What Lies Between (7 page)

Ben picked up a grape, threw it back, and hit me in the cheek. His smile quickly faded but he said nothing.

“What?” I asked again, not sure what to make of his serious expression.

He stuck the grapes back in his pack, folded up the bag of crisps, shook his head. “Och, no never mind.”

“Spill it.” I pulled on his sleeve.

He turned those pale eyes on me, his brows bunched up tight, face strained. He shrugged his pack onto his shoulders. “Ready for your driving lesson?”

This time, it was me searching his face, trying to sort out this man who made me feel restless, who stirred me awake from a slumber I hadn’t believed I could be woken from. His nervous silence left me uneasy. “I’m not ready yet. Tell me what you were you going to say.”

He cleared his throat but didn’t look up to meet my eyes. “I wish life hadn’t been the way it was for you. That’s all. And I’m certain it won’t be easy for you here, either.”

Tearing off a wildflower growing amidst the weeds, I began picking its petals off one at a time. “I don’t think my childhood was meant to be hard. I’m sure my parents never imagined they would both die at the same time and hadn’t planned for what would happen to me. But that’s not all you were thinking about. You’re making me nervous.”

“Living here can be harsh. I’m just nae sure you ken what you’re in for,” he said, pushing himself up and turning toward the path.

I tossed the flower to the ground and jumped to my feet, grabbing his arm and positioning my body across the path, anger flaring. “Are you saying I don’t belong here or that I can’t handle it?”

He studied my eyes for a long time. “I’m saying that taking on Glenbroch and everything that comes with it is a heavy burden. Have you thought about just selling it?”

“Selling it? Do you think I came here for the money?”

“Who could blame you?”

“I didn’t go looking for it—Gerard left it to me. And I intend to keep it.” I fixed my stare on him, trying to squash the urge to be more honest. But something about him knocked chinks in my defenses. “Okay . . . I’ll admit the money was a draw, but that changed the minute I got here. I
will
make this estate a success and pay off the investors. You can believe that or not.” I turned and strode down the hill back toward the main road where the Land Rover waited.

Ben caught up to me. “Listen, it’s not that I don’t believe in you. What you’re getting yourself into is more than most people could handle. It may not be worth it . . .”

I glared at him. “Maybe it wouldn’t be worth it to you, but Glenbroch is worth it to me.” Pushing him aside, I didn’t look back, swinging my body into the Land Rover and firing up its engine. Ben had barely climbed in when I tried to shove the vehicle into first.

The gear shift groaned in my hand, heavy and stubborn, refusing to submit. The vehicle lacked tolerance for the American driver and killed its engine in response to my attempts. After the third round, Ben reached over to help.

“I’ve got this,” I snapped.

“Aye, you do—” he said, his accent too strong for me to understand the rest of his words.

In full assault mode now, I was determined to overcome the Beast’s resistance. This Land Rover definitely fit the name I’d just given it.

I hatched a plan and tugged the gear into reverse, backing up and lulling the vehicle into thinking we weren’t going anywhere at all. Then I whipped into first and lunged forward. Ben nearly flew through the windshield.

“God bless America! Put your seatbelt on! I’m not responsible for your bloody corpse, all right?” I said, faintly aware my anger wasn’t all about this situation . . . or Ben.

“And God bless Scotland!” he yelled out, a smirk on his face.

Shooting a glare in his direction, I shoved the stick into second. The Beast complained with each of my inelegant gear shifts, but it surrendered and kept moving.

In spite of my best efforts, I kept drifting to the side of the road, scraping the passenger side of the cranky vehicle against the tall, scruffy bushes.

“My depth perception is messed up,” I complained, not used to how odd it was to have the bulk of the car to the left of me.

“Maybe if you weren’t taking your anger out on it . . .” Ben admonished, one hand gripping the overhead handle and the other braced against the dashboard.

Ignoring his verbal jab, I slowed at a passing place, let the only car go by, managed my wave, then ground the gear into first once again, defying the Beast to fling any back talk. By the time we arrived back at the house it had grudgingly accepted its new boss. I was battle-weary but triumphant.

Ben unloaded the remaining food into my pantry and fridge, which worked to soften the anger and frustration that neither he nor the Beast deserved. I was barely away from the door after bidding him goodbye when a firm rap sounded on the heavy wood. I opened it to Ben’s grinning face.

“About Skye . . .”

“Oh right.” Much as I wanted to go, I had forgotten all about his offer.

“You see, my mate Ewan and I used to be partners in a bespoke tour company—posh clientele, nice vehicle, comfy B&Bs. I sold my share to him a couple years ago but still fill in whenever he needs help. He needs me to take out a group from Inverness. This tour is a wee bit more than a day trip—two nights on Skye.” He cast his eyes to the floor, revealing a slight shyness. The last of my anger vaporized.

At first impression, he came across too self-assured to be shy, but then I’d heard that assessment about me before. I could exude polished confidence when needed and had learned to carry it convincingly, but it felt like putting on a Batman suit and becoming someone else.

“It’s a small group traveling in a comfortable Mercedes van. Would be a nice holiday.” He caught my eyes again, waited for my response.

When I said nothing—my thoughts were working themselves out—he continued, “You could relax, see more of the Highlands, and Skye, and you wouldn’t have to drive, eh?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even unpacked.” Puttering around Glenbroch and settling in to my new home appealed to me. But a chance to see Skye and spend time with travelers who had booked a premium tour would be free market research. I’d be crazy not to go. Besides, I’d already decided. “Sure, why not?”

“Bring a small bag, and I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Six tomorrow morning? Is it too late to say no?”

“You can manage. And throw in some food.” Ben turned to leave, then wheeled around. “You should know you’ll be in the same bed and breakfast as me. The guests will be staying in a different place.”

“We have our own rooms, right?” I asked in mock suspicion.

“No, I assumed we’d share.” He gave me a quizzical look. “Is that a problem? You would have your own bed, of course.”

I crossed my arms, narrowed my eyes in a stern warning, and pursed my lips in defiance.

He laughed. “Of course, you’ll have your own room. Och, Ellie, you’re safe with me.”

Obviously I am safe with you, but do I want to be?

I glanced over at the alarm clock and bolted upright, the faint memory of hitting the snooze button more than once coming into focus. Leaping out of bed, I grabbed items I’d meant to gather up the night before and threw them into my pack in between yanking on various pieces of clothing and brushing my teeth. I’d hauled everything to the foyer just as two short beeps announced Ben’s arrival, prompt at six.

After opening the front door, I bent to retrieve my pack, bag of food, water bottle, and rubber boots, just in case. My hiking shoes were still damp and wouldn’t fare well if the trip dumped loads of rain. A last-minute panic started me rummaging in the pocket of my pack to confirm I had stuck in some British money when a scuff of shoes on gravel caught my attention.

My eyes were greeted with a sight I wasn’t expecting—heavily worn leather hiking boots, thick wool socks pushed down to their tops, sinewy calves leading to muscular knees, a tooled leather purse strategically draped down the center of a green and black plaid kilt. A black thermal shirt hugged every muscle of the man’s athletic upper body.

I instantly understood the dreamy look on Kami’s face, couldn’t imagine any woman, or man, being immune. Despite the jokes of guy friends back in the States, a kilt hardly qualified as a skirt. Whether because of history, tradition, symbolism, or the confidence of the Scotsman wearing it, what stood in front of me punched another level of masculinity. I’d never personally seen a man in a kilt and had discounted Kami’s starry-eyed ravings as a bit dramatic; I had thought it would be nothing more than kitsch, but I admit when I’m wrong. And holy schnikey, I was wrong by a prairie mile.

Standing to my full five feet seven, I forced a nonchalant expression, a ridiculously wasted effort. Ben strode toward me, kilt swishing behind with theatrical effect.

“Good morning, ready for a Highland adventure?”

If not for what appeared to be a genuinely oblivious look on his face, I would swear the man was the master of the double entendre. “Of course,” I replied, stifling a chuckle.

The conversation of the day before had faded along with my frustration and we fell into a comfortable banter; an observer might assume Ben and I had known each other for months rather than a couple of days. A tentative friendship had started, but I still wasn’t sure about him. Being around Ben was beginning to make me feel as Glenbroch did—peaceful and wildly unsettled at the same time.

It was too early in the morning to be chatty, and my initial rush at seeing Ben in his Highland glory subsided as fatigue threatened to close my eyes in spite of the beautiful drive through Kintail. I couldn’t get my days and nights straightened out. Just as well I was half asleep, since looking at Ben was plain ridiculous. No one should look that good in a kilt—or in anything.

Ben turned onto an intersecting road. “We’ll follow the shore of Loch Ness most of the way up the Great Glen. Keep your eyes open. You might be the one to get lucky.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Nessie, right? Do you believe she exists?” I asked.

He tossed me a sideways glance before returning his attention to the narrow, twisty road. “Don’t you?”

My laughter faded quickly. He was serious. “Only that the Loch Ness Monster is a great hoax. Why not make the most of it? I suppose it doesn’t do any harm.”

“When I was a bairn, my father would take me fishing out on the loch and scare me with stories. Once he scared me so bad I peed myself. He thought it was hilarious and told everyone at the pub. I never fished with him again.”

I covered my surprise at Ben’s unabashed revelation. “Did he apologize?”

“My dad?” Ben let out a derisive snort. “I’ve never seen my father apologize for anything, ever.”

“What’s it like between you now?”

“He never did think much of the tour operation and wanted me to settle back here. He has his view of the world. Makes sure everybody knows his opinion about anything and everything. I got tired of fighting about the tour company every time I came home and sold my share to Ewan.”

“Sad that you felt you had to sell your business. But now you work with wood. That’s cool. I enjoy restoring old furniture. It’s not the same as what I’ve seen of your craftsmanship by any means, but it’s taught me to appreciate the skill it takes to create beautiful woodwork.” A sudden wave of shyness turned my gaze away and to the view out the window.

“Working with wood is a great job, I think. I’d be called a joiner—same as your carpenter. The work is practical and straightforward. But I’d rather be out on the road showing people the country I love than putting up with my father’s bloody god complex.”

The tension in Ben’s body spilled from his pores, filling the truck’s cab and threatening to blow out the windows, motivating me to change the subject. “Still, it must have been such a gift, growing up here,” I said, studying the side of his face.

He looked over at me, anger set firm in his features. “I’m sure all of this looks great to an outsider, but nothing comes without a price.”

The ferocity of his tone unnerved me and my head jerked back in surprise. “Excuse me for thinking that you had a good life. I would have traded you,” I bellowed.

He sucked in a deep breath and his shoulders relaxed a tad, but his scowl didn’t recede. “Right. It wasn’t anything like yours, but you don’t know what you’re saying all the same.”

“Just forget it,” I spat out, turning my face back to the window.

An uneasy silence filled the space between us, but the beauty surrounding the small truck worked away on my sour mood. As the truck followed the curving shoreline of Loch Ness, the tension between us slowly evaporated.

Ben pointed to his right. “Keep your eyes open for Urquhart Castle on this road. A ruin, but still impressive.” His tone sounded conciliatory, obviously wanting to put the tension to rest without directly talking about it. I couldn’t get a handle on him. He was so easy to be around at times, while other times things unspoken simmered under the surface, waiting to explode.

I wasn’t looking for a fight with a man I barely knew. Unable to smother a yawn, I mumbled, “I need coffee, buckets of it.”

“Aye, it’s too early, but the group is scheduled to be at the pickup point in Inverness at half eight. I needed a cushion in case we ran into any problems.”

“Not complaining, just saying I could do with another coffee,” I half-grumbled, belying my words.

“I have a thermos in my pack, but it’s instant.” He flung a playful smirk in my direction.

My face screwed up in disdain. “No thanks. I’ll take foggy brain for now and get a proper coffee in Inverness.”

“Suit yourself.”

Silence fell between us once again as I turned my attention to the view. Far from dark and foreboding, Loch Ness sparkled in the patches of sun streaming through ragged holes punched out of the shroud of clouds. The slight air of mystery it managed was due to mist hugging the green hills on the opposite shore.

I sat taller in my seat to better glimpse the castle ruin jutting out on the edge of the loch. “I wonder what life was like then. I guess they didn’t have the monster hype and the loch was simply pretty and serene.”