The Calum (2 page)

“
Oh, darlin’! You’ve got
this all fixed up already?” She shuffled into the kitchen, smelling
of lavender and Flexitol balm. Her hand shook as she pushed her
glasses to the top of her snow-capped head.

“
Yeah, gran. It’s all
sorted.” Duff tested the hinges on the newly repaired cabinets. The
fresh coat of stain on the wood was still a little tacky to the
touch. “These shouldn’t give ye any more trouble, but we’ll give it
another day to dry.”

Her face lit up with such
pride. It warmed and embarrassed him at the same time. “Aren’t you
a dear?”

Being back at the Golden
Thistle Inn was the closest thing he had to a homecoming. The place
was empty these days, no doubt due to its run-down state. Gran
herself was getting on in years. She was still the lively,
rosy-cheeked bearer of biscuits and warm milk that used to tuck him
in at night, but she moved much slower now. It had become
impossible for her to keep up with the B&B on her own. He
needed to find permanent help for her. That, or convince her to
sell it.

“
Yer such a big help to
me.”
When you’re around.
She would never say it, never begrudge him his
freedom, but guilt niggled at his conscience.

“
It was nothin’, gran.
I’ll check on the roof, and then I’m off for a bit.” He shrugged
into his jacket, the well-worn leather molding to him like a second
skin. “Need anything from the shops?”

“
Och, no. I’m all sorted,
dear. Will ye be back for tea?”

“
I shouldn’t think so. I’m
meetin’ up with the lads at the pub.”

Her worried frown was
slight. “Weel, you have a good time. Try an’ stay outta
trouble.”

“
Dinna fash, Gran.” He
kissed her warm cheek, giving her the cheeky grin she loved so
much. “I always try.”

****

“
I’m stuffed.” Jo sat back
in the booth and rubbed her non-existent tummy.

“
I’ve never seen you eat
so much.” Lovie had polished off a fair bit of food herself. It was
absolutely the best food she’d ever eaten. That or she was just
super hungry.

“
I think Scotch eggs are
addictive.” Jo groaned. “I’m tempted to order more, even though I
don’t have room in these jeans.”

“
We’ll walk it off
tomorrow.” Lovie pushed her plate away. “I figured, after the
morning tour, we could hike up to-”

“
Ohhhh, no.” Jo waved her
off. “I am not hiking anywhere. The only hiking I wanna do is my
skirt.”

“
Eww.”

“
Over my head, as The
Calum grabs my-”

“
Okay!” Lovie had to stop
her before she could go any further. The girl could go
far.

Jo’s satisfied grin
remained, even as she took a sip from her pint glass. “I’m just
saying.”

“
I’ll go by myself. I’m
not going to miss it because you’re lazy.”

“
Me? Lazy?” Jo feigned
outrage. “I’m the hardest working person you know.”

“
Hardliest
working.”

“
Hmmph, that’s not even a
word.” Lovie tossed a wadded napkin her way, but a group of men
settling in at the bar torpedoed her aim.

“
Hellooo nurse. Hottie
McHottersons at six o’clock.”

“
What?”

Lovie leaned in. “Don’t
turn around, but there’s a group of potentials behind
you.”

“
Ohhhh!” Jo’s eyes lit up.
“Any Calums?”

“
No redheads, that I can
see but-” Lovie’s jaw dropped to the floor.

“
But what?”

She had spoken too soon.
It was a bona fide Calum. In the flesh.

“
But whaaat?” Jo grabbed
her hand. “Can I look?”

“
Uh, wait a sec.” The guy
had to be at least six-foot-five and was built like a tank. His
hair was a bright coppery red and just brushed the tops of his
shoulders.

“
Ugh.” Impatient, Jo
released Lovie’s hand and turned to look. Her mouth dropped open.
“Oh my God, it’s...”

“
Yeah.” Lovie couldn’t
believe it. He smiled, and it was as if someone had turned on the
bright lights. Goodness gracious. She was hurtled back down to
earth by the loud thud of Jo’s purse as it landed on the
table.

“
I look like
shit.”

“
No you don’t.” Joana
Lindley never looked like shit. She was Barbie, without the
absurdly ill-proportioned body. Blonde hair, ice blue eyes, fit but
curvy - any guy’s dream. But her dream guy only existed in novels,
or so Lovie had thought.

She kept one eye on The
Calum and another on her friend, who was fixing her makeup and
fluffing her hair.

“
He still
there?”

“
Oh yes.” He was the
center of the group. Even from a distance, Lovie could see the way
the others orbited around him. He laughed, they laughed. He drank,
they drank.

Definitely some
introjective identification going on there. Understandably so, he
was magnetic. From his deep, resonant voice to his chiseled jaw,
right down to his sizable feet, it was as if he’d walked right out
of the pages of
A Laird to
Love
. The only thing missing was a
kilt.

Apparently finished with
her adjustments, Jo flashed her patented knock ‘em dead smile. “I’m
going to get another drink.”

“
Your beer is still
full.”

Jo poured her ale into
Lovie’s empty water glass. “And now it’s empty.”

She slid out of the booth
and sauntered – literally, hand on hip and ass swinging side to
side - over to the group of mostly men. It would have been comical
had she not looked so freaking good doing it. Seriously, she
could’ve given lessons.

On cue, they parted like
the Red Sea, tongues hanging out like thirsty poodles.

The conversation stopped
immediately as Jo snaked her way to the bar, making sure to brush
against her target in the process. The Calum and his buddies all
checked her out and signaled one another in some silent brospeak,
probably deciding which one would take a crack at her. None of them
made a move or appeared inclined to speak.

Except The
Calum.

Whatever he said had Jo
tittering like a schoolgirl. She turned her back and rested her
elbows on the bar, putting “the girls” on prominent display. How
had she squeezed her double-Ds into that sweater?

The suitor chosen, the
rest of The Calum’s crew slid away. The entire event took less than
two minutes. It might have been a record.

After an hour of watching
them smile and flirt, Lovie was silly with boredom. Jo hadn’t even
brought her conquest over to meet her. A real, live Calum. He was
practically a unicorn!

She needed some
air.

By-passing the court of
Laird Calum and soon-to-be Lady Joana, Lovie pushed through the
packs of rowdy locals scattered around the pub and stepped through
the swinging door into the crisp night air.

Crossing the quiet street,
she leaned against the railing that overlooked the river. The water
twinkled like the night sky, reflecting the lights strung in the
trees along the bank. Despite the chill, there were plenty of
people out strolling. An elderly man and woman made their way along
the walkway, hand-in-arm and speaking in hushed tones. Probably an
old married couple that had taken that same walk every day for
fifty years.

How romantic.

Another, younger couple
walked toward her, crossing the bridge that spanned the river. The
woman struggled with a baby on her hip and another in a stroller.
The man was on the phone, completely oblivious. Typical.

The guy didn’t have a clue
until, suddenly, he did. He turned and took the baby from her arms,
balancing his phone on his ear, and kissed her cheek. He must have
mumbled a ‘sorry’ because the woman smiled and shook her
head.

Jesus. Everywhere she
looked, people were in love. Her best friend was inside with,
possibly, the man of her dreams, and where was she? Out in the
cold.
And whose fault is that?

A lone figure walked
toward her across the bridge.

Black leather jacket,
scarf wrapped around his neck up to his ears, threadbare jeans, and
motorcycle boots. His hair, an unruly shock of black waves, was
being mercilessly tortured by breeze blowing across the river. He
was tall and lean. Not as tall as The Calum, but well over six
feet. Head down, and hands in pockets, everything about him
said
‘fuck off.'

To her it said
come and get it.

He was too brooding for
such an idyllic place. Like a Hell’s Angel at a Bar Mitzvah. Maybe
the bad-ass persona was a cover for his shy nature. Maybe he was a
beat poet. Were there still beat poets?

Or maybe he was an
anti-hero that tried hard to keep to himself, but kept getting
sucked into situations where he had to save the day. Moving from
town to town, leaving broken hearts in his wake. He wasn’t one to
settle down. Oh no! But deep down, he was lonely and waiting for
the right woman to love him.

Lovie rolled her
eyes.
I’m starting to think like
Jo.

Whatever the case, she
wanted to unravel his secrets. But she was never one to approach
strangers. That was Jo’s gig. She pretended not to see him as he
walked by her, even though the pull to solve the mystery was
strong. After he had passed, she turned to get a look at the view
from behind. In those jeans, it was well worth a look, especially
since his fine ass was heading right into MacKinnon’s. Sweet cheeks
stopped and turned as he opened the door.

Wait, was he checking her
out?

She whipped her head back
around to face the river, grinning like a mad woman. The sounds
from the pub faded, and she dared a look over her shoulder. He’d
gone inside.

Seems a little more
observation was in order. At a discreet distance of
course.

The Gang's All Here

The scene at MacKinnon’s
was the same as always. Gaz was on duty, pulling pints and keeping
an eye on the patrons. Old Mr. Fitzgibbons perched at the end of
the bar awaiting his evening tea of fish-n-chips,
stovies
,
or
spag
bol
. Liam, Roger, Burns, and the
lads all sat around, laughing and toasting to nothing in
particular.

It was like stepping back
in time.

At the center, as always,
was Hamish, bent over in conversation with a pretty blonde that
Duff had never seen. Not that he knew every pretty girl in
Inverness. Not anymore, anyway. He assumed she was Sofia, Hamish’s
bride-to-be.

A few heads turned his
way, surprised looks on their faces. More than one dirty look, but
he’d expected those.

“
Duffy! Get yer arse over
here an’ have a pint on me.” Roger thumped Duff hard on the back as
they hugged. “How are ye, ye wee
teuchter
?” Just how many rounds had he
missed? Roger was usually the quiet one.

“
Good to see you, Rog.”
Duff clapped him on the shoulder. “Burns, Liam.” He was greeted by
turned backs and a loud belch. Well, fuck ‘em. He was here for his
best mate. “Hamish.”

The redhead turned as if
startled. “Duffy!” He jumped up and pulled him into a fierce bear
hug, nearly as big as a polar himself.

“
I hate that name.” Duff
rubbed his sore ribs and laughed, more to draw much-needed air into
his lungs than anything else. “How are ya?”

“
Och, fine as ever.
Awright ya wee
baw
bag?”

Duff nodded, smiling.
“Yeah, I’m good.”

Hamish glanced down at the
blonde and back. His eyes narrowed and he nodded away from the
group. “Talk to ye a wee second?”

“
Ah...sure.” Duff followed
him. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to yer fiancé?”

“
That’s the thing.” Hamish
rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not her. Sofia’s off with her
family down in Spain.” Duff glanced back at curvy blonde at the
table. Come to think of it, she didn’t match Sofia’s description.
He thought maybe she’d dyed her hair.

“
Okay, so who is
that?”

“
Well,” Hamish grinned.
“Ye see, it’s like this.”

Shit. Duff knew that
expression. Hamish was looking for a bit of play. And here he
thought that he’d finally settled down. “Are ye daft, man?
Yer
gettin’
married in a fortnight!”

“
Keep yer voice down, will
ye?” Hamish pulled Duff further away from the girl.

Over his shoulder, another
young woman entered the bar. Tall, leggy, curves in all the right
places, she was a stunner. It took a moment for his brain to play
catch up and realize that it was
the girl
from outside, the one he’d
caught checking out his arse.

“
Are ye even
listenin’
to
me?”