it for a moment, so I made an effort not to add to her work, at
any rate. I swept out the barn whenever I had the energy, and had learned where
all the various harness parts were stored in the low shed nearby.

It had been a long day at work, and Sophia’s
email arriving just seconds after I’d posted did not make me feel better.
However, my latest blog post about the creature in the loch had met with a huge
flurry of interest, so I cheered myself up by answering as many of the
commenters as I could. And Jack’s words had made me feel better, too.

I didn’t reply to Sophia.

But that didn’t mean she hadn’t got me
thinking. It hadn’t really occurred to me that there might be a limit on my
stay, beyond the eight weeks I had originally planned for. Of course, there had
to be some kind of timeline of how long a tourist could stay. But … only six
months? That couldn’t be right.

I swung open the large barn door, deep in
worried thought, and walked right into the chest of one Hamish Lewis. I hadn’t
seen him for nearly a week, so the touch of his body on mine flooded me with …
mixed emotions. I wanted to feel only relief—and his skin on mine—but
I felt a bit sick, and a bit worried, too.

Sophia and her threats vanished for the
moment, anyway. I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, but he held up a
hand to me.

I stopped in my tracks, arms still in the
air.

He was wearing earbuds attached to his phone,
and his head bobbed gently for a moment, before he flicked the screen with his
thumb.

“Important call?” I asked, reaching up
again.

He shook his head and gave me a sheepish
smile. “Springsteen. ‘I’m On Fire’
.
That song slays me every time. I jes’ had to hear the end.”

He leaned down to brush his lips on mine.
“Miss me?”

I kissed him back with everything I had.

“Ooh,” he whispered. “You’re on fire, too,
baby.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I’d always been lousy at
playing hard to get, even if it meant I was second fiddle to The Boss. “I
am
pretty hot.”

“Tha’ you are.” He pulled out a paper bag
from behind his back. “Brought you something. It’s a special night, baby.”

That old tingly feeling flooded back,
tsunami-style.

He pushed past me into my room, and flopped
onto my bed, before tossing me the bag. “Go on. Open it.”

Inside was a small paper American flag. On a
stick.

“Tomorrow’s Independence Day,” he said.
“That makes today Independence Day Eve. And I want to spend it wi’ you.”

“Um. Okay.” I smiled and waved the flag at
him. “Thanks. It’s just …”

I was going to say that Independence Day Eve
was not really a thing, but I couldn’t get it out, because he kicked his boots
off one at a time and beckoned me over.

“Come to Uncle Sam,” he said, and patted the
bed. I was beside him in an instant, and he reached over to pull my face down
for a kiss.

“
Hey
now baby, is he good to you?”
he hummed, and his fingers toyed with the
buttons on my shirt.

I closed my eyes. This moment had been so
long in coming; I was prepared to even dismiss the Uncle Sam cracks.

Hamish sat up on the bed, his baseball cap
on still backwards, and unbuttoned his shirt. All the saliva dried up in my
mouth. He looked
good,
but
whether it was the heat of the day or
my own hormone rush, I was having trouble articulating.

“I—I …”

“It’s all righ’ lass,” he interrupted,
reaching into his pocket for a small foil packet. “No worries. I thought
ahead.”

He rolled past me and stood up beside the
bed. The torchlight gleamed off the pale skin of his chest. He leaned down and
tilted my chin up toward his face with one hand. With his other hand he took my
hand and placed it on his flat stomach.

He grinned down at my expression. “Wha’ de
yeh think of ’em?” he asked as he gently lifted my glasses off.

“Them?” I said entirely befuddled by the
feel of actual male skin beneath my fingertips. “Think of who?”

He chuckled softly and dropped to his knees
beside the bed to kiss me again. I actually had to lean against him at that
point. Turns out it’s not only fear that makes my legs wobbly.

But his words brought my head back into the
conversation.

“Mah abs. No’ bad, eh? I’ve been doing
sit-ups at the gym, but ah’m not quite to a full six-pack yet. When we get to
California I want to make sure that I’ve got the righ’ look.”

I thought they had the right look already,
but it gave me a moment’s pause that it was he and not me pointing out his
assets.

He kissed me again, which took my mind off
just about everything, and then paused to slide my windbreaker off my
shoulders.

I put my hand on his stomach again. I had to
admit, his abs did feel pretty good. As a matter of fact, I could not remember
ever having felt such good abs. My weak knees agreed. I closed my eyes and
tried to lock the sensation in my memory forever.

He began to unbutton my shirt. I took a
moment to thank whatever gods were out there that I had worn my prettiest pink
bra that day. Kissing me again, he held me close, so that I was kneeling on the
bed, feeling the skin of his stomach on my own for the very first time.

“There’s a girl’s section at the gym,
y’know,” he whispered.

“Ah … a what?” The blood was rushing away
from my head at that point, so I wasn’t hearing all that clearly.

“A girl’s section.
 
Fer’ if yeh want to get yerself a bit
more bikini-ready. There’s still time, aye?”

His lips trailed down my neck.

More bikini-ready?

This stung enough to get through the lust
haze. I mean, since I had come to Scotland, I had been walking or riding my
bike everywhere. I was in the best shape of my life.

For a brief moment, I wondered how Claire
would react if Jamie had ever told her she needed to do sit-ups. And then the
parts situated below my brain decided that maybe it was not the best moment to
take offense.

Pulling my hands away from where they had
been feeling the muscles on his back, I quickly tucked my shirt between us so
it covered my stomach, while strategically allowing the pink bra to show to its
best advantage.

But something was niggling.

His ear was beside my mouth at that moment, so
I took the opportunity to whisper in it.

“Uh—Hamish? Still time for what?”

He leaned back and ran one finger along my
bra strap. I felt a surge of relief that his attention was off my abs for the
moment.

“Before we go to California. Together.”

He beamed at me. “I’ve sorted it all out wi’
Geordie, after we talked on our drive. I can make this happen, babe. We’ll soon
be hittin’ those Los Angeles beaches together, aye?”

I closed my eyes and sighed. As I did, he
leaned forward and kissed my collarbone. I felt my will power melting away.
What was so wrong with going to California with this gorgeous man?

And yet somehow, my mouth kept talking.

“It’s just—I hardly ever see you
lately. And when we do get together, it seems the only thing you ever want to
talk about is going to America. Living in California. And—I don’t live
there. I don’t even live
near
there.”

He flopped down on the bed. “I cannae help
if I’m interested in where ye come from, Emma. Chicago can’t be that far away
from Los Angeles. Think o’ them beautiful beaches, aye?”

He undid the top button on his jeans and
pulled me down beside him.

The problem was, I couldn’t think of
anything while he was touching me—not clearly, anyhow. And while part of
me—most of my lower half, truthfully—wanted me to quit talking and
just enjoy, the teeny part of my brain that was still functioning demanded
clarification.

“Look, I know I came here on some kind of
wild goose chase in search of someone who—someone like you. I didn’t
really know what I was doing. But since I’ve been here—Hamish, I’ve found
a home. A place I love.
This
is that
place. I have friends here. I helped a baby come into the world here. Three
babies, if you count those lambs, right? I’ve seen the weather at it’s worst,
and I still love it. And I found you, Hamish. That is—we found each
other.
This
is where I want to be. Here
in Nairn. With you.”

He sat up and swung his legs over the side
of the bed. “You’re an American, Emma. Yeh can’t stay here forever.”

“I—I know that. I need to sort it out,
somehow. But Hamish—America is a very large country. And Chicago is
nowhere near California. It’s like from here to Madrid—maybe further,
actually.”

We stared at each other in silence a moment.
The electric torch light on the wall suddenly seemed to cast a far harsher glow
than it had just moments before. I nervously pulled my shirt across my stomach.

Hamish reached out to squeeze my hand.

“You’ll look fine in a bikini,” he said
softly. “We’ll get yeh a spray tan before we go—that’ll cover up all the
problem areas. Everyone looks better with a tan.”

I opened my mouth, but was saved from
replying by the sound of his phone, buzzing from inside his jeans pocket. He
stood up and flipped it open.

He glanced at the phone, smiled wryly, and
then looked down at me as he refastened the button on his jeans.

“Emergency at work, pet. Apparently Alec
McGuffin’s chrome fenders are ready and Geordie needs me to run into Aberdeen
with him. Sorry. I gotta head in.”

“Now?, Hamish. Seriously … not right
now
?”

He pulled his shirt on over those serrated
abdominal muscles and jammed the damned baseball cap back on.

“Look, babe, mah work has to come first,
aye? And I’ll be back by tomorrow night.” He reached over to my wee bedside
table and slipped the condom packet back into his wallet.

A little part of me died right then.

As he went to close the wallet, a stiff
piece of cardboard stuck out.

“Ach—wouldja look at that,” he said.
“I found a spare pass for the gym.”

He snapped the card on the table then
reached down and pulled me to my feet. “A couple of weeks on the weight
machines will do yeh a world o’ good,” he said, kissing my neck. “The endorphin
rush alone will change yer mind about the whole California thing.”

He kissed me again and then pulled on his
jacket. He stood at the door to my room, the barn night-light emitting a low
glow that bathed him in what appeared to my near-sighted eyes as a halo.

“
Don’t
worry, ba-by
,” he crooned. “
Everything
will turn out all right.
”

He closed the door softly and I buried my
face in my hands.

I stood in the shower a long time that
night. The water had cooled more than my ardor— it allowed my brain to
think again. And after the shower, I lay in bed and contemplated the
Jamie-shaped hole that I’d been trying to stuff Hamish into. Maybe the fit
wasn’t as skin-tight as I had first hoped, but I could make it work. I knew I
could.