The Highlander Next Door (18 page)

Birch had calmly—since she’d stopped crying within a week of going to live with the St. Germaines—called her dad at work to tell him good-bye. She’d gone on to say she was using her birthday money to buy a bus ticket to Montreal, and promised to call him again from her
real
home to let him know she’d made it okay. And for him not to worry, because the penthouse had a really nice doorman, and there were plenty of nice neighbors to help her out until her mom came home from the hospital.

Still dressed in his uniform, Claude had pulled up behind Birch as she had been walking down the road hoping a bus would come along soon. She hadn’t made it a mile because her backpack had been filled with her birthday present from her dad and what few possessions he’d retrieved from her
real
home six months earlier. He’d lifted the heavy pack off her shoulders and led her back to his truck with the promise he would take her to see her mom.

After traveling for several mostly silent hours, Birch had been confused when they’d pulled onto the sprawling grounds of what had looked like a resort. Claude had asked her to wait at the front desk with the nice lady, then had returned half an hour later, taken her hand, and led her down the darkened hall past several closed doors.

Birch had to give him credit; the parentally challenged man had stopped outside one of the doors, dropped to his knees and clasped her shoulders, and at least tried to prepare her. “I know you don’t remember anything about the explosion, Birch,” he’d said softly, his large hands warm and heavy on her shoulders. “But you do know that the reason you came to live with me is because your
grand-mémère
didn’t survive and your mom was hurt too badly to be able to take care of you.”

Birch had remembered every last detail; she’d simply chosen to forget them.

“And,” Claude had gone on, “your mom agreed it would be better if you didn’t see how badly she was hurt, which is why you’ve only been able to talk to her on the phone, and then only in the last few months.” The man had actually smiled, which had only served to make Birch stiffen. “But I just explained to Hazel how grown up you are now that you’re seven, and she agreed talking to her in person might help you understand why you can’t be with her right now.” His hands on her shoulders had tightened. “And maybe not . . . well, not until you’re much older.”

“How much older?” Birch had asked, deciding
she
wouldn’t survive if she had to live with the St. Germaines much longer. “When I’m eight? Nine?”

“I’m sorry, Birch, but there’s a good chance it won’t be until you’re old enough to take care of yourself.” He’d taken a deep breath, further alarming her. “So when we go inside, try not to panic when you see your mom. And don’t start crying, okay?”

“I never cry,” Birch remembered telling him.

That had briefly brought back his smile. “Sorry, little cadet, I forgot. Let’s go with shocked, then. Try not to appear shocked when you see the brace she’s wearing. Hazel is . . . well, her spirit is just as fragile as her body, Birch.” He’d stood up and taken hold of her hand again. “Ready?”

Birch had nodded with all the conviction of a seven-year-old about to see her mother for the first time in six months, but nothing could have prepared her for what was on the other side of the door. She’d honestly thought they were in the wrong room, because the person lying in that bed trussed up in a full-body brace had in no way resembled her mother, even though the woman had sounded like her mom as she’d held out a frail, trembling hand and beckoned Birch closer.

Birch later learned that at the time, it was expected her mother would never walk again. They’d apparently forgotten to tell Hazel, though. The doctors needn’t have bothered welding metal rods to her spine, because the determination to get back her daughter had given her mother a backbone of steel. Two years after the explosion Hazel had taken her first unaided step, and eighteen months later she had swooped down on the St. Germaines and ripped Birch out of their coldhearted talons.

Claude had . . . Well, he hadn’t spoken much when he’d come to pick up Birch at the hospital four years earlier, and he hadn’t seemed to have much to say when she’d left, either. He’d actually sounded surprised when she’d called him two weeks later and asked if he was coming to Montreal for the weekend to see her.

And to this day, she was still dropping him clues on being a dad.

“Birch? Birch, are you outside?”

Oh,
maudit
, how long had she been standing there? “I’m here, Mama,” she shouted, rushing out of Niall’s cottage. “Did you see what we got?” she said, realizing the carts were a perfect excuse for why she’d been locked out of the house. “The note said they’re from the Special Delivery Fairy,” she explained as her mother came down the stairs carrying Mimi. “And Dr. Bentley got a new truck, too.”

“As in Charlie’s fairy?” Hazel asked, setting Mimi down on the walkway.

“How many Special Delivery fairies can there be? I got so excited when I looked out the kitchen window this morning,” Birch rushed on brightly, “that I ended up on the wrong side of a locked door when I ran out to see them.” She waved toward Niall’s cottage. “So I went over to see if Chief MacKeage might have a spare key. I think Peg’s the fairy,” she quickly added when her mother stopped looking at the empty spot where Niall’s truck usually sat and turned suspicious eyes on Birch. Birch herded Hazel toward the closest cart and urged her to sit behind the steering wheel. “The fairy said in her note that you should use one of the carts to go to and from work every day, and the other one will give the residents a sense of independence.”

“One of these is for me?” Hazel asked, gripping the wheel as she scanned the interior. “But I can afford to buy my own cart,” she whispered, shaking her head as she looked up at Birch, only to start nodding. “I should do that, and leave these for the residents to use.”

“Why, so Noreen can commandeer both?” Birch said with a laugh, heading for the house. “She’s only going to complain that now she has two more things to clean.”

“My, my,
bébé
,” Hazel drawled, following behind her. “Did you have a fight with your pillow last night? Because from the looks of your hair, I would say you lost.”

Birch ran up the stairs, refusing to reach up and touch what probably looked like a bird’s nest—hopefully not an
eagle’s
. Yes, Hazel might be naive when it came to her own dealings with men, but she’d always been maddeningly perceptive when it came to her daughter’s love life—or lack thereof. Birch stopped at the door and watched her mom stiffly mount the stairs, which told her just how taxing her accident yesterday had been on Hazel, since her old injury usually only acted up when she was stressed. “You know how wild my hair gets when I shampoo it just before going to bed.”

Hazel stopped beside her and glanced toward Niall’s cottage. “Niall left without helping you?” she asked, her eyes suspicious again.

“He was already gone,” Birch said, finally entering the kitchen. “But I thought I’d check if his door was unlocked on the chance he had a key to the main house hanging on his . . . Oh,
mon Dieu
, Mama,” she said in exasperation, heading down the hallway. “You better hurry up and get dressed.” She stopped at her bedroom door and shot her mother a smirk. “Chief MacKeage looks to me like the sort of boss who will dock your paycheck for being even five minutes late.”

Driving back from introducing Cole to more of the business owners in Turtleback Station, Niall thought about how he was finally starting to get a handle on Birch; the only problem being that most of what he was learning about her was secondhand. In fact, if not for the scent of lavender still lingering on his pillows, he might suspect he’d only dreamt her knocking on his door five nights ago.

He didn’t regret issuing his little edict that she not leave town alone, although he did wish he hadn’t been so blunt. But he’d been counting on the fact that losing her only means of transportation had effectively solved that particular worry for him—or it had until the Special Delivery Fairy had made a late-night visit. He couldn’t even blame Shep for not warning him in time to come up with another plan, since everyone knew fairies were silent, sneaky little bastards.

Roger Bentley certainly appeared happy with his new SUV, especially when it came to making backcountry house calls at two in the morning. Hell, the good doctor was so grateful to the benevolent fairy, apparently, that he’d finally let Carolina talk him into opening a second clinic a hundred crooked miles away in Pine Creek next fall. But where Bentley had seen the truck as a personal gain, Birch had only seen all the women she could lug back to the crisis center.

She’d actually headed out again three days ago, this time in search of a young girl the high school teachers had told her they were worried about. And near as Niall could tell, the only reason the shelter didn’t have a new resident was because Birch had asked Cole to accompany her. Again proving that neither of his officers intended to follow the rules, Cole had apparently pulled the boyfriend aside for a little man-to-man talk, after which he’d told Birch not to worry, since his being assigned to Turtleback had effectively put the young couple on his watch.

Oh yeah, hiring Jake and Cole had definitely been one of his wiser decisions.

But other than that one trip to Turtleback, Birch had surprisingly stayed close to home. Niall wasn’t surprised, however, that she hadn’t spoken to him since the morning he’d threatened to chase her down if she left town.

Hazel had been a veritable fount of information these last five days, regaling him with stories of Birch’s teenage years, including her daughter’s pet names for each of the nefarious husbands. And after asking how to spell a French word so he could try out his new translation app, Niall had found a long list of colorful curses Birch was fond of using sitting on his desk the next morning, complete with pronunciations—on the chance he wanted to use them himself, Hazel had written at the bottom.

Niall decided the woman was an organizational wonder. She was also a nester. Hoping she truly did have a gift for getting people to part with their money and not that she was using her own, Niall had noticed his police station filling up with furniture, electronic equipment, and . . . hell, this morning he’d found an area rug in the holding cell, curtains on the barred windows, and a handmade quilt on the narrow cot. He now had an even larger desk, since Hazel had commandeered his old desk and given the small one to Jake.

Niall had no idea how the woman had managed it so quickly, but Jake and Cole were strutting around in crisp blue uniforms, complete with leather belts loaded down with an impressive array of law-enforcement paraphernalia. As for their heads, Hazel had proclaimed that dark blue baseball caps embroidered with the new
Bottomless Sea Police Force
logo she was having professionally designed would make them appear far sexier than the deputy sheriffs and state police. Honest to God, the two men were worse than nine-year-olds, and had been asking Hazel every day for the last three days when the caps were coming in.

Cole’s truck had been delivered, and although also blue and loaded with lights, it wasn’t quite as flashy as Jake’s. But it would look just as impressive, Hazel had assured him, once the new decals arrived for the doors.

They never did find the white car that had forced Birch off the road, and there was no record of a Leonard Calvin Struthers crossing the border. And just yesterday Sam had informed them—after using his own network of sources—that Hazel’s fourth husband had likely assumed the identity of the real Leonard Struthers, who had conveniently died six years ago.

All of which left them with exactly zero to go on. And even though Birch wasn’t talking to him, she had listened when Niall explained what they’d learned so far, which he’d followed up by once again reiterating—this time nicely—that it was important she not be traveling alone until they could discover who was out to get her and why.

Aye, Birch may have a quick temper and lion-sized attitude, but she obviously also had a strong desire to stay alive. His offer to take her to a gravel pit and teach her how to shoot, however, had been answered with a haughty glare before she’d silently turned and walked away.

He’d have to ask Hazel about her daughter’s aversion to guns.

Niall eased his foot off the accelerator when he noticed a man exiting the road that led down to the Kents’ home and decided from the description Logan had given him last week that it was Silas French.

How convenient, since he’d been looking to meet Mr. French. Niall checked his rearview mirror and ordered Shep into the backseat, then lowered the passenger window as he pulled up alongside the man. “Would ye care for a ride?”

The man stopped and looked at him, then slipped off his small backpack and climbed in the truck. “Thanks,” he said, setting the pack on the floor between his feet and closing the door. He reached a hand toward Niall. “Silas French.”

“Niall MacKeage,” Niall said, shaking his hand then starting off again. “Would you be the gentleman staying with Logan Kent?”

“I am,” Silas said, glancing over his shoulder as he fastened his seatbelt. “Can I pat the dog or will I pull back a stump?”

“Your choice, Mr. French, as Shep only bites criminals.”

That got him a chuckle as Silas twisted in his seat and held out his hand to Shep. “He’s a Chessie, isn’t he?”

“So I’ve been told,” Niall said, watching in his mirror as Shep took a sniff of the offered hand, then gave a doggy sigh when Silas tickled his throat.

“I guess I’m not a criminal,” his passenger said with another chuckle, facing forward again. “And just so you know, I intended to walk to town, not hitchhike.”

“I don’t have a problem with a grown man sticking out his thumb,” Niall assured him. “Providing all he’s wanting is a ride.”

“As opposed to?” Silas said softly.

“As opposed to bumming free room and board off a lonely old man.”

“I’m earning my keep doing repairs on the house,” Silas said, bending to unzip the front pouch on his backpack. “Logan’s too stiff to be climbing a ladder, and his roof was letting in more rain than it was repelling.” He pulled out a classified ads magazine. “I’m heading in town to see about buying a motorcycle from someone named Titus Oceanus.” Silas pointed to a circled ad on one of the pages. “When I called, he told me he lives on Whisper Cove Road. Do you know Mr. Oceanus, and can you tell me where Whisper Cove Road is?”

“Aye. Titus lives about two miles down the first camp road after the church. So he’s selling his bike, is he?” Niall chuckled. “I imagine his wife put him up to it.”
Now that her husband is mortal,
he refrained from adding. He looked over at Silas. “It’s one of the more expensive models.”

“That won’t be a problem,” his passenger said, shoving the book in his pack. “As a matter of fact, I came here hoping to buy a large tract of land right on Bottomless.”

“Came here from where?”

“From all over, actually, but most recently from Newfoundland.”

“Can I ask why ye chose Maine to settle down in, and this area in particular?”

“Despite all the wonders of this vast world, I guess I’m American at heart. I chose Maine because your state allows charter schools and this area in particular because I can’t imagine a better place to establish a school that focuses on ecology. Maine already has the College of the Atlantic and Unity College, but no
high schools
with curriculums aimed at students wanting to move straight into self-employment. And in my opinion, developing cottage industries that cater to environmentally concerned consumers is a good way to grow a sustainable economy.”

“Like raising bees,” Niall said. “Logan told me ye feel he can nicely supplement his income by selling honey.”

Silas nodded. “And beeswax and even the bees themselves, all with only a nominal investment and no more physical effort than his aging joints can handle. And since Maine is teeming with pine trees and Logan seems to have an affinity for working with wood, I suggested he could also manufacture hive kits to sell on the Internet.”

Niall remembered thinking he’d pulled up to the wrong house the last time he’d visited Logan, as the man showing him around his workshop had had a decided spring in his step, his eyes lit with excitement and purpose.

“Can you imagine,” Silas continued, “what Logan and Noreen’s marriage would be like today if they’d been raising bees for the last forty years alongside his logging business? Logan wouldn’t have any money worries, and Noreen would feel more like his partner than his housekeeper. But even starting this late in their lives, they’ll have something they can continue doing
together
well into old age.”

“Aye,” Niall murmured. “From what Logan told me, beekeeping seems to require more vigilance than hard labor.”

Silas gestured out his window. “Selling honey is only one of any number of opportunities around here. This entire area, from its unique inland sea to its vast timberland, is overflowing with resources. That’s why I want to open a school here. Tangible, hands-on experience is far more effective in firing a teenager’s passion than sitting in a stagnant room all day and only studying the world from a distance.”

“You’re a teacher, then?” Niall asked, intrigued as well as surprised. Although the man was well-spoken and his clothes were clean and of high quality, he appeared to be nothing more than a carefree vagabond.

Silas gave a soft chuckle. “I didn’t have the patience to get a formal education, preferring instead to let the world be my teacher.” He gestured out his window again. “I want to give kids the same experience, and encourage them to work with Mother Nature rather than exploit her. The school I’m envisioning will be based here, but the students will travel the globe—first as explorers and then hopefully as teachers.”

“A tract of land right on the shore of Bottomless, especially one large enough to build what would have to be a campus, won’t come cheap.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Silas softly repeated.

“Other than finding the land, how close are ye to making it happen?”

“I’ve already visited the Oceanographic and Geological Centers, and the lead scientists have agreed to let my students collaborate on their studies of Bottomless and the surrounding mountains.” Niall heard his passenger sigh. “My only real worry is finding teachers willing to live this far out. Especially,” Silas said dryly, “after they hear the campus will function completely off the grid.”

“Off grid doesn’t necessarily mean primitive living,” Niall said. “Nova Mare is a world-class resort on top of Whisper Mountain that isn’t lacking for luxury, as it makes its own wind and solar power and is heated using geothermal wells. In fact, the woman who designed those systems spends her summers here.” He nodded at Silas’s backpack. “If you’re interested, ye might want to mention your project to Titus when ye see him about his bike, as Carolina MacKeage is his daughter.”

“And your wife, Chief MacKeage?”

“Nay,” Niall said with a chuckle. “Ye might say my cousin stole the lady right out from under my nose. Alec and Carolina are spending the summer camped out at the north end of the fiord, where they’re building their summer home.” A thought came to him. “Ye might also mention to Titus that you’re looking for teachers, as I believe he knows several families that have suddenly found themselves needing to relocate.”

“Teachers,” Silas asked, his tone hopeful, “who would share my vision?”

“Aye, they would be keen on passing their substantial knowledge of Mother Nature on to future generations. Titus can tell ye more about them,” Niall added, not knowing how the magic-maker intended to explain the Atlanteans arriving next week.

“Well,” Silas said, rubbing his hands together, “I guess my heading to town just as you happened along has proven mutually beneficial for us both.”

“You gained a ride and some contacts,” Niall agreed, slowing down when he reached the old railroad bed. “And I benefited . . . how?”

Silas shot him a grin. “You no longer have to worry that a mysterious vagrant is taking advantage of Logan Kent.”

Niall gave a quiet chuckle, deciding the man was as astute as he was candid. “Aye, ye appear to be just what Logan is needing right now.” He pulled into the parking slot in front of the Trading Post marked with the
Reserved for Chief of Police
sign Hazel had put up, and shut off the engine. “Whisper Cove Road is right after the church,” he said, nodding in that direction. “Titus lives just two miles down in a small, unpainted house that sits across from a large garage.”