Love Came Just in Time (30 page)

Ian could only gape at the woman, speechless. This was obviously not the stern and unyielding employer Jane had told him about.

“And who do we have here?” the young woman continued.

“A friend of mine,” Jane said. “Ian, this is Alexis, Miss Witherspoon's niece. Alexis, Ian.”

Ian had never seen such lush curves. He suspected he'd never even dreamed of such a form, impeccably rounded in the proper places and impossibly slim everywhere else.

“Aahh,” he attempted.

And then she held out her hand and he looked down to see blood dripping from all her fingers.

“Ach!” he cried, jumping back.

Alexis only stretched and smiled like a satisfied cat, practically clawing the air with her daggerlike hands. “Just nail polish, silly. They're my own nails, of course.”

Ian could see that and he was afraid. He knew what kind of marks a Fergusson whip could leave. He could only imagine how a man's back might pain him after a night abed with those.

“Oh, Jane dear, I see you've finally arrived.”

Ian found himself pushed aside by a solidly built woman well past the prime of her life. She cast him a practiced look of assessment before she turned her attentions back to Jane.

“Alexis drew some wonderful ideas on the way back. You'll see them mocked up as soon as possible.”

“Well,” Jane began.

Ian looked down to find that Alexis had sidled up to him and was placing her considerable charms beneath his nose for closer inspection.

“I design all the gowns, you know,” she whispered, reaching up to tap his chin with one long nail. “No matter what you've heard. Jane just does the sewing.” She slid her finger down and began to toy with one of the buttons on his shirt. “I'm going to be a famous designer one day.”

Ian vowed he would believe anything she said to him if she would just cease with her descent down the front of his chest.

“I need my vacation time,” Jane said calmly. “Ian needs to get back to Scotland and I've volunteered to get him there.”

“No.”

Ian looked to Miss Witherspoon. She hadn't bothered to look up from what she was doing.

“I'll take him,” Alexis offered. “I've always wanted to see Scotland.”

“I've already offered,” Jane said.

Miss Witherspoon shoved a handful of pages at Jane. “Get to work on these. I want mock-ups done before next week.”

Ian watched Jane take the pages, then he caught sight of the drawing upon the topmost sheaf. And he suspected that even he might be more successful at creating a bridal gown than the woman who had done the depictions before him.

It was then that he began to understand.

“Get to work on my stuff,” Alexis said, giving Jane a little push toward the door. “We'll take good care of Ian.”

Ian watched Jane hold onto the pages and consider. And for a moment, he thought she just might do as she was bid. Then he watched her put her shoulders back.

“I have three years' worth of vacation time coming,” she said firmly, “and this is something of an urgent situation. I'm sorry I can't give more notice, but it's imperative that Ian return to Scotland as soon as possible and he needs me to get there.”

Alexis made a scornful sound, then looked up at Ian. “I can take him places you couldn't even imagine in your wildest dreams.”

Ian was afraid to ask where those places might be and what Alexis might to do him with her claws if he let her escort him there.

“I said no and I meant it,” Miss Witherspoon said sternly. “Now, get to work on those, Jane. I don't have any more time for your foolishness.”

Ian saw Jane begin to falter and he cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, my lady Witherspoon, but I do indeed need her assistance. If you would be so kind—”

“Alexis can accompany you,” Miss Witherspoon said with a curt nod. “I have no more time for either of you.”

“Alexis is not accompanying Ian anywhere,” Jane said. “I want to go to Scotland. I've wanted to go to Scotland for years.”

“Have you?” Ian asked, surprised. He hadn't realized the desire was so firmly planted in her, though he could well understand the like.

“Lots of sheep there,” Jane said shortly, then she turned her attentions back to Miss Witherspoon. “We're leaving on Wednesday. I'll be back—”

“You'll go nowhere,” Miss Witherspoon said, the edge in her voice as cutting as any blade Ian had run his fingers across. “Those designs must be fleshed out.”

“That's right,” Alexis said, turning to glare at Jane as well. “You can't go.”

“It's only a couple of weeks,” Jane said firmly. “You'll survive that long without me finishing up your homework for you.”

Alexis gasped as if she'd been struck and Miss Witherspoon looked as if she might reach out and slap Jane. Ian fumbled for his sword, then realized he'd left it at Jane's home.

“You'll stay,” Miss Witherspoon commanded, “and you'll apologize to my niece!”

Jane laid the drawings on Miss Witherspoon's desk and stepped back. “I'll be back in two weeks.”

“If you walk out that door,” Miss Witherspoon said angrily, pointing at Jane with a trembling finger, “you're fired.”

“Yeah,” Alexis added enthusiastically. Then she blinked a time or two, turned, and looked at her aunt in dismay. “But then who will—”

“Fired,” Miss Witherspoon repeated. “Do you hear me?”

Jane took a deep breath, then shrugged. “Have it your way. You owe me for six weeks' vacation. I expect to find the check in my mailbox when I get home. Come on, Ian. We've got to go pack.”

And with that, he found himself being towed behind her out of Miss Witherspoon's presence and down the passageway back to the broom closet.

“Stupid job,” Jane was muttering under her breath as she stomped down the hall. “Didn't like it anyway.”

Before much time had passed, Ian found himself loaded down with all manner of odds and ends from Jane's little working chamber. He followed her out into the passageway only to find Alexis blocking his path.

“You can't take anything with you,” Alexis said with a sneer. “Take nothing—which is what you came here with.”

“These are my personal things,” Jane said, brushing past her.

Ian gave Alexis's hands a wide berth and hastened down the passageway after Jane.

 

 

ONCE THEY REACHED her dwelling, Jane obtained by messenger a foodstuff called pizza. She hardly partook, though, before she excused herself and shut herself into her private chamber. Ian couldn't see letting the food go to waste, so he finished off what was left and felt himself as full and satisfied as he ever had after a meal at Jamie's table. He placed the pizza container in the kitchen then paused in the television chamber, wondering what he should do. It was then that he heard the sound of weeping.

He went to press his ear to Jane's door. The sounds were muffled, but he hazarded a guess that the weeping was not of the joyous kind. He tapped on the door and the snuffling abruptly stopped.

“What?”

“How do you fare?” Ian asked through the wood.

“Nothing's wrong,” came the answer. “Really.”

The last was accompanied by a mighty sniff. Ian knew enough about women to know that such a sound could only mean more tears to follow. He didn't wait for permission to enter, he merely turned the knob on the door and poked his head in the chamber. And what he saw took his breath away.

There was color everywhere. Balls and skeins of yarn in every imaginable color littered the floor where Jane sat. She had obviously unearthed these things from some hidden trunk. Ian walked over to her and knelt down amidst the riot of color. He picked up a ball of particularly vibrant purple, then looked at Jane in surprise.

“I had no inkling,” he began.

“I pull them out to make myself feel better,” she said, dragging her sleeve across her eyes. “But not very often, because it never makes me feel better.”

“I had no idea you cared for such color.”

“Yeah, well, I've got plenty of time to do all I like with it now.” She looked at him bleakly. “I can't believe I lost my job. It wasn't a great job, but at least it allowed me to eat.”

Ian gestured to the yarn. “Have you made aught with these things?”

She nodded, then pointed to the trunk Ian hadn't noticed before. He reached over and drew out a heavy tunic woven of thick, deep red yarn. It was something that would keep any man warm even in the hard winters of the Highlands. Then he pulled out a blanket woven of so many strands of differing colors that it almost hurt his eyes to look at it. It too was made of heavy wool.

“Beautiful,” he said, stunned by the sight of the rich colors.

“The yarn was imported from Scotland.” She fingered the blanket absently. “Lots of sheep there, you know.”

“Aye, I do,” he said, fingering the wool.

“I could see myself in a little cottage on the side of a hill, spinning and weaving to keep myself busy.”

To his surprise, so could he. He looked at her with her slender hands and could easily picture those hands spinning and weaving.

And tending the small joys and sorrows of a handful of children as well.

He didn't know where it had come from, that thought, but he knew it was a good one. He reached over and pulled the sharp sticks from her hair, watching as the wavy strands fell about her shoulders. Even still wearing her black clothing, she looked much more at peace, much freer than he'd seen her before.

Aye, he thought, here was a woman who could share a hearth with him and not mind the keeping of it.

She began to put her things away and Ian stopped her by taking her hand.

“ 'Tis a pity to waste your gift only on white,” he said.

She shrugged. “It's what bridal gowns are made from.”

“In my time, a bride wore the colors she found near her home.”

“Then your brides were a lot more fun to design for than mine,” she said with another sigh. She looked around her at the remaining piles of yarn. “Maybe I can start over again in Scotland.”

“Aye—”

She interrupted him with a half laugh that contained no humor whatsoever. “Who am I kidding? I don't have the money to start over. I don't even have the money to go back home to Indiana.”

Yet Ian had heard her talking into that magical telephone contrivance, promising to pay for both her and his travel to Scotland. Was that the last of her funds? He couldn't allow her to spend all upon him.

On the other hand, he had to get home.

He picked up a ball of yarn and handed it to her. “I'll find a way to repay you,” he pledged. “Or perhaps you can remain with us for a time until Miss Witherspoon regains her senses and takes you back.”

“Hrumph,” she said with a scowl. “Poverty or indentured servitude. I don't know what's worse.”

Ian looked again at the fragments of her dreams laying in lumps around her feet and thought perhaps that returning to Miss Witherspoon's was the very last thing Jane should be doing.

A little cottage was starting to sound better by the moment. Hopefully they would travel to Scotland and find Jamie there. There was no guarantee Jamie would have returned to their clan home, but Ian couldn't imagine him doing anything else. What other place on earth would call to Jamie but their keep in the Highlands?

Nay, Jamie had to be there and Ian would find him.

And then he would find some way to make Jane's dream come true.

JANE STUMBLED OFF the plane wishing she had somehow managed to acquire a Valium or two before embarking. She looked at Ian who walked beside her, his eyes burning with a feverish light.

“Ach,” he purred like a satisfied cat, “now
that
was a proper rrrush.”

“Too much television,” she chided, ignoring those blasted r's of his.

“We must do it again. I'll pay for the privilege next time.”

I'd rather go by boat,
she almost said, then realized that was likely what half of the
Titanic's
passengers had said.

“Sure,” she said aloud, “only next time let's go first class.”

“First class?”

“Bigger seats. Better food.”

As those had been his two complaints about that ride, Ian only nodded in agreement. Jane didn't let herself think about the fact that the odds of her ever traveling again with Ian MacLeod were practically nil. He would find his cousin and be merrily off on his way while she was left to return to the States and face her nonlife. Maybe she could beg Miss Witherspoon for her job back.

She almost pursued that thought when she realized it was out of the question She'd spent half a night fondling skeins of vibrantly colored wool and fantasizing about what she would make from it. She could knit. She could weave. Surely she could make a living doing that. Or maybe she would take those colors, have cloth dyed to match, and design her own clothes. That was what she'd started out to do anyway, before money for rent and food had gotten in the way.

Jane would have given that more thought, but she suddenly found herself facing the rental car and realized that there was no wheel on the driver's side where it was supposed to be. She looked at Ian, but he was too busy peering into the outside mirrors to give any indication that he found the wheel placement unusual.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she said, going around to the right side and sliding in under the wheel. She pulled down the sun visor and was greeted with bold letters reminding her to Drive On The Left. “When in Rome,” she said, waiting until Ian had clambered into the passenger seat before she turned the car on. She looked at him. “You don't know anything about this driving on the left business, do you?”