The House on the Shore (3 page)

T
he front door was locked and bolted.

Still fearful, she padded into the kitchen,
trembl
ing when the floorboards creaked beneath her feet.
Her hand shook as she made a cup of cocoa and
then
crawled into the
old oak
rocking chair next to the Aga.
Tucking her feet beneath her for warmth, she let the steam from the cup warm her face and
thought about what she’d seen.

Was her imagination working overtime?
Had livin
g in the city made her so soft
that she jumped at every foreign sound?
Even the f
loor scared her, for God’s sake.
In town, the only noises she heard at night were ambulance sirens and traffic, while here in the glen only the occasional bark of a fox or ho
ot of an owl broke the silence.

Few people bothered to drive this far, even in daylight, so the chances of someone doing so
in the early hours of the morning
were slim.
It couldn’t have been a man, she reasoned.
It must have been the shadow of a roe deer crossing the lawn
.
T
hey often came down off the hill
at night
to drink in the loch
.

Anna swallowed the last of her cocoa, rinsed her mug, and left it on the draining board.
Stifling a yawn, she pulled the cotton blind back from the window and looked out
.
Nothing moved.
Not even the leaves of the rhododendrons that surrounded the croft.
She tucked a strand of her tousled, copper-coloured hair behind her ear
and went back
to bed, pausing to give the dogs a gentle pat.
Sleep was a long time coming, and when she finally succumbed, it was into a
restless and fitful slumber.

It was a little after eight when she woke the next morning
. D
ressed in her usual well-worn jeans, check shirt and nutmeg-coloured Aran sweater
, s
he made her way d
own the narrow wooden staircase
to
the
kitchen.

After breakfast, she left
the dogs playing on the front lawn, and retrieved the first of two suitcases from the rear of the Land Rover
.
She
half carried,
half dragged it into the croft.

On her way back for the second case, she n
oticed a boat
had moored
in the loch
.
Strange,
it was still a little early in the season for tourists.
She shaded her eyes and appraised its size.
I
t wasn’t
just
a boat
,
but
a
large
yacht
.
And w
as that an Americ
an flag flapping in the breeze?

Only a few intrepid sailors ventured this far down the loch
.
T
he channel was narrow, twisting, and sheltered by steep, rugged mountains, with few
places to land.
If
the crew
were
looking for hot showers and breakfast, they were way off course and should have sailed west
to the Isle of Skye instead.

Two hours later, hot, tired and thirsty, she finished unpacking
and
helped herself to a can of soda from the fridge
.
She
sat down at the kitchen table
and picked up
the solicitor’s letter
from
where it rested against the pepper pot.
While it was common to receive offers on a property following a death, she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to buy the croft when it was so far from t
he modern conveniences of life.

The money being offered for Tigh na Cladach far exceeded its true market value.
And would certainly be sufficient for a deposit on a small house in Edinburgh, but she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to pay that much for a piece of infertile
land and a tumbledown cottage.

The croft had been in her family for years
,
and Anna had no intention of selling it
.
She
switched
on her laptop
and started to draft a suitable reply.
Her concentration was broken by the shriek of frantic barking.
She tore her gaze away from the screen and looked out of the kitchen window.
A tall, dark-haired man was making his way up the
crescent-shaped
beach
. He was
doing a weird twisting dance, holding his right arm above his head.
With his left
,
he pushed off the tw
o boisterous, snapping
Border
collies.

“Oh hell,”
Anna
groaned.
She threw open the door and sh
outed.
“Ensay!
Rhona!
Heel!”

The dogs instantly stopped snapping at the stranger’s ankles and ran to their mistress.
Anna leaned against the
doorframe
and waited while the figure strode confidently across the grass towards her
, h
is well-muscled body cover
ing
the rough ground with long, purposeful strides.
His
jet-black
hair
showed a little
grey
at the temples
, t
he cut slightly longer than was considered acceptable for a man
she judged to be in his forties, b
ut it suited him.

He stopped a foot from her door
, close enough for her to smell the lemon spice of his cologne.
Now that she could see him more clearly, she noticed the laughter lines around his eyes and mouth, hinting at a softer side to his character.
His body was l
ean
, the outline of
his muscles visible through
the T-
shirt he wore.
A faint white scar creased his right cheek, and she thought it gave his face a handsome
,
rugged look.
He
gazed at her with dark brown eyes and smiled,
slow
and
warm
,
and
for some reason her breathing quic
kened.

With just
one look
she
knew he was trouble.

“Hi, there.
I know I’m trespassing, but could
you
ask your dogs not to rip off my thigh?”

Anna drew herself up to her full height.
“They’re guard dogs and only doing their duty,” she said stiffly.
The dogs sat at her silent signal, but their eyes
remained fixed on the stranger.

“I’m s
orry to
intrude
.
I’m having engine trouble and I can’t get a signal.
”
He indicated
his mobile phone.

“That’s beca
use there are no transmitters.”

“Oh
, then
could I
use
your phone?
I need to contact the nearest boatyard for some advice.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
“I haven’t slept for twenty-four hours and I’m beat.
Sandpiper, that’s my yacht, developed a problem soon after I left Stornaway
.”
He paused as her words registered
.
“
Did I hear right?
You don’t have a phone?
”

“
No, I don’t, so
I’m afraid
I can’t help you.
I suggest you weigh anchor, turn your boat around
,
and head west out of the loch.”

“
Perhaps
I should
’ve
introduced
myself.
I’m Luke Tallantyre, from Cape Cod, Massachusetts.”
He offered
his hand.
She didn’t take it.

“Anna, Anna MacDonald.
Y
achts
often
stray into
the loch
at this time of year
.
Their crews
seem to
think this is some sort of hostel.
I
t’s not, a
nd I still don’t have a phone.”

“S
o
where do I catch the bus to town?
”
His eyes lingered on her face.
“
Oh, no.
You're about to tell me there isn't a bus either.
Aren't you?”

Anna nodded.
The motion sent sunlight gliding through her auburn hair.
“That’s right.
Welcome to
Loch
Hourn, otherwise known as the Loch of Hell.”

“The name fits,” muttered
Luke
.
“What sort of place doesn’t have a phone or a bus service in this day and age?”

“How about the remotest glen in the Highlands?
Up here, one man and his dog constitute a crowd.
B
efore you ask, there are no shops either, unless you count Mrs
.
McCloud in the village, but she only opens on alternate days.
The butcher’s van calls every Thursday afternoon, and the library service visits once a month.
I think that about covers all the local amenities.
Oh yes, there’s a mobile bank too, but that only comes once a fortnight.
The school closed last year.
But you’re in luck…there i
s a hotel and it has a phone.”

“So there
i
s a God after all.”

“However,
its
twelve miles down the road in that direction,”
she
replied, pointing
vaguely to some distant place.

The line of Luke’s mouth tightened a fraction.
“How do I get there
?
W
alk?”

“Wel
l, you could, but it might rain, a
nd then again it might not.
You can never tell for sure.
The glen has its own eco-system because the mountains are high, and the valley floor is narrow or something like that. I don’t fully understand the reasoning behind it
—
” Anna’s
words trailed off
.
She felt herself blush.
W
hat on earth was she rambling on about?
The guy didn’t need a science lesson, especially from her, but he was so good-looking that every time he gazed at her with those compelling brown eyes, s
he lost control of her tongue.

Distractions of his type she could do without, especially
after her
disastrous affair
.
Still
,
the way
h
e looked at her made her feel un
easy in a pleasant sort of way.

“I suppo
se I could offer to take you.
”

“You don’t have to.
You’ve been kind enough.
I’ll just walk
.”

“
Y
ou could
do
as I suggested
and sail to
Skye or
Fort William, where there are
boatyard
s with
facilities for vi
siting yachts and their crews.”

“Which I could call if I had a phone.
Thanks again,
”
he said turning to leave.

She shifted her feet.
She wasn’t normally unhelpful, but there was something about his
attitude that
put her on the defensive.

“Wait!"

He stopped in midstride and turned.
The dogs looked at
him
, then at
their mistress
,
as if
waiting for some clue as to what they should do with this strange
r who was invading their space.

“I’ll give you a lift,”
Anna
said, making a snap decision.
“Whi
le you
mak
e
your phone call, I can visit a friend.
Do you need anything off your boat?
If so, can you be b
ack here within twenty minutes?”