The Highlander Next Door (24 page)

Nicholas folded his arms over his chest. “Both women stubbornly held on to their identities after their deaths, so Mac was merely granting their deep desire to continue the lives so crudely taken from them
as themselves
.”

A thoughtful hush fell again, with Alec and Duncan rolling to their knees and training their binoculars on the island and Niall simply staring out at the water.

“Do you know what
Telos
means, Niall?” Nicholas softly asked into the silence.

“I did some research after Birch’s accident,” Niall admitted. “And near as I can tell, it’s the root word for
teleologia
, which refers to the belief that all in nature has purpose, at the same time promoting the existence of a . . . Designer, or what we refer to as Providence.” He shrugged. “Some streams of philosophy contend that everything—plants, animals, people, and even the planet—is here seeking self-realization.”

“Télos is Greek for goal or
end
cause,” Nicholas elaborated, “implying that even the universe itself is seeking its ultimate purpose.” He gestured at where Telos was perched. “And despite that train of thought running parallel with Titus’s and Maximilian’s, it would appear Earth’s newest god has decided
his
purpose is to nudge mankind along on its journey.” Nicholas turned and lifted his scope to his eye with a soft snort. “One person, plant, and animal at a time, apparently.”

“So does that mean Mac and Titus
will
get involved if Telos continues taking a direct and active role in people’s lives?” Niall asked.

Alec and Duncan also looked at Nicholas when the warrior glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t imagine them standing by with their hands in their pockets while a fellow deity tries to impose
his own
definition of purpose on mankind.” A dangerous look came into his deep blue eyes. “Because should Telos overstep a line only the Oceanuses can see,” he said quietly, turning away and lifting his ancient spyglass to the island again, “I’m afraid moving mountains and creating inland seas will definitely seem like a blessing compared to the havoc two clashing divinities could wreak on this area.”

“Sweet Christ,” Niall whispered. “Are ye saying we could find ourselves at the center of a mythological war?”

Nicholas shrugged as he continued looking through his glass. “That, gentlemen, is a question I’m afraid only time can answer.”

Birch pushed the curtain aside and looked out the kitchen door window for the third time in ten minutes, only to see that Niall still wasn’t home. The man had driven in around six yesterday afternoon, handed Jake what had looked like a take-out dinner from the Drunken Moose, changed his clothes, then left carrying an unusually long rifle case without so much as a glance at the main house. And the bright blue pickup still parked in the driveway meant Jake had stayed at the cottage with Shep, and Niall had spent the night . . . somewhere else.

Birch couldn’t decide if her foul mood this morning was from plain old fear, or from
her
having spent the night tossing and turning in bed instead of sleeping draped over a warm mountain of muscle. On the one hand she was afraid police work—of the dangerous kind—was the reason Niall hadn’t come home, and on the other she was worried his absence didn’t have anything to do with his job. She didn’t consider herself the jealous type, but if the maddening man was going to go around telling people she was his girlfriend, he damn well better consider them
exclusive
.

She had actually been inches away from knocking on his door last night when Birch had realized the pickup she’d just walked past hadn’t been Niall’s. So she’d shoved her hands in her pockets and trudged home feeling more disappointed than she cared to admit, but had stopped halfway to the main house and considered marching back and asking Jake where in hell his boss was. But she’d continued home, realizing that showing up at Chief MacKeage’s door at eleven o’clock in her pajamas—okay, she’d been wearing her
slut on the hunt
little number under her robe—might have given Officer Sheppard the impression she and Niall were a couple.

Which they obviously were
not
, seeing how the man couldn’t be bothered to tell her he’d be away all night. He had a cell phone; how much effort did it take to send a stupid text? Granted, she hadn’t exactly been nice to him lately, but even an idiot would have realized that kiss in his station meant she’d forgiven him for acting like a caveman.

She let the curtain fall back and walked to the counter, disgruntled that men were so annoying—and she was lumping Claude St. Germaine in with the lot of them this morning. What did her father think he was doing, moving here? For that matter, what kind of work did he expect to find in the wilderness?

The man didn’t know the first thing about cutting timber or driving something the size of a logging truck, and wood harvesting seemed to be the only industry in the area, other than tourism. And she really couldn’t see Claude pandering to tourists, since she was pretty sure that required a sense of humor. Her father didn’t even have any hobbies he could turn into a business except for his little obsession with weaponry, but he couldn’t even legally carry a gun in this country, much less bring his collection here without having a damn good reason for lugging a small arsenal across the border. And if he wanted to stay in law enforcement, he’d have to go to an American academy, which would mean he’d basically be starting his career all over again at fifty years old.

Oh. Wait. She forgot. He didn’t
have
to work because he was freaking
wealthy
.

Was there a reason he hadn’t shared that interesting little detail with her in the last twenty-five years?
Never found the right time
, her ass. As for his feeling it wasn’t all that important . . .
Mon Dieu
, who in their right mind carried a mortgage when they had a small fortune sitting in the bank collecting more dust than interest?

And to think she’d offered to chip in when he had insisted on purchasing a house in the suburbs instead of an affordable condo in the city because he’d wanted Mimi to have a yard to run around in every other weekend. “Yeah, well, you’re buying your own vehicles from now on,” she muttered, glaring at the cold coffeemaker—the one Noreen had always set the timer on every night so they’d all wake up to the smell of brewing coffee. “And you’re taking me to dinner at Aeolus’s Whisper
and
picking up the check.”

Birch blew out a sigh as she glanced around the semi-clean kitchen, wondering when her life had gotten so out of control. Forget that someone had tried to kill her—and still hoped to, for all she knew; her father had quit his job and was moving to Maine, her mother had spent most of yesterday with an unmarried man only to return home with a distinctive twinkle in her eyes, her
boyfriend
hadn’t come home last night, and she’d lost her cook just as she was becoming overrun with residents.

Oh, and she still hadn’t made it back to that cute little artisan shop.
Merde
, the way things were going, that perfect purse would probably walk past her slung over the shoulder of a freaking tourist.

Hearing tires crunching on the gravel driveway—because no one had closed and locked the windows last night—Birch ran to the door and moved the curtain aside just in time to see her father pull in next to her SUV. It wasn’t the fact he was here at six in the morning that alarmed her, but rather the smashed roof and broken rear side window on his beautiful Lexus. But her alarm turned to outright panic when Claude rounded the bumper looking worse than his car.

Birch scrambled out the door and ran down the steps. “Did someone try to run you off the road?” she cried, skidding to a halt when Claude stopped in the middle of the walkway and frowned at her.

“Huh? No,” he said, looking back and gesturing at the Lexus. “A huge tree branch at the campground snapped off and broke the window.”

“But you’re
limping
. And you look like hell.”

He touched the goose egg above his left eye, then rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “I’m limping because I had to sleep in the car last night, and I look like hell because the only dry clothes I have are what I wore yesterday—which I also slept in.” He looked past her at the house. “You got any coffee brewed? I didn’t want to stop at the Drunken Moose looking like this, and my camp stove is probably halfway to Canada by now.”

“What happened?” Birch asked, walking over and slipping her arm through his, then starting toward the house. “You told me you bought a tent and all the gear you would need to camp out until you found a house.”

“A storm hit sometime around midnight,” he explained. “And considering the wind was strong enough to uproot several trees, my tent probably
beat
my stove across the border.” He gingerly felt the lump on his forehead and winced. “I think the lid off someone’s cooler hit me when I crawled out of my tent just before it filled with air and shot off like a balloon. The campground erupted in chaos with people scrambling to their vehicles as gear and awnings and chairs turned into projectiles.”

He brought them to a halt halfway up the steps. “The storm raged for almost an hour before the rain and wind suddenly stopped and a weird silence settled over everything. Nothing moved for a good five minutes, not even people. But just as I was about to go check on everyone, an engine started up, then another one, and headlights came on and most of the campers left without even bothering to hunt down their gear. And when daylight came and I crawled out of my car, I thought I’d stepped into a war zone. Tents and awnings were plastered against trees, several pop-up campers were mangled nearly beyond recognition, and three fifth wheels were actually tipped over. What few people had stayed were just standing around in a daze like I was, staring in disbelief.”

Birch looked over her shoulder at the yard. “We didn’t get a storm last night. In fact, I had to get up and close my blinds because the full moon was shining in my face.”

Claude slipped his arm free, walked up one more step, and grabbed the rail for support as he turned and sat down on the porch with a groan. “The campground’s at least twenty miles south of here,” he said, squinting against the sun as he looked up at her. “The storm blew in from the east off Bottomless, and I noticed on my drive up that the destruction stopped about a couple of miles north of the campground.”

“But storms usually come from the
west
.”

He shrugged, only to groan again and carefully flex his shoulders as if working kinks out of his muscles, then clasped his hands and rested his forearms on his knees. “The next vehicle you buy me will have to be a truck like that one,” he said, nodding at her SUV. “Something big enough to let me sleep in stretched out.”

“You’re dusting off your bankbook and buying your own vehicles from now on.”

He started to shrug again but stopped, giving her a wounded look that Birch didn’t believe for a minute. “Will you at least help me pick them out? And also come house shopping with me? Once I’ve narrowed it down to one or two,” he rushed on before she could respond. “I realize you’re busy, but I value your opinion. And if you’re there, the real estate broker can’t take advantage of—what do you call it?—
my blatant disregard for budgets
when it comes to making large purchases.”

“You can afford to buy a mansion right on Bottomless if you want.”

He sat up a little straighter. “Well heck, I suppose I can.” But then he shook his head. “Not a mansion, though, because I don’t want to have to dust and vacuum a bunch of rooms I’ll never use. But I wouldn’t mind a nice little cottage right on the water. One with a beach,” he added, looking down the lawn at the Center’s beach. “And also a dock, because I think I’d like to get a boat and take up fishing.” He squinted up at her again. “So will you help me look at cottages?”

“You truly are moving here?” Birch whispered.

His gaze lowered to his hands dangling between his knees. “Would you prefer I didn’t?” he asked just as softly.

“No, Daddy, that’s not it,” she said quickly, kneeling on a step in front of him and taking hold of his hands. “Of course I want you here. I know it’s only been two months, but I’ve
missed
you. It’s just that I don’t want . . . What are you . . . You’re a
city
cop. And this,” she said, waving behind her then clutching his hands again, “is the middle of nowhere. What are you going to do all day? I know you don’t
have
to work, but everyone needs something to get them out of bed in the morning.”

He chuckled, reversing their grip and giving her hands a squeeze. “Your city-girl mama seems to have found a job here in the middle of nowhere. I swear a feather could have knocked me over when I walked in that station yesterday and found Hazel on the phone trying to explain to some lady that police officers have more important things to do than to keep breaking into houses every time someone locks themselves out. Then Hazel asked the woman why she hadn’t hidden a key like Officer Sheppard suggested two days ago, after he’d had to climb in through her bathroom window.” He shook his head. “In my wildest dreams I never imagined Hazel Callahan punching a time clock—especially at a police station.”

“It’s not like there’s hordes of large charities looking for fund-raisers around here,” Birch drawled. But then she turned serious. “That’s the point I’m trying to make, Dad; just like Mom couldn’t sit around reading all day, you can’t fish seven days a week. And you gave up one career for me already; I don’t want you to have to start all over again.”

“I don’t regret one day of the last twenty-five years,” he all but growled, “and would do it all again in a heartbeat.” The sun reflected off a sudden gleam in his eyes as he cocked his head. “Maybe I’m the one who needs looking after this time.”

Birch barely stifled a snort. “You’re
fifty
.”

“And you were six when you started taking care of me. You can’t just suddenly stop. Who’s going to complain that I have too many take-out containers in my fridge? Or tell me vests went out of fashion three years ago, or that it’s time to buy new sheets, or that I need a haircut?”

“You definitely don’t need a haircut,” she said, fighting a smile. “You need to arrest whoever gave you that scalp-job. You went to a barber, didn’t you, instead of the salon I set you up with?”

He nodded. “There’s one just down from the station that all the guys go to because he’s convenient. So,” he said gruffly, the gleam fading from his eyes as he looked directly into hers. “Can I stay?”

Birch slipped between his knees and wrapped her arms around him. “Of course you can,” she said just as thickly, giving him a gentle squeeze. “But only because I need you here to remind me that
some
men are tolerable.”

The chest she was hugging rumbled with his chuckle. “Surely there’s at least one tolerable man around here; oh, like maybe a tall, broad-shouldered Scotsman who wears a badge?” He tightened his embrace when she tried to pull away. “That I hope is a patient man if he’s waiting for his girlfriend to admit the two of you are dating.”

Birch tilted her head back. “He told you we’re dating?”

“No, I overheard some guy named French call you Niall’s girlfriend. All Niall would say when I asked why you never mentioned you were seeing someone, was that you were probably still getting used to the idea.” He ducked to look her directly in the eyes again. “Is it okay to say I like this one, Birch?”