The Highlander Next Door (25 page)

“No, it’s not, because you just met him,” she said, wiggling free and standing up. “And because I haven’t decided if
I
like him.” She gestured at Niall’s cottage. “Because in my book of how the world should work, boyfriends tell their girlfriends when they’re spending the night somewhere else.”

“He’s a cop, honey. How many nights did I not come home when you were living with me? And after I moved to Montreal, how many weekends did you stay over, only to see me all of a few hours?”

Birch hugged herself on a sudden shiver. “I remember one weekend you didn’t come home at all,” she whispered, “and I got a phone call at three in the morning from your captain saying he was sending a squad car to take me to the hospital.”

Her father stood up, pulled her up the last step to the porch, and folded her into his embrace. “I doubt they have street gangs here in Spellbound Falls, little cadet,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of her head. “And Niall MacKeage strikes me as a man who can take care of himself.”

“He doesn’t even wear a bulletproof vest. And he didn’t bring his gun when he followed me to the Vaughns’.”

“You told me he had a backup weapon. So,” he went on brightly, obviously attempting to lighten the mood as he stepped away and looked at the door, “what’s a person have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?”

“The kitchen was Noreen’s department,” Birch said, heading inside. “Just give me a minute to make a pot. Come on,” she added, waving at him to follow when the screen door closed and he was still on the other side. “Come sit at the table and I’ll make you some eggs and toast.”

He looked toward the cottage, then back through the screen at her. “I don’t want your residents to come downstairs and find me inside. I’ll take the coffee down to the beach and drink it, then go see if Niall will let me use his shower.”

Birch grabbed the carafe and filled it with water. “I told you, he’s not home. That’s Officer Sheppard’s truck.” She poured the water into the coffeemaker then started opening cupboards, looking for the filters. “I think Niall had Jake spend the night in case my new resident’s husband came around.” She found the filters, then looked at her father. “He didn’t even take Shep, and that dog goes everywhere with him.”

Claude lifted his hands from his sides in resignation. “I’m sure he’ll be home soon, honey. He’s probably still dealing with the aftermath of that storm. Judging by the destruction at the campground, there’s a good chance the man’s up to his ears in accident and property damage calls.”

“He left here at six last night,” Birch said, stuffing a filter in the brewing cup thingy, then going in search of the coffee. “And you said the storm hit around midnight.”

“Didn’t you tell me Niall has another officer covering Turtleback Station?”

“Cole Wyatt,” she clarified with a growl, having to jump to grab the coffee off the top shelf of a cupboard. “Jeez, Noreen was a freaking Amazon.”

“Then maybe Cole asked Niall to come down to Turtleback,” her father went on, even as he chuckled at her frustration, “and they both ended up dealing with the storm. Things got pretty wild last night; I don’t think I’ve ever seen red lightning, and I sure as heck never heard wind sound like that.”

Birch stopped scooping coffee. “Red lightning?”

“It was the damnedest thing,” he said, shaking his head. “The sky looked almost alive with constant blood-red flashes that appeared to be shooting
up
from the water. Thankfully most of the lightning stayed offshore, except for one strike hitting a huge pine down on the beach. And the wind sounded like something out of an old horror movie. Over the thunder and snapping trees and debris crashing into everything, I’d swear I heard vicious, bone-chilling screams coming from out on Bottomless.”

“Screams?” Birch went back to scooping coffee. “It sounds to me more like you smuggled some of your cheap rum across the border and cracked open a bottle last night.” She slid the coffee-laden filter into the machine, tapped the on button, then walked over and scrunched up her nose at him. “I told you that stuff will make you see flying elephants. Storms move
west
to
east
, lightning is
white
, and wind
howls
.”

“All I smuggled across was that bottle of overpriced Scotch you bought me, and it’s still full but for the few shots we had the night before you left Montreal.”

“You . . . you don’t like it?”

“No, I like it. I just prefer not to drink alone.” He grinned. “I had it in the car last night and almost brought it down to the beach for our little talk.”

“You hadn’t made it to the main road when you left,” she admitted with a crooked smile, “before I was taking a guzzle out of my own bottle.”

“I’m sorry I shocked you yesterday, Birch, but I thought it would be easier on both of us if I simply showed up and told you in person.”

“No, you thought to avoid an argument by not telling me until
after
you quit your job. Oh no,” she suddenly groaned, palming her forehead. “Your moving here means we’ll have to stay with your parents
overnight
at Christmas.” She shot him a glare. “Since it was only a three-hour drive from your place, we could get in, politely smile and nod for six hours, and get out.” But then Birch clutched her throat. “Oh God, what if they decide to come here instead? They’ll stay an entire
week
.”

“Who’s staying a week?” Hazel asked, walking into the kitchen carrying Mimi.

Mimi spotted Claude standing on the other side of the screen door and immediately started wiggling and whining to be put down; Birch’s sigh was lost in her father’s laughter when Chicken Little’s feet touched the floor and the blur of white fluff raced back into the hall and up the stairs.

Even though her mother momentarily looked as though she also wanted to turn tail and run, Birch was proud and more than a little impressed when Hazel walked up beside her. “Good morning, Claude,” she said in her polished, fund-raiser voice. “Have you—” Her words ended on a gasp. “
Maudit
, you look like hell!”

Birch felt her jaw slacken at her mother’s so-unlike-her outburst, only to then feel her chin drop when she glanced over to see her father actually crack a smile.

Claude never smiled
at
Hazel; only when he talked
about
her.

He brushed down the front of his wrinkled shirt. “I guess I’ve become somewhat of a slob since my daughter left. Don’t worry,
chére
,” he said, switching to French—which he was quite fluent in when he felt like it. “I’m sure I’ll be back to my old uptight self in a day or two. Birch did tell you I’m moving here, didn’t she?”

Birch blinked up at him. Her father couldn’t actually be
teasing
her mother, could he?

No, of course not; he didn’t know how.

“Was your trip to Turtleback a success?” he asked, returning to English when Hazel just mutely gaped at him, apparently just as dumbfounded. “I hope Sam took you to a nice restaurant for dinner. Or did the two of you go to that club the owner offered you space in when I was at the station yesterday? It’s been awhile, but I seem to remember you were quite a vision on the dance floor.”

What the—did he just
wink
at Hazel?

Birch was tempted to run down to the Lexus and see if this imposter had bound and gagged her
real
father and stuffed him in the backseat. Because really; Claude St. Germaine didn’t know how to flirt any more than tease. Which was why, at the age of fifty, the man was still single. Oh, he dated, but none of the women ever seemed to . . . stick. Well, except for Miss Boss-a-Lot, who in her own words, “had wasted nearly two years of her life trying to pull that rigid broom handle out of Claude’s ass.”

It was obvious he’d never taken the woman home to meet his parents, because even idiots and six-year-olds knew that no amount of nagging could dislodge a genetic trait that had been nurtured along for eighteen freaking years.

Birch had often wondered how Fredrick St. Germaine had managed to find a wife. Well, except there was a good chance it had been love at first sight for Colleen, who was about as demonstrative as mashed potatoes. In fact, when her father had brought Birch home and introduced her to
Grand-mère
Colleen, the woman had stood deathly still when Birch had run up and hugged her.

Come to think of it, Colleen still acted scared of her.

As for
Grand-père
Fredrick, the man had actually scooted around the back of his chair when she’d gone over to him.

It had taken Birch months to teach her father to hug and nearly a year before he’d finally started doing it spontaneously. She had not, however, taught him to flirt. And that he appeared to be flirting with Hazel this morning made her feel . . . Well, it was just plain wrong.

Apparently still unable to form a coherent thought, much less a response, Hazel merely turned and walked away, her face as red as . . . Claude’s freaky lightning, Birch decided as she glared up at him.

Wait; maybe instead of the lid off a cooler, a bolt of lightning had struck him in the head last night. It would certainly explain him acting like someone else’s father.

Not that he saw her glare, since he was staring past her, which made Birch turn to see her mother walking down the hall and up the stairs with all the dignity of a bubbly, quirky teenager coming home from the prom . . . minus her virginity.

“Keep her away from Sam Waters, Birch,” Claude said quietly.

She turned to him in surprise. “You’ve met Sam? No, you couldn’t have, since Mom didn’t come home until after you left last night.” She went back to glaring at him. “Unless you went to the Bottoms Up hoping Sam would stop in after dropping Mom off.”

Claude lowered his gaze to her. “It’s amazing what you can find out for the cost of a few beers. I didn’t have to meet Sam to learn some interesting things about him.”

Birch glanced at the hall, then moved closer to the screen door. “Like what?”

“Mostly that he’s a complete mystery. Sam Waters is half owner of the Trading Post with his father, but Ezra’s last name is
Dodd
. And it seems even though Mr. Dodd has lived in Spellbound Falls for more than fifteen years, no one knew he even had a son until four years ago. Stranger still, Olivia Oceanus had no idea Ezra was her grandfather until Sam showed up at the family camp she ran for her ex-in-laws claiming to be a horse wrangler, but turning out to be her father. Olivia had thought he was dead, because she hadn’t seen him since she was five.”

Birch felt her jaw slacken again.

Claude shrugged. “The consensus seems to be that Sam is friendly enough and has even quietly helped out some folks with . . . unnamed personal problems, but the man is basically a loner. He dated the owner of the Drunken Moose for a while, but when the woman realized Sam wasn’t the marrying kind, she broke it off and married Everest Thurber several months later.”

“How does Sam not being the marrying kind pose a danger to Mom?” Birch asked, even more confused. “In my book, that makes him perfect. Mom can finally enjoy the company of a man without having to question his motives.”

“It’s not the social aspect of his life that concerns me, but what we don’t know about him. It’s as if Sam Waters didn’t exist until four years ago. Look,” he said on a sigh, “Hazel’s welfare has always been your business, but
your
welfare is
mine
.” He pressed one of his hands to the screen. “And in
my book
,” he said thickly, “that means making sure you never have to deal with another Leonard Struthers.”

Birch started to lift her hand, but instead rested her forehead against his warm palm and smiled down at her slippers. “I did such a good job raising you, I should get a medal.” She looked up when he pulled his hand away, and turned serious. “Thank you, Daddy, for loving me.”

Two dark flags appeared on his unshaven cheeks as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Right now I’d settle for a cup of coffee,” he muttered.

Birch twirled away with a soft laugh. Oh yeah, twenty-five years and she still hadn’t been able to eradicate that last stubborn St. Germaine gene keeping him from saying
I love you
to her. He could write the words—heck, he’d been able to do that by her seventh birthday—but he still couldn’t say them out loud. Not that she minded, since everyone knew actions spoke louder than words, anyway.

Finding no clean mugs in the cupboard and discovering no one had started the dishwasher last night, Birch grabbed a dirty mug—which had been put in faceup—off the top rack, squirted some soap on a paper towel—because she didn’t dare touch the wet dishrag in the sink—and washed the mug under the faucet. “You can probably buy a new tent and stove at the Trading Post,” she said as she filled the mug three-quarters full of coffee, “and that way you can spy on Sam in person. Or if they don’t have that kind of camping equipment, maybe a store in Turtleback does,” she added over her shoulder on the way to the fridge, only to frown at the empty doorway. “Dad?” she said as she quickly finished filling the mug with milk and walked to the screen door. “Dad?” she repeated, stepping outside when she still didn’t see him.

“I’m here,” he said from the end of the porch facing the driveway.

Birch rushed over when she saw what had caught his attention, which was Niall getting out of his truck just as a man—yet another mountain of testosterone—she didn’t recognize got out the passenger side. And if she thought her father looked like hell, Niall looked like death warmed over. Not only was he limping as he walked over to meet Jake coming out of his cottage, but he nearly fell over when he crouched down to greet Shep. Even more alarming—and downright weird—was how Shep’s tail went from wagging ecstatically to being tucked between his legs as he halted several feet shy of Niall’s extended hand. And even from the porch, Birch could see the dog roll his lips and hear his snarl as he backed away.

“Someone’s going to have to go back to school,” Claude said, taking the mug out of her hand. “K-9 officers really aren’t supposed to growl at their handlers.”