Love on Loch Ness (7 page)

"I've only been there a thousand times." Flynn leaned back and rolled his eyes. "So many, the librarians think I'm some sort of loony."

"I'm sure." Gail unfolded her napkin.
Loony is right.
But maybe she liked loonies. "So, I started looking at other logs. You know, stuff a marine biologist would notice: fisherman's logs, climate, water levels, etc."

He leaned forward. "You've got my attention. Go on."

Gail leaned forward as well, like this information was top secret and they were some kind of government spies. Or maybe she just wanted to be closer to him. "Anyway, it seems every twenty years, the fish population drops significantly — a good seventy to eighty percent."

He raised a golden eyebrow. "That is strange."

"At first I attributed the drop to some sort of climate change, or maybe a bad winter season, but changes in the weather records didn't correspond with the drops in fish population."

Two large glasses clinked on the table, making them both jerk up. "Goodness me, looks like you two've seen a ghost." The hostess smiled and pushed their drinks to them. "Now, what'll it be?"

Flynn turned toward the woman. "I'll have the swordfish."

Somehow drinks had turned into a full-fledged dinner date. Gail hadn't even had a chance to go through her menu. "I'll have the other special, what was it?"

The woman scribbled something on her pad. "Clam chowder."

"Right. I'll have that."

They both waited in silence for the hostess to leave. The minute her back turned, Flynn was all over it. "And?"

"And that's it. I have no explainable reason for a drop of that kind."

Flynn crossed his arms and leaned back. "I do."

Gail wove her fingers together on the table. Was she going to regret this? "Okay, let's hear it."

"Nessie wakes up to feed every twenty years."

Gail widened her eyes in mock surprise. "Oh, is that right?"

"Seriously, Gail."

"Okay, okay. I'm listening."

"That's when all the most significant sightings are. Take the nineteen thirty-four picture I was talking about on the cruise. Fast forward to nineteen fifty-five when Peter McNab photographed Nessie in front of Urquhart Castle."

"Yes, but didn't he tell a local resident those were bales of hay covered with tarps?"

Flynn raised a finger. "Only for fear of ridicule. Then you have the nineteen seventy-seven Anthony Nicol Shields photo."

Gail knew where this was headed. The evidence was coming together. Yet, she couldn't deny her skeptical reasoning streak and the true purpose why she was there. "What about the nineteen nineties? I don't remember any pictures from that time."

"The famous sonar scan conducted by the research crew at L-PIB happened in nineteen ninety-one."

"That's not exactly twenty years."

"Does the timing correspond to the drops in fish population?"

Gail took a sip of her beer. The cool liquid stung her mouth and flowed down her throat to warm her belly. "I'd have to go back and check, but it does seem to match, yes."

Flynn shook his fork in the air and raised an eyebrow. "That would be some elaborate coincidence."

Gail smiled. "What are you trying to say? That roughly twenty years from nineteen ninety-one brings us to two thousand and thirteen? To today?"

Flynn's eyes sparkled. "She's due."

Circumstances

Two steaming entrees arrived just as Flynn spoke the word
due
. The hostess leaned over, placing each one in front of them with a smile. She gave Flynn a curious look but didn't ask
who
exactly was due. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No, ma'am." Flynn smoothed things over with a charming smile. "This looks fantastic."

The hostess turned to Gail. "You, missy?"

"No thanks. I'm good." Her clam chowder looked a little murky for her tastes, reminding her of Loch Ness, as though she didn't have enough reminders already.

The hostess handed them extra napkins. "I'll be at the bar if you need me."

Gail's stomach flipped, and she wasn't sure if it was the food or the way the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Surely there was a logical explanation, something less farfetched than a mythical, hibernating beast.

"I'm sorry, Gail. I don't mean to upset you." Flynn reached out and touched her hand briefly. "I'm just trying to make sense of it all."

Gail wiped her forehead with a napkin and chugged her beer. Did she look that upset? "I'm fine."

"No, there's something wrong, and I think your unease goes deeper than a scientist lacking logical answers."

She swirled her spoon around in her clam chowder. Part of her wanted to run out of the tavern so she'd never have to confront her past again, but a stronger urge to get to know Flynn superseded her fears. If she was ever going to be in a relationship again, she'd have to be able to talk about her issues.

Gail took one brave breath and met Flynn's gorgeous green eyes. "My father was like you — a cryptozoologist chasing myths and dreams. He loved anything that hadn't been proven yet on the scientific spectrum: unsolved riddles, unexplained phenomenon, mysterious tracks… you name it."

She smiled, remembering how her dad used to stay up late watching
Unsolved Mysteries
and
The X-Files
. Sometimes she' stayed up with him, suffering the programs just so he wouldn't have to watch them alone. "He used to take me on expeditions. We'd look for Bigfoot tracks in the woods or UFOs in the sky."

"Sounds like you have the coolest dad ever." Flynn's eyes lit up.

"Had." The word fell on the table like a stone.

Flynn grew quiet, and Gail knew she had to tell him everything now.

"He disappeared seven years ago, hunting Yeti tracks in the Alps. They sent out search parties for months and found nothing except his thermal gloves. My mom still goes on a trip each year when the snow melts, looking for any trace."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. It's mine. If I'd told him how I felt about his adventures instead of encouraging him, he wouldn't have given everything up to follow an empty dream."

"It's not an empty dream, Gail. It sounds as though your father was doing exactly what he should have been doing — what made him happy. You were the best daughter he could have had for supporting his dream."

She'd never thought of it that way. Coming from Flynn, the man who most resembled her father, she almost believed it. "I know it's totally illogical and ridiculous, but I like to think he's still up there… that maybe my dad found a secret Yeti population and the creatures took him into their tribe. I still hope to this day he's out there foraging in the woods, trying to find his way home."

Gail looked away, biting her lip with embarrassment. She'd never told anyone that before.

Flynn reached across the table and took her hand. His swordfish was getting cold and it was all her fault.

She sniffed back tears. "I'm sorry I dropped such a bomb on our conversation."

"I'm glad you told me."

A string plucked behind her, and Gail turned. An Irish fiddle group was setting up on a small stage.

Flynn nodded toward the ensemble. "I forgot. The Broken Strings play here on Sunday nights."

"The Broken Strings?" Gail wiped her eyes and laughed. "I'm not sure I want to stay for this."

Flynn stuck a forkful of swordfish in his mouth. "Believe me, you will."

As the fiddles tuned, Gail tried a spoonful of her clam chowder and bit into a chunk of potato. The salty broth warmed her mouth. The perfect comfort food for the heavy subject she'd just broached. To her surprise, she was glad she'd finally opened up.

"How's your mom doing?" Flynn started devouring his food.

Gail shrugged. "She's all right. She never used to get into my dad's adventures, so when he disappeared, she got angry at him — like it served him right for wasting his time."

"But she still looks for him."

"Of course. Under all that anger, she loves him very much." Gail hated how this was turning into some kind of therapy session. She needed to change the topic, turn the tables. "Do you see your parents?"

Flynn nodded easily. "All the time. In fact, I saw them last night. They live in Inverness."

"Oh really?" Gail tried to hide her fascination by spooning another bite of soup into her mouth. So who was this
hon
he'd said he'd see this weekend? Flynn didn't call his mom
hon
, did he?

"You and your parents are close?"

"Sure. My dad would have liked for me to go into medicine or law, something more stable than touring, but he's over that now. In fact I think he's kinda proud of how successful my touring business has become. Sometimes the old man takes his business colleagues on the boat. My mom always pushed me to follow my dreams. She's the reason I'm here, maintaining my own boat, giving tours of Loch Ness. She also makes the best potato leek soup in all of Scotland."

Gail raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Flynn crossed his arms, his plate empty. "So."

They were lucky their son visited. A lot of men, like her cousins, took off after college and came home once a year. But she didn't want a mama's boy either. He didn't live with them, did he? Gail tossed her next comment out to see his response. "They're lucky you settled nearby."

Flynn shrugged. "I had to, considering the circumstances."

Gail put her spoon down, waiting for him to elaborate, but his eyes strayed to the fiddle group as they launched into a jig.
What circumstances?

Flynn offered his hand. "Want to dance?"

"Naw. We'd be the only ones…" Her eyes strayed to the other side of the room where another couple abandoned their seats by the fireplace and took center stage. Gail glanced down at her empty bowl of soup.
Guess I can't use that as an excuse either.
"I'm not a good dancer."

Flynn grabbed her hand as if her response was a yes. "Neither am I."

He pulled her up and dragged her to the dance floor. They twirled around, stepping on each other's feet and laughing. The tempo increased, and they struggled to keep up.

"This is better than going to the gym," Gail said between gasps for breath.

"More fun as well." Flynn flashed a smile.

Behind them, the fiddles launched into a ballad, and the pace of the music slowed.

Great. Saved by the bell — or the fiddle, in this case.
Gail glanced at the other couple, thinking they'd return to their seats, but the woman placed her head on the man's shoulder and they slow-danced.

Gail's heart jumped to her throat. The last time she'd slow-danced had been at her high school prom with Dwayne the science geek. Her stomach flipped.

She turned her head back. Flynn stood waiting in front of her with a smile. Gail froze. Should she get involved with a member of her research team, a believer in the Loch Ness monster? He looked so hot dressed in his captain's uniform. And those eyes…

What's one dance going to do?

She wrapped her arms around his neck and he placed his hands on her hips like a gentleman. Her mind, however, thought about unladylike things — like how his callused fingers would feel like on her bare skin.

Flynn leaned down and whispered in her ear, "You're not so uptight when you
want
to relax."

She rose on her tiptoes and gave his sass right back, her lips brushing his ear. "You're not so crazy when you want to be."

The song ended with a melancholy cadence. Flynn stepped back and twirled her around. Her floral skirt fanned out around her heels.
Maybe dressing up wasn't such a bad idea?

The tempo quickened, and they spun around until she shrieked and laughed, burying her face in his shirt. They danced for two more songs, then landed in a tumble back at their table.

Flynn slipped a fifty in the leather-bound bill container.

Gail grabbed her purse. "I thought the drinks were on me?"

He winked, making her feel like she was some special secret. "You can get the next one."

Was he inferring a second date?

Gail stood and smoothed down her skirt. She agreed before she let herself think about the consequences. "Okay."