The Legacy of Buchanan's Crossing (19 page)

“So ’twas you two up at the Crossing last night.” Gran was never one to mince words, Her smile was weak, but still knowing, her voice a dry whisper. “Well done then, darlin’.”

Her ever-sharp blue eyes looked unnaturally bright amid the bland colors of the room. The blinking monitor and various labels would have offered relief if they hadn’t been bleak reminders.

“And here we have himself, the Keeper.”

Clint was actually blushing. Cayden took his hand and one of Gran’s. “Gran, this is Clint MacAllen, the guy I told you about.” It was too little, too late, but maybe Clint would be so embarrassed he wouldn’t notice Gran’s choice of words. “Clint, this is my grandmother, Aileen Buchanan.”

He inhaled sharply and his eyes widened. “
Dr
. Aileen Buchanan? Professor of Antiquities? I thought you looked familiar. It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

“Professor emeritus these days, Mr. MacAllen. But seeing as how you’re the—” Cayden pressed her hand, and Gran’s glance flicked to her before returning to Clint “—how ’tis between you and my Cayden, I should be calling you Clint, and you calling me Aileen, or Gran, if you’ve no longer any of your own.”

Clint nodded. “They’ve both passed.” Cayden would have rescued him from being pushed into such an intimacy, but Clint gushed right past it. “I attended one of your lectures several years ago, when you were visiting Boston University. You were fantastic. Bit me with the bug.”

“Well now, an interest in treasure’s a fine thing,” Gran turned back to her. “Isn’t it, Cayden?”

“I suppose. How are you feeling? What happened? I’m sorry you had to deal with Muriel. I should have been there.” She freed her hands only to clench them. “It’s all my fault.”

“Take yourself a deep breath. No sense in both of us overworking our hearts. Not with you needin’ yours.”

Cayden nearly shrieked, “You still need yours!”

“What I’ve left ought to be enough. I’m tired though, darlin’, so do not be fightin’ me. Your battle’s yet to come. Now, let’s be clear on the one thing. It was not your fault, nor yours.” She nodded at Clint. “I was takin’ care of business, Crossing business, as were you.” Gran didn’t spare Cayden time to gauge Clint’s reaction to her last three words. She went right on. “There’s more of that needs to be discussed.”

Clint mumbled, “Doctor…Aileen…”

Cayden had seen him look miserable, but never so much as he did right now.

“If you’d be so understanding as to wait outside, I’ll be wanting a private chat with my Cayden.”

“Oh, sure. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. I’m very pleased to meet you, present circumstances notwithstandin’.” She paused long enough for Clint to reach the door. “About treasure huntin’, Clint, lad. Mind you, ’tis a danger to judge by appearances. Many a man’s paid a terrible price for naught but filthy rot.”

Clint froze, then shut the door behind him.

“Gran—”

“Never you mind, Cayden. ’Tis his own road, and we’ve ours.”

“Does that mean you can see them?”

“Nothing’s sure what’s not yet come to pass. There’s times I can see what’s likely, and times I cannot. A shame about him and the ring, ’tis. To see the truth of a thing makes a choice clearer, if not always easier.”

“So if he was wearing the ring, he’d know he was the Keeper, right? I need to try harder. Maybe put it on him in his sleep.”

“Too dangerous for him now. He’ll have to face his demon without.”

Cayden didn’t want to assume Gran meant how Clint felt about the existence of magic. But Gran’s eyelids were falling faster than they were rising, and there were other, more pressing, questions.

“Who was your guest, Gran? Did he have anything to do with your heart attack?”

“I told you I’d handle him. Of course, he believes he’s winnin’. ’Tis all the sweeter for that.”

“You mean Cumberland, don’t you? Milton, right?”

“The very one.”

“And you met him alone?”

“It had to be done just how ’twas. Don’t worry for the Crossing. The piece of my heart that’s gone, the ol’ bastard didn’t take. I used it to spell the wards against him till you’re ready.”

“I’ll perform the Rite of Commitment tonight.”

“Nay, you mustn’t.” Gran half rose, then collapsed back into the white covers. “’Tisn’t time.”

“So what
can
I do? Tell me how I can give you, or the Crossing, my heart in place of yours.” Cayden squeezed her eyes against her hope for a spell that could do it, and the pain if there wasn’t.

“Your Keeper has greater need of it than I.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Her heart would have been safe with Gran or the Crossing. But Clint?

Gran’s eyes closed. They remained so long enough that Cayden thought she might have fallen asleep, until she said in a whisper, “Promise me two things. You’ll look after Rob Roy for me.”

“Of course. I’ll come visit you every day to tell you how the old guy’s doing.”

“Nay. I’m needin’ a deeper sleep to hold the Crossing.” Gran’s thin strong fingers gripped hers. “The second thing: You’ll wait till hope—not fear—tells you ’tis right to commit yourself, and not a wink sooner.”

“But how will I know?”

“You’ll ken when. And I’ll not wake till after.”

Cayden waited, but Gran’s eyelids remained closed.

In contrast to the blaring horns and raucous noise of busy Boston, the inside of the truck was peaceful as Clint threaded the maze of streets away from the hospital. Both brooding over his distaste for the institution and the startling discovery that Cayden’s grandmother was the eminent Dr. Buchanan were preferable to examining the questions her odd remarks raised.

“My old neighborhood.” Wrapped up in his thoughts, he wasn’t aware he’d driven there until he said it. The tiny tightly-packed houses—a few well-tended, most not—with aging cars parked in front of them brought a flood of memories. “My parents’ house,” he said as they drove by it.

“Why aren’t we stopping?”

He slowed the truck and looked across the center console at Cayden. She was wearing a white open-throated pirate sort of shirt under a menswear vest with a full black skirt. Aside from the very high-heeled lace-up ankle boots and the dark makeup, she’d toned it down a bit for her visit to the hospital. It was still too much.

“Wouldn’t you rather go back to your apartment, to uh, regroup?”

“What are we doing here if you didn’t plan on visiting?”

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was driving. I haven’t been around here in a while.”
If a while meant years
. He always invited his parents out rather than return to this area, these memories.

“Well, as long as we are here, I’d love to see the house you grew up in. Do you think your parents might be home? I can’t wait to meet them. I could use a good distraction right about now.”

“Listen, honey, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“I get it.” She mumbled to the door, “I’d hoped we were past that.”

“Past what?” Smelling trouble, he pulled over and shifted the truck into park.

“Past me being your dirty little secret.”

Shit. She was right, again. And he was in the wrong, again. But the shame went both ways this time. After getting a load of Cayden’s mom and Gran’s identity, combined with that preppy Trip-the-Drip and the talk of Todd and his
boat
, it wasn’t too hard to figure out Cayden hadn’t grown up in a neighborhood like this.

“So what does that make me? It’s not like you introduced me to your mom. I was right there, remember?”

Cayden snorted. “Yeah, naked. Besides, I was protecting you, trust me.” Gold flared in her irises. “You know, maybe you’re right after all. This is definitely
not
what I need. Maybe you should drop me off at my apartment.”

She unbuckled her seat belt. “On second thought, we just passed a bus stop.” She opened the truck door and climbed down onto the treeless dirt boulevard.

“Hold up, damn it.”

When she turned on the cracked sidewalk to glare at him, all of that loose, silky fabric billowed behind her in the breeze. She kept walking. He pushed the button that lowered the passenger-side window. “Please!”

She stopped and turned again. This time, the wind wrapped the fabric around her ass, pushing those wild black and red curls into her face, blowing his breath away.

“Why? Give me one good reason.”

“Because—” he sucked air into his lungs “—I’m not letting you go that easy.”

“That’s not a reason.”

She was still standing there, though. He jumped out of his truck and hurried toward her. “How can you expect me to come up with a reason when you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I should be ravishing you on the deck of a pirate ship.”

Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes were too bright. “Clint, it’s not going to be enough.”

“I know. I…I wasn’t ready. I mean, well, what if I wanted you to introduce me to your parents right now, this minute?”

“I’d tell you you’d lost your ever-loving mind. I would have thought that taste of my mother this morning would have spoiled your appetite for them.”

“She is a force to be reckoned with.” He couldn’t curb his grin.

“What? Not you, too.” Cayden pressed her lips together.

“Like her daughter.”

“You know you’re not earning any points with that, right?” But her lips curled and her eyes glinted.

“C’mon, the least I can do for you today is introduce you to a mom who isn’t a holy terror.”

“Are you sure? You’re not doing this just to get into my panties, er, thong, again, are you?”

Thong
. His gaze dropped to her ass. “I refuse to answer on the grounds that anything I say, can and likely will be used against me at some point in the future when I won’t even be able to remember it.” He gave her his most winning grin. “But, yeah, why not? Mom makes a terrific Sunday pot roast and I didn’t get any breakfast this morning.”

“Still not winning any points.”

“I guess I’ll have to let Mom do that for me. I can’t think straight when I’m touching you. And did I tell you I was hungry?”

“Good grief, we better drive those two blocks. I wouldn’t want you to starve before we arrive.”

They returned to the truck and backtracked two blocks. His dad was coming around to the front of the house, pushing the ancient mower, when they pulled up. What the MacAllen yard lacked in size it made up for by being the greenest, plushest lawn on the entire street. Had it always been that way, and he just hadn’t noticed?

His dad was wearing his traditional after-mass Sunday clothes: tattered jeans and an old logo T-shirt. How could the man move with such an air of contentment? He worked his ass off all week only to come home and fix a rental house. The place would have been condemned twice over if not for the tons of free labor he’d pumped into it over the years. They’d owned it once, long ago, before Dad had gotten so sick he’d been stuck in the hospital for six weeks. Six weeks, and they’d lost everything, which hadn’t been much to begin with.

The sun-worn skin around his dad’s eyes and mouth crinkled in happy surprise when he saw Clint. The squint deepened, the expression turning bemused when he got an eyeful of Cayden.

“Hi, Dad.” Clint made the last strides fast, wanting to cut the awkward moment short. “Are we too late for dinner?”

“Nope. Nothing wrong with your timing, son. Your manners, on the other hand…” He stared pointedly at Cayden, who he’d left standing behind him on the narrow walkway. Before he could open his mouth, his dad thrust his hand toward her. “Lewis MacAllen. Allow me to apologize for my boy. He was raised better.”

“Cayden Sinclair.” She slipped by Clint and grasped his dad’s hand, then surprised both father and son by kissing him on the cheek. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. MacAllen. Please don’t blame Clint. I’m afraid this imposition was my idea.”

“Imp-imposition? Non-nonsense,” his dad stammered between an uncharacteristically wide smile and bright red ears. Clint couldn’t recall ever seeing his dad blush before. “Lewis. You should call me Lewis. And the pleasure’s mine.”

None of the scenarios flashing through Clint’s mind in the previous five minutes had looked anything like this.

“Lewis, I can’t see with the sun in my eyes, who’s—?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Clint! I thought I heard your voice, but you’ve haven’t stopped by in… Is that Darcy with you?”

He could barely make out his mom drying her hands on her jeans through the flimsy screen door. Obviously, she could see even less. He was too scared to look at Cayden.

Until she burst out laughing. Then he couldn’t take his eyes off her, or open his mouth. Not because it was the last reaction he’d expected, which it was, but because it was full, and deep, and wonderful, and he didn’t want her to stop.

His dad made a sound between a snort and grunt. “Thank God, no. Moira, this is Cayden Sinclair, Clint’s…” He looked at Clint, raising an eyebrow.

“Girlfriend.” The word came easily. He put his arm around her. “Darcy’s history.”

His mom had come outside, taking the two steps down from the house hesitantly, her embarrassment as plain as her old blouse. Clint flashed to Muriel Sinclair’s impeccably-suited sleek figure and back to his mom’s small round one.