Highlander for the Holidays (21 page)

“The resort’s closed all this week.” Jessie felt her shoulders slump. “But there are some nice bed-and-breakfast inns in town.”

“Thank you,” he said with obvious relief. “When Tracy died so shortly after Eric did, I felt . . . well, you were all that kept me going, Jess.” He chuckled sadly. “Hell of a bond, huh. Two people clinging to each other after losing their spouses. But this past year I found myself thinking that you and I might . . . well, I thought . . .” She heard him sigh again. “I’ll be there Thursday afternoon or Friday. Bye, sweets.”

“Good-bye, Brad. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Jessie,” he called out just as she was about to hit the END button, making her lift the phone back to her ear. “I was wondering if you still . . . well, has moving to Maine stopped your flashbacks like you hoped? Or maybe jogged your memory?”

Jessie stopped walking and pulled in a shuddering breath. “Yes, I think the flashbacks are gone, or at least lessened in frequency, but no, I still can’t remember.”

“Well, you know my feelings about that. I say knowing the details would be even more traumatic for you. Hell,” he said gruffly, “I still wake up in the middle of the night drowning in sweat. I know that’s nothing compared to your flashbacks, Jessie, but . . . well, I’m glad you can’t remember.”

“Yeah, I guess the devil probably is in the details,” she said. “Okay, Brad; I’ll see you soon,” she added in an upbeat tone and hit the END button. Now she was sorry she’d confided to Brad why she’d wanted to move here, because honestly, she’d also left Atlanta because she’d sensed he was beginning to want them to be more than just friends. And although she cared deeply for him as a brother-in-law—as well as someone who’d lost his wife as suddenly and tragically as she’d lost Eric—she really wasn’t romantically interested in Brad.

Brad and Eric were as far apart as brothers could be when it came to their personalities. Where Eric had been a bit rough at the edges and rather intense, Brad was sophisticated and quite enjoyable to be around. Both men, however, were equally sharp when it came to business, and had turned the gallery they’d opened together in Atlanta seven years ago into a world-renowned fine arts importexport company.

Jessie stopped walking again. “Ohmigod, Tobes. Do you think
Brad
is the other man extending his hand to me?” She headed off again with a snort. “I mean, really, it’s not that I don’t care for him; in fact, we’ve pulled each other through some pretty tough times. And he’s actually seen the scars on my back and hip, and he didn’t appear at all put off. Well, there definitely was pity in his eyes the first time he saw them, but since then he’s acted so matter-of-fact that I even felt comfortable enough to do my exercises in the shallow end of his pool when he was home.”

Jessie fell silent, since Toby didn’t appear all that interested in her opinion of Brad Dixon, and she shoved her free hand in her pocket to use her elbow to keep her purse from battering her side. She rhythmically swung her walking stick like a ski pole to match her stride, quite surprised to find it was easier to use than her old cane. The few burls on it were perfectly spaced to make a handgrip at just the right height, and the bark-covered burl at the top was so gnarly that it was actually quite pretty. It reminded her of TarStone Mountain, she realized, glancing up to see the mountain rising out of the forest like a rugged, looming protector. Sort of like the family who owned it.

And so
unlike
her dead husband. She still couldn’t believe she’d married Eric, much less that she’d gotten drunk enough to leave the wrap-up party at the week-long art conference he’d been attending in Dallas—that she’d been the coordinator of—and gone back to his hotel with him and hopped into bed. Eric had been so enamored with her that he’d extended his stay another whole week, keeping Jessie in a whirlwind daze of dinners and dancing and charmed attention. But then he’d reluctantly returned to Atlanta with the promise they could make a long-distance relationship work, which they more or less had for five weeks with him flying to Dallas two of the weekends.

But figuring a man had the right to know he was going to be a father, Jessie had found herself placing the call every woman dreaded making. Eric was standing on her doorstep the very next morning, and after a day and night of cajoling and reasoning and pie-in-the-sky promises, he’d whisked her off to Las Vegas in search of an over-the-top wedding chapel.

And as far as Jessie was concerned now, the day Eric Dixon had slid that diamond-encrusted wedding band on her finger was the day her dream of happily-ever-after had turned into a nightmare. He’d then whisked her directly back to Atlanta, saying he couldn’t wait to introduce her to his brother and friends, persuading her to hire a company to pack up her apartment in Dallas and even to hold off calling her parents until after he’d carried her over the threshold of his over-the-top home.

Oh yeah; pregnant women—especially those suffering from debilitating morning sickness—should never make life-altering decisions.

Her only defense, Jessie had since decided, was that any normal twenty-four-year-old girl would be so captured by the charms of a rich, handsome, attentive suitor determined to seduce her that she wouldn’t even see the predator lurking behind such a carefully crafted mask of civility.

Jessie suddenly stopped walking. “Oh, Tobes,” she whispered, clutching her walking stick to her chest. “That’s it—Eric was a
predator
. I think the reason I was leaving him was because I found out he’d been watching me through the entire conference,
plotting
to seduce me. And that evening when I told him I wanted a divorce, he got so angry he admitted he’d planned the whole thing, right down to his lie that he’d had the mumps as a kid and was sterile when I freaked out that first morning because we hadn’t used protection.”

Jessie started walking again, so inwardly focused that she continued clutching her stick to her chest instead of using it. “Eric had been
trying
to get me pregnant the week we spent together. And when I called and told him I was, he flew to Dallas and didn’t let up until I agreed to marry him. But why? How did I find out he’d hoped I’d get pregnant, and why was he so determined to marry me?”

Could she have discovered something in the house when she’d come home early to pack for her business trip? Because honestly, what man in this day and age seduced a woman
hoping
she got pregnant and then insist they get married? Divorce was too easy if the woman ever found out she was nothing more than another addition to the art collection he was amassing.

“That’s it!” she cried, stumbling to a halt. She’d somehow discovered she was just another piece of the fairy tale Eric had been building to showcase his world-renowned success. Because the one thing she did remember with full-blown clarity was him shouting through the bathroom door that if she made him look like a fool, he was going to make sure the entire world knew she was a tramp and an unfit mother. And that’s why he’d hoped she’d get pregnant : to use the baby as leverage to make her stay by threatening to fight for sole custody.

“Toby, no,” she said, pushing him away when he started tugging on the flap of her coat. “This is important; I’m
remembering
.”

Toby grabbed her coat again, giving a rumbling growl that made her stop trying to tug free. “Now?” she whispered tightly, staring into his determined eyes. “Are you sure you’re not mistaking my being upset for a flashback coming on? Th-they might smell the same, you know.”

Toby tugged harder, using more of his weight until Jessie stumbled forward a couple of steps. “Okay. Okay,” she said, patting his head even as she looked down the road toward home. She glanced in the direction of the main road, then at the boarded-up, vacant camp nearby, and then at the woods. “D-do we have time to make it home?” she asked. Still gripping her coat in his teeth, Toby started pulling her to the forested side of the road, whining frantically now.

“Okay. Okay,” she said, realizing he was leading her toward the tracks where Roger had come out of the woods. She glanced over her shoulder at the vacant camp again just as Toby suddenly let go of her coat and trotted over to the snowbank, where he turned to her and gave a soft bark. Trusting his instincts even more than his training, Jessie walked over and grabbed Toby’s collar in a death grip, then allowed him to pull her up the snowbank in a stumbling crawl.

Following the tracks, Toby continued leading Jessie deep into the woods as the familiar descending curtain darkened the forest into contorting, colorless bodies, their long stretching fingers clawing at her. “S-safe place, Toby,” she sobbed as the immobilizing terror started to consume her. “I-I can’t go any—there he is! He’s coming after me!” she cried, dropping to her knees and scrunching into a ball just as the malevolent force lunged toward her and Jessie once again began fighting for her life.

JESSIE SLOWLY OPENED HER EYES WITH A PAINED MOAN,
trying to figure out why she was so cold, only to realize she was lying in the snow and Toby was—instead of being cuddled up to her as usual, she could feel the underside of his belly pressing into her side. Jessie very slowly turned her head to see him standing over her, and went perfectly still when she noticed his hackles were raised and his lips rolled back just enough to expose his teeth, his attention trained on a spot behind her.

“You can call off your dog, missy, ’cause I ain’t the one who attacked you.”

Jessie rolled over with a scream and scrambled backward at the sight of Roger sitting on a stump only a few yards away. Toby moved right along with her, his gaze remaining trained on the old hermit, until Jessie came up against a tree and Toby positioned himself over her legs.

“That’s one contrary pet you got there, missy. The big fella wouldn’t let me get anywhere near you, even though I tried to assure him I only wanted to help.” Roger looked around the woods, then back at her. “I didn’t see who or what done attacked you, but it was long gone when I got here. I’m figuring it was a man, though, ’cause of the things you were muttering. Except you didn’t even realize the bastard was gone, and just kept fighting him off someth’n fierce.” He nodded. “You’re safe now. You wanting me to go get my machine and take you to Chief Stone to report this crime?”

Oh God; he’d witnessed her having a flashback? Jessie pressed her hands to her chest in a vain attempt to slow her racing heart. “Th-there was no attacker—at least not today. I was having a . . . a flashback of when I was attacked before.”

“Then we still gotta go report it to Stone, in case the bastard comes back.”

Jessie placed an unsteady hand on Toby when he tensed at her slightly hysterical laugh. “He’s not coming back because I shot the bastard to death.”

The old hermit straightened in surprise and arched one bushy brow. “Well, if’n he’s dead, then why you still fighting him?”

Jessie gave a snort, wiggling through the snow to lean against the tree she’d run into. “Drop the act, Roger; we both know you’re not some lonely old hermit.”

“I most certainly am,” he said, his sharp green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, okay, I might not be all that lonely, but I am a hermit.”

“Exactly who are you, Roger AuClair de Keage? Or should I ask
what
are you?”

He nodded toward Toby. “Have your pet stand down, lass, and in return I promise to give you another hint as to who and what I really am.”

Jessie urged Toby over beside her, then wrapped her arm around him when he leaned into her side and nuzzled her cheek in concern. “Okay, let’s start with the
who
, and I want more than a hint.”

Roger squared his shoulders and smoothed down the front of his shirt. “I’m Roger de Keage, first laird of the clan MacKeage. Or, more precisely, Ian’s ancestor,” he clarified when she snorted. He nodded, his eyes glittering in silent laughter. “As for the what, I said in the card that I’m your greatest ally and humble servant.” He held his hand up when she tried to speak. “And to answer your next question, I’m here to make sure justice is served and that two miracles happen.”

“But—”

Roger pushed himself to his feet with a loud grunt followed by a long-winded sigh. “I’m afraid I need to be going now. But first, could you tell me why you’re not carrying your staff? I thought I made it clear in my letter that you need to be keeping it near to hand.” He suddenly grinned. “It’s doing a fine job helping you remember, is it not?” He nodded when Jessie gasped in surprise. “You keep asking your questions, Jess, and it’ll keep giving you answers. Because contrary to what some people might think, it
is
important you remember the details of that night.” But then he shot her a scowl that made Jessie go perfectly still as he pointed at her. “And don’t you be messing with that stick’s energy, you hear? It’s not a toy, you know; it’s a powerful staff designed for working serious magic.”