What Lies Between (23 page)

“John’s mother died when he was just a bairn, and John, being Gerard’s friend, often went round to the MacKinnons. Helen took him under her wing and treated him nearly as her own. John’s father was quite ill-tempered. His mother had shielded John from the darker side of his father, but when she died, the situation became quite dire. And Helen—Angus too for that matter—watched over wee John.”

I resisted what Anna was telling me. I didn’t want to hear how John’s upbringing and his mother’s death affected him, changed him. My empathy would not be stirred. Time to change the subject.

“What about Gerard? What was his relationship like with his parents?”

“They weren’t keen on him moving to the States. He said he would come back after university, but we all knew he wouldn’t. Helen and Angus needed his help with the estate but he wanted away from here and to make his own way in the world.”

I waited, said nothing.

“John stepped in to help after Angus died, and Helen relied on him a great deal. When Gerard came back because of Helen’s failing health, I think John may have resented it.”

“Was there more between John and Gerard? I feel that something terrible must have happened between them.”

Her eyes traveled somewhere far away. I was sure it was sadness that settled into them. “Yes, but that was long ago. Back when they were young. We were all young. Some things are best left forgotten.”

Although my instinct warned me to tread carefully, I pushed for more. “Whatever happened, I don’t think it was long ago for John. He hasn’t forgotten anything and it’s going to cost me Glenbroch, Anna.”

“I don’t agree with his approach, Ellie. You must know this. You should also know that Glenbroch is the one place John won’t abide my interference. If it were anything else, I could help you. And I would.”

“I understand . . . I mean, no, not exactly. But I understand that your husband will do what he sees as right.”

“Enough of the past for today, eh?” Anna’s clear blue eyes suddenly lit up. “Ellie, I know with the MacIvers might well be the last place you would want to be, particularly at Christmas, but I would love it if you would come and spend it with me. With us. You don’t need to come for the day, only for dinner if you like, although I would love to have you for as long as suits you.”

Caught up in Anna’s energy and kindness, I wanted to throw my reservations aside and say yes. I hadn’t made solid plans, although Maggie had mentioned I could come and spend the day with her and her sister.

Would it be horrible to spend one dinner with the MacIvers? “What a lovely invitation, Anna. I am honored to be included, but I don’t think . . .”

“Of course it would be awkward for you. I respect that.”

I shouldn’t let bad blood with the MacIver men prevent me from enjoying Anna’s company. Besides, it would be a show of strength. I was not my own worst enemy and my emotions would not get the best of me. “You know, I’m being silly. Of course, I would love to come.”

Her eyes twinkled with delight. “I’m glad. It will be a grand time. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I want to ask you . . . I’m having a Thanksgiving dinner at Glenbroch. I think Ben’s coming along with several of the renovation crew and a few others from the community. Would you and John like to come?” I hoped my hesitation didn’t show, but how could I not invite her?

She took my hands in hers. “How thoughtful. You are a dear. Consider John and me invited but unable to attend.” She gave me a sly wink. “You enjoy your Thanksgiving.”

My relief showed itself in the inadvertent escape of a long sigh. Anna was gracious enough to let me get used to the idea of Christmas. One dinner was plenty enough of the MacIvers for one season.

Winter descended in full force the week following my visit with Anna. Snow fell on and off all morning, but a massive storm was forecasted to hit sometime after nightfall.

Henry was battening down his own operations, so Jim and I set out to check the heaters on the livestock’s water tanks. Jim ground the truck to a halt near a weathered shelter.

As I stepped out of the truck, a loose clutch of hair from underneath my wool cap whipped into my eye, temporarily blinding me. Once my vision cleared, I could see Jim’s lips moving with what were probably instructions. The wind ripped his words clean away.

Struggling to stay upright, I followed him to the shelter where the sheep had gathered. Squeezing in alongside them and huddling close for warmth, I was downright grateful for the woolly bodies with their strong lanolin smell. Jim adjusted the heater, and I attempted to memorize his actions. I would need to do this on my own in the future.

“It’s likely to be blowing a hoolie before morning. We’ll check the other water troughs. Hopefully it’ll not be too bad, and the animals will come through with no injuries.”

My first big Highland snowstorm—I didn’t know what to expect. If this wind was any indication, the storm promised to be a monster.

Climbing back into the truck, I shuddered from the cold and stuck my hands against the heater vents. Jim turned his truck toward the barn.

“We only have one more that needs checking. I’ll drop you at your motor and you carry on to the pub. I’ll call you in the morning and we’ll see how the beasties handled the night.”

“Are you sure, Jim?”

“Aye, away with you. Maggie will be in a right state if you don’t show up.”

Maggie insisted on using my American palate as her guinea pig. Peter had created a new dish and she reasoned if I liked it, tourists would go for it. I wasn’t sure the logic added up, but she wasn’t to be deterred. Besides, my frozen limbs craved the cozy warmth of the pub. I didn’t fight Jim about taking off early, even though a sliver of guilt niggled in me about leaving him to finish up alone.

Cold and hungry, primed to serve as taste tester, I slid into a booth near the fire. A man in the next booth lifted a glass of whisky and its glow caught me, transporting me back to the ceilidh on Skye and to Ben. Thoughts of that night returned at the slightest prompt, and too many times they came without any prompting at all.

Maggie’s concerned face hovered near mine. “Your thoughts are a thousand miles away. Where’d you go?”

Not a chance I would tell the truth about where my mind had wandered. “I’ve been spending time with Anna, working with her collie, Jazz. She’s lovely, Maggie.” My response assuaged my conscience because it was a confession of its own.

“Anna’s a good woman, but she’s still a MacIver. Family loyalty, mind. Watch yourself.”

“Of course,” I said, taking another sip of my hot tea.

I couldn’t tell Maggie my heart had softened a wee bit and that being mortal enemies with the MacIvers wore on me. All I really wanted was to keep Glenbroch. I had been in Scotland only a few months and my days were jammed to overflowing. Tired out by the end of each one, I didn’t have the energy for an unwanted war.

With each passing week, what John had said made more sense—he didn’t have to battle me, just distract me by making me angry enough to fight him instead of focusing where I needed to. The man had more smarts than I gave him credit for. Things had calmed down and made me hopeful we could find an agreeable solution. Or perhaps I could learn what motivated John’s hatred of Gerard, and me by association, and resolve it. Anna surely knew what it was all about, but she clearly wasn’t ready to tell me. I would have to be patient.

My sample of Peter’s butternut squash casserole had been worth coming to the pub for all on its own.

“Peter,” I called back to the kitchen, pointing at my empty plate and giving him a double thumbs-up. “It’s gorgeous!”

Peter nodded, a proud smile spreading over his face. “Glad you approve of the dish.”

“Peter, why are Joe and Morag staring at the door an hour early?”

“Och, those dogs haven’t adjusted to the time change. We know the clocks fell back by an hour, but their body clocks don’t.”

I laughed. “I’m with them. I’m not sure I understand why we still change the time in the fall and the spring. It confuses me too.”

Peter’s two black labs sat by the door at a quarter to seven every evening, waiting to greet Alistair MacRae, who owned the convenience store and post office. Alistair had been bringing treats to Joe and Morag for years. He never failed to walk through the door of the pub at seven sharp and the labs never failed to sit and watch the door starting at precisely fifteen minutes before seven. Their predictable behavior amused more than a few tourists who happened through the pub at the right time.

I turned to Maggie as I shrugged on my coat. “You have a winner. Put it on the menu right away. Don’t wait for high season, okay?”

“It’s more of a winter dish for the Christmas visitors in any case. I’ll give it a shot on the regular menu through the New Year and see how others take to it.”

“Perfect! I’m away then. I’m not interested in getting caught in the storm of the year, as the weatherman predicted.”

“Predictions aren’t worth much from the weather centre, but I can tell you myself we’re in for a big one. My bones are more accurate than anything you’ll catch on the telly.”

We both laughed.

“I’ll see you on Sunday as usual, eh?”

I nodded agreement, wound my scarf around my neck, and slipped on my gloves.

A light snow drifted down on me as I carefully picked my way across the parking lot to the Beast. Snow had piled up on the concrete and deposited an inch-thick layer on my windshield. I swiped it off with my glove and discovered a layer of ice already on the glass. As I pulled the scraper out of the back, a movement from near the pub caught my eye.

Someone stood alone under the roof overhang. The hairs lifted on the back of my neck. Unfriendly eyes watched me from the dark, I was sure of it. The red tip of a cigarette glowed, moving down and back up again. Instincts hammered in me to get away. Turn and run back into the pub.

Stop it, you’re being paranoid.

The shudder that vibrated up and down my spine disagreed.

13

_C
limbing into the Beast, nerves rattling, I locked the doors and forced myself to wait for the engine to warm up. If the ice on the windows was any indication, the road would be slick.

As I put the Beast into gear and backed up, the person stepped out of the shadows and into the pub’s light. The falling snow and long coat and hood made it hard to make out an identity. Bethanne had been wearing a long coat with a hood earlier when she had come into the steading. The familiar shiver in my spine told me the quicker I got away, the better.

By the time I passed through the village, the snow was covering my windshield faster than my wipers could clear it. Swerving to avoid running over a large tree branch that had fallen onto the road, a rush of gratitude for the Beast’s stability surged through me.

The farther west I drove, the faster and harder the snow fell. Gusts of wind buffeted the heavy vehicle. With landmarks no longer visible, the only positive was that I didn’t meet another car.

My hands’ death grip on the steering wheel didn’t change the fact that I would take a snowstorm over a tornado any day. Tornadoes dropped out of the Oklahoma sky with no warning. At least a snowstorm proved a tad more predictable.

A car’s headlights shone through my rear window, lending a comforting presence. If I slid off into the loch, at least someone would notice. I shuddered at the thought of sinking down into the dark, icy water. The other car would no doubt turn off at the next intersecting road as most people lived up that way. The measure of comfort it provided would soon be gone.

Instead of turning at the intersecting road as expected, the lights grew closer—too close for the road conditions. Tensing, I sucked in a sharp breath. As fast as the car surged up on me, it fell back. I exhaled, relaxed my grip, and stretched my fingers. More branches littered the road, mostly small ones, and I drove over them. They scraped the car’s belly, worrying me, but I had to trust the Beast to handle it.

The lights rushed up behind me again, faster this time, as if the driver was growing frustrated. The lights surged close, then fell back, surged, and fell back again. I glanced in the rearview mirror, each pulse of my heart thumping in my ears.

What is this person doing?

It made no sense that anyone would be reckless in this weather, on this tiny road. The Beast jolted as a muffled thud resounded through the vehicle, then another. My head whipped forward and back. The car was hitting me. This wasn’t recklessness; this was malicious intent.

I strained to make out the type of car or who the driver was, but the snow was too thick.

Don’t panic.

Another hit jarred the steering wheel from my grip and electrified the hair on my arms and neck. The Beast’s wheels swerved, but managed to straighten out.

The car accelerated as if it was going to pass, its lights as possessed as the driver. The sharp curve in the road meant the icy loch lay dead ahead.

I cannot go in that water.

Dread filled my veins as I forced my thoughts to hold steady.

The lights came up fast again and my breath froze. The car banged into my bumper and panic drove me around the curve too fast. The Beast pitched, its left side losing contact with the ground. I had the sensation it was rolling over but it righted itself—too late for me to get back control. A strange feeling of calm swept through me in the long, overstretched microsecond before the Beast rammed into a mass of tree trunks—at least I wasn’t plunging into the loch.

And then an explosion . . . shattering . . . breaking . . . burst of light.

I opened my eyes, flicking them around to get my bearings. 

In the driver’s seat of the Beast . . . alone—or am I?

The front of the car sat quiet, wedged into a group of pines. My mind zoomed in on the image of Bethanne standing in the shadow of the pub, watching. Was she the driver? Had she done this to me?