What Lies Between (5 page)

Ethan put most of the guys I dated through his infamous interviews—scared off more than a few—and probably saved me from a load of mistakes. When he became serious with his girlfriend she forbade him from talking to me anymore. They got engaged and our friendship was a casualty.

Chelsea had warned me that would happen. “When guys get a girlfriend, they drop their girl friends,” she had declared.

True enough.

Although tired, I wanted to see the inside of the house. The plans Calum left me indicated the guest bedrooms would be upstairs in the main part of the house. The stairway was blocked off due to the renovation; I went into the dining room instead. It was a huge space and could have accommodated several tables and dozens of people but it held only one rectangular table with eighteen chairs and a large buffet near the door.

An archway led into the next room, the sitting room I had come through earlier. A smaller room off the hall was more casual and already geared toward visitors, furnished with four square tables with chairs and offering stacks of board games, a chess set with beautifully carved wooden pieces, books, and binoculars.

Gerard must have intended Glenbroch to be a low-tech escape and that suited me fine. The surrounding area was spectacular and anyone coming here would be drawn to the outdoors. I appreciated why my ancestors who built this house had fitted each of the main floor rooms with large windows facing the glen.

I headed for bed, wound up even in my exhausted state. My feet glided light and happy across the wood floor. I already loved it here.

The sun shone through the east-facing windows, falling soft and warm against my skin. A perfect first morning. Solid, muted knocking coming from the center of the house told me Ben had arrived. After a quick look in the hall mirror—not too bad for having woken up only minutes earlier—
I opened Glenbroch’s front door.

“Morning.” He ambled past me and headed to the house’s professionally outfitted main kitchen with a full bag under his arm and a coffee in each hand. He deposited the bag on the spacious room’s long, weathered farm table, straddled one of its benches, and held out a cup. “Your coffee, ma’am. Hopefully it’s how you like it . . . you know, nothing fancy.”

Narrowing my eyes in a playful glare, I wrapped my hands around the cup’s warmth and inhaled the steam of the hot brew. “Smells like coffee. A good sign.”

“You ready to learn how to drive on the proper side of the road?”

“Ha! You guys are the odd ones out. The rest of the world—well, most of it—knows what side to drive on.”

“Aye, well, we’ll see how you do.” He grinned, revealing a hint of the cockiness I was sure I’d see more of, pulled two sandwiches out, and handed one to me. “Your bap.”

“My what?” I unwrapped the brown paper to find a fried egg and slice of ham in a soft roll.

A bap, huh?

I flopped the piece of meat at him. “Do you want this?”

“I told them no meat. Sorry. I’ll take it if it’s no bother.”

“Feel free.” I handed him the ham, wrapped my sandwich back up. “I’m excited to get going. I’ll eat in the car.”

“Suit yourself. We’re away then,” he said, downing the remainder of his bap in one bite.

I tossed him the keys to Gerard’s Land Rover and followed him to the steading. He opened the passenger door of a beast of a white vehicle outfitted with a ladder up the backside and a hefty rack on top. I hoisted myself into the passenger’s seat and buckled up.

“You’re not going to drive?” he asked, tossing his long-limbed body into the driver’s seat.

“Maybe later.”

Ben’s mouth curved into a smile as he revved the powerful engine. “We’ll take the stalking road up and around the property and come back along the loch.”

“Sure, sounds good,” I said. I had no idea what classified as good. I was along for the ride, wherever it took me.

“There’s a map of the area on the back seat.”

“Do you mind?” I asked, holding up a pair of binoculars lying next to the map.

“No, they’re for you to use. We might be lucky and see one or even both of the eagles that nest nearby.”

I pointed at the map I’d spread out. “Glenbroch is in Glen Moran over here. We’re headed to Glen Ellyn, right?”

He nodded.

Glens, burns, moors, braes, lochs, and bens—the word for mountains—how would I keep them all straight? And most of the place names were in Gaelic, the pronunciation of its letters illogical to my native English mind. If I ended up lost and needed to call for help, I wouldn’t know how to tell someone where I was. I’d have to remember to write down the name and carry it with me. At least I’d be able to spell it to my rescuer.

Peering at the map, I said, “This doesn’t show a road through Glen Ellyn.”

“It’s a stalking road, but the Land Rover can handle it just fine.”

I clenched the hand grip as the vehicle began a steep climb on a rutted path barely visible through the long grass. No, I wouldn’t be driving this thing out here anytime soon. Ben veered off on a faint trail leading over the crest of the hill but stopped past the peak and shut off the engine.

“Take some photos if you like. Then we’ll drop down into the corrie and take the road along its base.”

I added
corrie
to my list of Scottish words to look up. I vaguely remembered it from my reading, but all of the information stuffed in my brain left it feeling like my closet when company came over. If I tried to open its door and retrieve anything, all of its contents would come falling out in a jumbled mess.

Searching the horizon with the binoculars for signs of movement, I glimpsed a large bird just before it dipped below the hill to the right and focused the lenses on the point where the wing had appeared last. Nothing. I pulled them back, scanned the sky. There it was, coming up farther to the left from its last position. It soared, hovered, held itself nearly still. I centered the bird in the binoculars’ lenses.

“It’s huge,” I said.

“Can I take a look?” Ben asked, accepting the proffered binoculars. “That’s the female. She’s about seven feet across at full wingspread. He handed back the binoculars. “If you like, we can drive closer and watch her hunt. These birds can get well above a hundred miles an hour in a dive for prey. It’s worth seeing.”

“I’m game.”

He parked in a spot with a panoramic view and opened the back of the vehicle. I scooted up onto its edge as he pulled out a box containing an assortment of food and dishes.

“In case you get hungry,” he said.

“Your stash would feed a school bus full of people.”

“Travelling and change catch up with a person. I thought I should make sure you at least have plenty of fuel. Packed a good choice. Your eating habits strike me as, shall we say, a bit high maintenance?”

The playful sparkle in his eyes sent a warm rush through me. He teased me relentlessly but his actions were thoughtful, different from Matt’s fend-for-yourself attitude. My ex-boyfriend’s take on a partnership left no room for chivalry or simple kindnesses. I didn’t know for sure what I wanted after we split up, but it wasn’t Matt’s cocked up idea of equality and manliness, which barely passed as a thin excuse to be an inconsiderate jerk. The more time had gone by, the more I was certain Courtney had done me a favor by fighting to break us up. She won Matt, and I scored a new life. I wouldn’t trade.

The eagle glided back into view and hung overhead, sizing us up. She abruptly dived, and I couldn’t focus the binoculars fast enough to stay with her. She grabbed something off the ground without breaking flight, although whatever she picked up was heavy enough to make regaining speed a struggle. I could track her with my binoculars now that she moved more slowly.

“What does she have? Is that . . .? Oh, no!”

“Let me take a look,” Ben said, taking the binoculars without waiting for me to hand them over then centering the bird in the lenses. “Aye, it’s a lamb, one of yours from its tag.”

Of course I understood how nature worked—the strong preyed on the weak and vulnerable. This was the easiest and surest way to survive and every creature was wired to survive. Knowing this didn’t stave off a shock of anger at watching the tiny lamb plucked from right next to its mother and carried off to be eaten—another ordinary meal.

Seeing nature in action brought loosely held opinions into sharper focus. I had never thought twice about protection of wildlife, eagles included, but this lamb was in my care as well. How was I to ever balance these competing concerns? I was sure this was only the beginning of a long and no doubt uncomfortable education.

I glanced over at Ben, who was staring at me. I could read his mind: sappy American city girl, not cut out for life in the Highlands.

He reached over and gave me a quick one-armed hug. I didn’t resist, maybe because I was surprised. Tears popped from my eyes; his hug, brief, awkward, but just what I needed, must have squeezed them loose.

“I was born and raised here, and I’m a guy, but that doesn’t mean I’m immune.” We sat side-by-side in silence until he continued. “I’ve heard about eagles picking up lambs but I’ve never seen it. Wasn’t easy to watch,” Ben said, turning his gaze to me and then back to the horizon. “A crofter round here wants the eagles shot. About two summers ago, I suppose it’s been, he claimed they were hunting his newborn lambs and had a row with a conservationist who was up here for the year studying the pair. One day she returned from checking on them and found all her tyres had been slashed. She accused the crofter of trying to scare her off, but he had an alibi from a neighbour, and that ended it. If the crofter spies the pair on a day he’s out with his gun, I’m guessing they’ll disappear.”

“Seeing its talons hooked in and the bloody wool, all I wanted to do was protect the lamb. It came over me fast and from my gut, you know?” I said. “I know the eagles should be here, but . . . what am I supposed to do?”

Tears made me feel vulnerable, embarrassed. I felt plenty of emotion all the time—too much in my opinion—but I didn’t care for anyone to see it. My foster experiences had taught me well. I’d had the dubious benefit of tough love caretakers who discovered what hurt or upset me, or what I wanted, and used it against me. If I loved something, it was taken from me—to teach you life isn’t fair and anything you love can be taken. As if life hadn’t taught me those lessons in plenty of other ways. Kids would take my things too, but more for selfish reasons, less often just to be cruel . . . at least most of the time.

Ben gave me an understanding smile and sat in silence beside me. There was a growing sense between us of common ground, with no need for words to declare it. We had both decided, again without speaking, to let ourselves be absorbed in the sweeping landscape that shrunk the Land Rover and ourselves into miniatures. Maybe the Highlander and the city girl weren’t all that different?

He broke the silence. “You’ll face plenty of conflicts and struggles here on the estate, but I think you’ll manage fine . . . probably better than I do.” He grazed my arm with a reassuring touch. “Och, you’re freezing! You’ll end up a block of ice or constantly soaked to the skin if we don’t get a proper kit sorted out.”

No argument there. This wasn’t an August I was used to. Back in Oklahoma the heat and humidity would have closed around me, suffocating my air seconds after stepping outside. Not here. On the top of this hill, the wind from the sea, which must have come down from the Arctic, left me trembling.

Ben rustled around, came up empty-handed, and then pulled off his jacket. He put it over my shoulders, snugging the collar close to my neck. His hands lingered for a moment before he let go. “Enough of this cold. How about seeing the place that gave Glenbroch its name?”

The broch! The thought of exploring an ancient ruin eased the tension in my body and brightened my mood. “Let’s go!”

4

_B
en pulled the Land Rover to a stop on the side of a dirt road. “We have a short walk in from here. Throw the food you want into my rucksack. I’ve already put in some sandwiches and some other stuff, but you should make sure you have food you’ll eat.” His mouth curved in a lopsided grin.

“I’m not hard to please.” My words held a defiant edge.

“I didn’t say you were. Sensitive, are we?”

I pushed my shoulder against him, or attempted to. He didn’t move.

“Do you know how frustrating you are?” I said, my smile belying my tone.

“You’re easily frustrated then. You’ll need to toughen up to live around here.”

“Let’s just go, okay? Lead on.”

He snorted a laugh, shook his head, and turned to head through a gate onto the path.

“What?” I hollered from behind. “What?”

“I didn’t say a word.”

His ear-to-ear amusement permeated the air as he covered the trail in long strides. I couldn’t chase away the happy feeling stuck on my face as well.

We made our way in silence through a tall growth of brush, which spit us out at a rickety, wooden bridge with a slat floor. The flimsy-looking structure was at least suspended on large wires and not the same frayed rope that served as a hand hold, but who knew how old the bridge was given its cracked planks every couple feet. Ben marched across and stood waiting on the opposite side.

I stepped tentatively onto the contraption holding each side in a white-knuckled grip. The floor swayed heartily from side to side, tripping a queasy sensation in my gut. If I fell through the open rope sides or stepped through one of the holes in the floor, the long drop would leave me twisted, torn, broken—or worse.

My fear of heights had embarrassed me since I was a kid—or rather, I had often embarrassed myself in high places. I hated anyone knowing I could be scared senseless by simply looking over the edge of anything higher than ten feet off the ground. I forced my body to move and made it to the other side without Ben noticing my fright—or so I hoped.

Soon we came to a shallow creek, or
burn
I’d have to learn to say instead, and my boots slipped and slid from one wet rock to the next. A splash drew Ben’s attention. By the time he turned around, I had leaped onto the shore behind him. I didn’t get away with it. Muddy water had flooded my boots and my soaked and freezing feet squished with every step. Ben turned again and raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. He said nothing, but a chortle floated through the air, making its way back to me.