Love Everlastin' Book 3 (37 page)

The room fell silent for a
time. Then the grandfather clock on the second floor could be heard
bringing in the midnight hour. Pensively, the women listened until
the last chime echoed through the house, then Beth released a sigh
of such desolation, Laura and Deliah focused their attention on
her.

"I just want Lachlan back,"
she said softly, mistily staring off into space. "We went through
so much to get where we were. Everything seems so out of place
now."

Laura nodded. "He certainly
isn't adjusting to fatherhood, is he," she stated, staring into the
remains of the cup cradled in her hands. "I guess I'm a helluva one
to talk." She gave a nervous chuff. "When I realized I was going to
be raising the boys, I panicked. I felt as if someone had snatched
away my life and handed me something alien and confining. Now, I
can't imagine what my life would be like without them."

Unexpectedly, Deliah burst
into tears. She lowered her face into her hands and had herself a
good cry before pulling herself together. Breaths hitching, shivers
coursing through her, she lifted her head and hastily wiped away
the moisture on her face with her hands. "I dinna know wha' be
wrong wi' me," she managed, her voice hoarse and shaky. "Either I
want to cry or ma temper is on the wing."

Beth chuckled. "On the wing.
I like that."

New tears sprang to Deliah's
eyes, but she made a valiant bid to smile through them. "I be so
confused, lately. I keep thinkin’ about ma clan, ma family.
Especially ma brither. I so miss him. And I keep thinkin’ he would
know how I should deal wi' Winston. But I canna ask him, can
I?"

A new rush of tears streamed
down her cheeks. "They all be lost to me, and I dinna like how
lonely be ma days and nights. Tis no' fair the heart should feel
such pain."

"Oh, hon," Beth consoled,
"it won't always be like this. Relationships are never easy. All
your problems will work themselves out."

"She's right," Laura said.
"Roan and I have had our ups and down. But the ups outweigh the
downs, and always will. Love is never painless, Deliah. And you do
have family. Here, with us."

"I cry too easily these
days," Deliah sniffed then flashed a smile capable of warming the
coldest winter's night. Heaving a fortifying breath, she
straightened her shoulders. "I know Winston loves me. As much as
his moods frustrate me, I wouldna have him change to please me."
She sighed again. "I have so much to learn abou' humanness, it be
scary."

"With the exception of
evoking magic and sprouting wings, you're as human as we are," said
Beth.

"Ye be too kind,
Beth."

"Again, Beth is right,"
Laura piped up, smiling warmly at her companions. She lifted her
teacup for a toast. Deliah raised hers, and Beth poured a little
tea into the cup that had been reserved for her use. "To the Three
Weirdateers! May we conquer every hurtle life tosses at
us!"

"Here, here!"

"Aye!"

To Beth and Deliah's dismay,
Deliah broke into wretched sobs.

Frowning, Laura said, "If
Winston walked through that door right now, I swear I would knock
him upside the head with a frying pan."

To the women's further
bewilderment, Deliah began to laugh. And she laughed and laughed,
the sound not quite ringing true of mirth, but she couldn't seem to
stop.

"It's going to be a long
night," Laura sighed.

C
hapter 14

Practically falling out of
the back passenger side of Winston's Audi, Lachlan raised his arms
above his head and released a whoop of glee that reverberated
through the star-canopied night. Winston and Roan continued to
laugh at the laird's enthusiasm at riding in a "motor vehicle", the
latter brushing tears from his cheeks as he unfolded from the front
passenger seat. From the get-go, Lachlan had loved every glide,
slide, stop, and go throughout the drive into town. He'd even
marveled at the heater, which actually hadn't begun to blow warm
air until a few minutes before pulling into Shortby's car
park.

"I want to drive across all
o' Scotland!" Lachlan roared joyously, turning in place, his arms
still raised. "Across the whole bloody world—"

His voice hitched when his
feet went out from under him and he slammed to the icy ground on
his left side. Even this struck him funny and, rolling to a
spread-eagle position on his back, he laughed until its throes
formed a painful stitch in his side.

"Och, he's lost his mind,"
Roan laughed. With him taking Lachlan's left hand and Winston the
right, they hauled him to his feet. "Steady old mon," Roan
cautioned.

"Dinna call me
old,
" Lachlan wheezed
then burst into another round of laughter.

By the time the three men
arrived at the front door of the establishment, they'd calmed
somewhat. Leading the way, Roan opened the door and directed his
companions toward the bar counter. Nine patrons were enjoying the
cozy warmth of the interior, three of whom were embroiled in a game
of darts. All eyes, including those of Silas MacCormick, the owner
and bartender who was behind the counter, turned on the
trio.

"Silas, ma mon," Roan said
merrily, "how the bloody hell have you been?"

"No' as good as you, it
seems," said Silas, his blue eyes crinkled in a smile of greeting.
He nodded to Winston. "Mr. Connery. Pleasure to see you
again."

Winston smiled in return and
sat to Roan's left on one of the stools. Both men glanced at
Lachlan, whose face was aglow with wonder as he scanned the large
room and took in every detail from the country decor to the
watchful patrons.

"Sweet Jesus, tis all so
much to absorb," Lachlan said jubilantly. He shrugged out of his
heavy coat and finally sat to Winston's left, a ludicrously wide
grin offered to the bartender as he laid his coat across his
lap.

Comically, his white
eyebrows arched, Silas looked at Roan and gave a slight nod in
Lachlan's direction. "Now here's a character," the old man grinned.
His gaze swerved to regard Lachlan's full-sleeved shirt. "Would you
be on yer way to a masquerade, sir?"

Lachlan smacked his chest
with an open palm then flung his arms out wide. "I live in a
masquerade, ma good mon, and I've a wicked thirst. I'll have a pint
o' bitter, if you please."

"Coming right up. Roan? Mr.
Connery?"

"Winston,
please."

The old man scrunched up his
face thoughtfully. "I don’t think we carry tha' brand."

To Roan and Winston's
embarrassment, Lachlan burst out laughing and slapped the tiled
countertop.

"He's got housebound fever,"
Roan grinned sheepishly at Silas. "I'll have a dark
ale."

"Make tha' two," said
Winston.

Lachlan's gaze settled on a
wicker bowl filled with salted, twisted objects. He contemplated
them for a time before lifting one to his mouth. Again he hesitated
then bit into it. He crunched slowly, frowning, fully concentrating
on the flavor. Then a grin spread across his face. "Wha' are
these?"

"You've never had a
pretzel?" Silas asked and chuffed as he placed a ceramic tankard in
front of Lachlan. "Where are you from?"

"Baird House," Lachlan said
without thinking, and popped the rest of the pretzel into his
mouth.

Winston and Roan were quick
to note the deadpan expression that fell across Silas' wrinkled
face. Clearing his throat, Roan said, "Don't ask, Silas. I don't
think you could handle the answer."

Silas filled two more
tankards and placed them in front of Roan and Winston. Winston
lifted his immediately and took a long swallow of the tepid brew,
then worked his mouth around the tangy aftermath clinging to his
tongue.

"So Roan," Silas grinned,
leaning his elbows on the counter, "how goes yer love
life?"

"Couldn't be
happier."

"That's an irksome
statement," Silas sighed and straightened up from the counter.
"When am I goin’ to get to meet this womon? I'm beginnin’ to think
she's one o' tha' cursed place's ghosts." He laughed, but it was
cut short when he noticed the intensity in Lachlan's dark
eyes.

Over the brim of his
tankard, Lachlan said huskily, "Baird House is no' cursed. Tis a
far grander place than any in all o' Dumfries and
Galloway."

"Lannie," Roan chided in a
low growl and a strained smile, "drink yer bitter and be
quiet."

The ruddy coloring in Silas'
cheeks paled. Winston watched the man, scanning him, and realized
Silas' suspicions, which the man too quickly dismissed, were close
to the truth of Lachlan's identity. But he also glimpsed that the
man was too afraid of saying anything more about Baird House, which
was a relief. All they needed was more trouble. If word ever got
out that Lachlan Baird and his American lady had not only been
returned from the dead, but had parented twins....

Pushing the thought from his
mind, he observed Silas walk to the far end of the counter, where a
man in his mid-thirties parked himself on the end stool. He had
short, dark, curly hair and wore silver-toned wire-rimmed glasses.
A dark wool coat was draped over one arm, and what looked like a
camera case dangled from a wide strap on his left shoulder. Winston
reached out and briefly scanned the man. He seemed amicable enough,
but it disturbed Winston that the man was concerned with finishing
an article that was due by eight in the morning.

"Lachlan," Winston said,
keeping his voice low, "you have to be careful o' wha' you
say."

"Aye, aye," Lachlan grumbled
then downed the rest of his bitter. "But tis hard to no' speak ma
mind."

"Learn. Quickly," Roan
quipped. "Keep yer mouth filled wi' yer drink or the
pretzels."

"I think I can managed
tha'," Lachlan grinned.

A minute or two passed in
silence, then Lachlan said to Winston, "You should have stayed wi'
yer lass."

Taken aback by the comment,
Winston retaliated, "And you shouldn't be denying your womon and
your children."

Roan groaned and placed down
his tankard. Leaning to, he dealt his companions a harried look.
"Did we come here to talk abou' our women, or to
unwind?"

"Deliah," Winston muttered,
staring straight ahead.

Lachlan grimaced.
"Beth."

Roan rolled and eyes and
released a breath through pursed lips. "Aye. Laura." He signaled
for Silas to refill their tankards. When this was done, he took
several sips, frowning thoughtfully. "I've been...feelin’
neglected. And in tha', I'm guilty o' ma fair share o' neglectin’
as well."

"Why neglected?" asked
Lachlan.

"Why?" Roan released a low
laugh that held no mirth. "She spends every spare minute wi' the
lads and yer babes, that's why? Women have this thing
abou’—"

Roan choked on the words.
His face drained of color then became flushed as he stared into the
contents of his tankard. Winston, having unwittingly glimpsed the
train of Roan's thoughts, put in, "Your ex was given custody o'
your son. Roan, you did wha' you could. You had no way o' knowing
the fire would happen."

"I agree," said Lachlan, his
head bent to better see Roan's profile. "Roan, no mon could love
his son mair'n you."

"I wasn't there for him,"
Roan said, his voice quivering with emotion. "I was a part-time
faither and, damn me, I'm the same wi' Laura's nephews. I don't
know why, but I'm afraid to let anyone get too close." He sighed,
swigged down another gulp of his dark ale, then set the tankard
down a bit unsteadily. "I love those lads. God knows, I'd be lost
wi’ou' them." He looked at his companions. "But I can't seem to
give ma all to them. Or to Laura. I always have to hold back a part
o' maself."

Lachlan's shoulders moved in
a feeble shrug. "Roan, if tis only a part o' yerself I've seen you
dishin’ ou', then ye're a better mon than me. I have given ma all
and, I can tell you, it has been sadly lackin’ in
somethin’."

A wry grin formed on
Winston's mouth as he held up his tankard, and clinked it to Roan's
and Lachlan's. "Well, ma friends, at least your women are human,"
he said in a tone just loud enough for them to hear.

Lachlan chuckled, while Roan
grinned and said, "I don't know, Winston. I think her wings are
verra sexy."

"Tell me, gentlemen,"
Winston continued, "wha' would you do in ma shoes?"

"Probably break ma fool
neck," Lachlan said.

Winston frowned at his
response. "How so?"

Lachlan leaned back and
glanced at Winston's shoes. "They're flimsy footwear."

Roan moaned in mock
pain.

Winston grinned. "Seriously,
would you have a problem wi' a winged wonder?"

"Weel..." Lachlan scratched
the back of his head, grinning dubiously. "...I wouldna turn ma
back on her. She's a fine lass, Winston."

"Tha' she is," agreed Roan,
lifting his tankard and taking another swallow, then lowering it to
the counter. "As a matter o' fact, we are all three fortunate men.
The flames o' our hearts are beautiful, intelligent and—okay, wings
would give me a wee problem," he added humorously.