What Lies Between (4 page)

The ram drew closer, bleating loud and long, and no doubt gearing up for a charge. The thought of those horns meeting up with my body sent my fight-or-flight response into high gear. I stepped backward looking for a tree I could climb and spied a long stick on the ground. Wrapping my fingers tightly around it, I swung up with force. The ram bleated what had to be a threat. I swung again, yelling my own version of a battle cry. The sheep scattered, abandoning their leader. The ram’s complaints became louder and more urgent. I took a couple of steps toward him, jabbing the stick in the air. He made no move to retreat. I waved the branch closer to his face, hoping he would take my warning to heart. He didn’t blink.

“I don’t want to have to hurt you, but you need to move on. It’s time for me to get off this hill. You and your harem don’t need a sign to warn people not to worry you. You’re worrying me plenty. Now get out of my way!”

I took a few steps backward. He advanced two steps.

“Okay, if this is how it’s going down . . .” I rushed him, brandishing my stick with murderous intent, determined to whack anything in my way.

He baaed me out, demonstrating his volume and lung capacity, and then stepped off the path seconds before my stick would have met with his shaggy body. I caught the contempt in his eyes as I flew past; this had all been a rather tedious comeuppance for the uninitiated Yank.

The ram no longer blocked my descent, but I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. My legs more rubbery than my boots, I flailed down the hill, stick waving, adrenaline propelling me over the lumpy, rock-cluttered slope at a dangerous speed.

The only thought that came to mind:
don’t break your neck
. No one would be looking for me up here and likely no one would for days—certainly one way to stake a lasting claim on my family’s land.

Barely able to stay on my feet but motivated by the alternative of tumbling across the rocks and boulders poking through the spongy ground, I caught sight of an upward incline off to the side of the bottom of the hill. The thought flashed in my mind of a semi-truck burning its brakes down a mountain road, the weight of momentum hurling it toward disaster—I now understood the relief the driver felt when spotting a rescue ramp. I pointed myself in the general direction of the incline.

Cresting its top my body slowed to a stop. Legs gave way without a moment’s consideration, and I collapsed on the soppy grass—eyes closed in relief, body still and heavy as a pile of wet leaves, legs drained and useless.

“Och, that was a sight to see! Practicing the Highland Charge, were you? You should ken you were doing it wrong. It’s to be done with your kit off, naked as the day you were born.”

What on earth is a kit?

I opened my eyes to see a man standing over me, his body blocking out the light. He squatted next to me, unruly dark hair falling across his forehead, and for a second I thought I’d been knocked unconscious. Eyes so pale they were barely any color at all peered into mine, and then when he smiled they transformed to deep blue. I had never seen eyes so light and then so dark in the same person. Whether because of the jet lag wrecking my body or my run-in with the Sheep King, I got lost in their wild, blue mess for a moment or two . . . or three.

Closing my eyes to break my frozen gaze, I released a long sigh, sure when I opened them I would discover I was back in Oklahoma and had merely spaced out again listening to one of Leland’s marathon rants.

3

The man offered me his hand and hoisted me to my feet. Momentum landed my face square against a wall of muscle, which turned out to be his chest; faded aftershave, mixed with cut lumber and fresh sweat, filled my lungs. I steadied my still wobbly legs, stepped back, and ran my eyes over the man.

The Scotsman wore cargoes and a black t-shirt, not a kilt, and he had to be well over six feet. His farmer-tanned arms and labor-hewn muscles told me he was comfortable outdoors and engaged in physical work. A broad smile spread over an attractive face, but it was a faint, thin scar almost in the shape of a crescent curving from his forehead around his left eye that made his features more interesting to me. I tended to keep my distance from people who cozied up too close to perfection. Safe to say, neither this man nor Calum, with his lean, rangy look that reminded me of Leland’s runner’s body, matched Kami’s preconceptions—or her research, if that’s where she’d gotten her ideas.

His smile widened further. “Ben MacIver. And you are?” The Scottish accent rolled and curved his words, making them sound too exotic to be part of the English language. He extended a hand again, this time to shake mine.

I glanced at my own, only then remembering the remnants of sheep dung smashed in the palm and realizing the dark smudge on his wrist where I had grabbed hold was my doing. Cringing but attempting to disguise it, I gave a dainty shake with only my fingers. His eyebrows rose in question, judging my wimpy grip, no doubt. Little did he know my intentions were to spare him.

“Ellie. Elliotte Jameson. People call me Ellie.”

Smooth.

He released my hand, a bright smile once again lighting his face. “Those war whoops of yours are impressive. Thought I’d better come see who was worrying the sheep. You’re American, eh?”

“I don’t think you need to be concerned about the sheep. And yes, I’m American,” I managed to say after a too-long pause brought on by lingering embarrassment and the intense gaze of those chameleon eyes.

What is he thinking about so hard?

“I had a run-in with a ram up the hill.”

“Aye, I ken the one. That would be Brodie. That tup is a temperamental bugger, but Helen MacKinnon had a soft spot for him, gave him a name. You’d be wise to stay clear of him.” He lifted a brow as he turned his attention to the darkening hill, then back to me, a concerned expression crossing his face. “Good thing you came off the hill when you did. You’re all right, then?”

My grandmother named that old ram? My mind drifted back to the photo of her that had hung in my father’s house and then I remembered I hadn’t answered him. “Yes, of course. I’ve had a long day is all.”

“Have you been on the hill all day?”

“No. I only made it up to the top and back. I arrived just this afternoon. My father owned this estate and left it to me.” It might be best not to reveal too much to this stranger. And I should be asking the questions. “What do you do around here?”

His eyes grew dark, fixed on mine, and then his expression relaxed. “I’m sorry about your father. And to your question, I work here on the estate and was completing some of the finishings in the steading. We had heard the new owner was coming, but it was to be next month. I must say, Calum Devlin kept you quite a mystery.”

I couldn’t get a read on this guy, whether he was glad I was here or not. His expressions changed like the weather, and his eyes darkened or lightened at the slightest shadow of a cloud or tilt of his head. He didn’t strike me as moody particularly, but as if his mind whirred with a million thoughts.
Interesting.

But right now I needed food and sleep. I’d only eaten a scone and coffee since landing and the pressure in my head left it feeling like a melon caught between closing elevator doors. Hard to believe I’d arrived at Edinburgh airport mere hours ago.

“I’m heading back to the house . . . been a long day. It was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” I said.

“I’m going that way myself, if you don’t mind the company.”

Without waiting for a response, the Scot turned and strode down the narrow path toward the house. He held a branch out of the way for me, and his eyes swept across my body as I ducked under it. He saw me notice and quickly turned his focus back to the path.

“You’re soaked and freezing,” he said. “I’ll get a fire going while you get into dry clothes.”

Just then I remembered the fires I’d left blazing when I’d headed out on my little jaunt. Crossing my fingers, I hoped they’d behaved. The last thing I needed was to burn the place down on my first day. I fished my set of keys from the zipper pocket of my jacket and fumbled to find one to fit the lock.

He pushed open the door, which led to the main part of the house. “We don’t lock up much around here.”

I snorted at the foolishness of such a notion and brushed past him into what Calum would call a sitting room but what I called a formal living room.

Making a poor effort to restrain a laugh, he shut and locked the door behind me. “I can see you’d prefer it locked. By the way, did Calum tell you how to start a fire in these old fireplaces?”

“I’m sure he left instructions.”

“No bother. I’ll get the fire going in whatever room you’d like. Come on and I’ll show you how.”

Ben filled a pot with coal and grabbed an armful of firewood and kindling from wooden boxes in the corner of the room. This handsome Scotsman had caught my attention with his witty banter and thoughtfulness, but the crisp air permeating my damp clothes and pushing a chill through my bones had started my teeth clattering. My tongue had goose bumps.

“You go on and get out of those wet clothes, and I’ll take care of the fire. I can show you how to start it some other time. Now, where would you like your fire lit?”

I stifled a laugh and searched his face for the come-on behind the words, but couldn’t detect one. It seemed what crossed my mind hadn’t crossed his at all. “A fire in the sitting room of the private quarters would be great. Thanks.”

After my shower, I pulled on a flannel shirt and jeans but still couldn’t get warm enough. The central heating didn’t work well if it was on at all. I grabbed a heavy sweater and tugged it over my shirt. Twenty minutes later, hair dry, and after giving up on disguising the weary circles under my eyes, I headed to the kitchen assuming he had left long ago. All he was supposed to do was start a fire . . .

“You should be set for tonight. I’ll be heading off.”

I jumped at the sound of his voice as, at the same time, a happy buzz zipped through me.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I decided to check the house and lock up. All secure. The fires that were lit earlier burned out but I’ve got you two going in your quarters.” Ben moved past me to the kitchen island, poured a glass of red wine, and handed it to me. “Hope you don’t mind, I opened this bottle to celebrate your arrival at Glenbroch.”

“Not at all.” I accepted the glass, clinked his proffered one.

“
Slàinte!
Cheers in Gaelic.”

“
Slàinte
,” I repeated.

I took a long, slow swig, giving my mouth a task to distract it from saying what it shouldn’t or doing what it had no business doing. I usually let my body do as it pleased, except in the workplace.

He let his gaze rest on my face, started to speak, didn’t. My breath quickened with curiosity at whatever he was trying to communicate.

“I was thinking . . . I could take you round the estate tomorrow, help you get a sense of the place, if you like,” he said.

Calum’s advice to explore and soak in the Highlands urged me onward, not that I needed much prodding. “I do need to see the estate and get familiar with the area. Practically under orders. I’m also interested in getting out to Skye.”

“Are you now?”

Again, I was sure his mind spun with thoughts. Yet apparently not one to blurt out any old thing, what he was thinking was slow to arrive in the form of words.

“I’m going over to Skye the day after tomorrow. If you want to come along, you would be welcome.”

I knew my answer but force of habit restrained me from speaking. Even though I usually decided what I wanted to do straight off, I liked to take some time and not appear impulsive.

“I suppose it would be best to visit the island before I’m heavy into the work of the estate.” I sounded authoritative speaking about the work ahead, but my glimpse of the estate left me in awe of what had been entrusted to me. Anxiety nipped at my mind whenever I thought beyond the moment.

“One more thing, have you ever driven on our side of the road?”

“Your side of the road, is it?” I laughed. “No, but I need to get behind the wheel and get used to it.”

“We can fit in a driving lesson tomorrow if that suits. You do have your driving licence and know how to work a manual?”

“Of course I have a license, but I haven’t handled a stick in years. And to have it on the left is a bit intimidating.”

“Is it now?” His eyes twinkled with thoughts of the hilarity I was sure he imagined would ensue when I got behind the wheel. “It’s a yes, then. We can take the Land Rover Gerard kept here and you can get in some practice.”

“Sure. I’d like to get a feel for the property and taking the Land Rover for a spin would be nice. I’ve never driven one of those.” The draw to see and experience places and objects that had been my father’s, my family’s, was strong.

“Right. I’ll call for you at ten, give you a chance for a long lie. There’s a café off the main road that serves up breakfast, and they do coffee, better than my instant. I’ll get some to carry out in the morning if that suits.”

“That’s hospitable of you.”

“Och, lass,” he said in a dramatized brogue, his eyes flashing with mischief. “Dae ye nae ken aboot Highland hospitality?”

I shook my head at his teasing, my mind still occupied with what a “long lie” meant—sleeping in? “Something simple, without meat. And a cappuccino, extra foam, nothing fancy.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing fancy.” He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “Not to worry, we’ve dealt with our share of Americans up here. I’m sure the café can sort you out. Tomorrow . . . ten?”

“Yes. Ten.”

Accompanying him to the door, I turned the lock behind him and let the grin I’d withheld spread across my face. Ben had a protective, masculine energy I hadn’t been around in a long time . . . well, since Ethan.

I missed Ethan—the common ground, the banter, the mutual irritation, and the crazy good times. Ethan and I had worked in the same department at my first job out of college. We shared explosive chemistry, but my rule to never get involved at the office nixed what might have been. We kept it cool and became best friends instead.