Page 12 of The Finest Scottish Fate

“Purrrp?”

“Dammit!” She spun around and stumbled back against the door.

Looking up at her with a pair of golden eyes that almost glowed sat a sleek black cat with a white star in the center of its chest. It tilted its head and studied her while slowly flipping the tip of its tail.

“Purrrp?” it trilled once more, repeating its original greeting.

“How did you get in here?”

It flicked an ear, then rose from its haunches, sauntered over to the kitchen counter, and leapt up onto it.

A cat on the kitchen counter. Evie almost laughed. Grandmama would be rolling in the grave. “You need to get down from there,” she told the animal.

It gave her a bored look, then gracefully walked over to the sink and leapt up onto the ledge of the open kitchen window.

“Well, I did ask how you got in here. Thank you for answering.” She didn’t care much for the lack of a window screen. If the cat had come inside, what other varmints might come to visit? At least the window was extremely small. A person couldn’t wriggle through it—but an agile little cat could.

She did a hurried sweep of the house to ensure all the other windows were closed and secured before returning to the cat on the counter. “You need to go home now.”

It switched its tail with a slow, rhythmic swing, then lifted its hind leg and licked itself.

“There’s no need to be rude.” She made a shooing motion. “Go on now. Go home. I’m sure someone’s worried about you. You’re too healthy and well fed to be a stray.”

After finishing its bath, it meandered over to a basket under the corner cabinet beside the coffeemaker, settled into it, and went to sleep.

“Really?” She cleared her throat, only to be ignored. “You’re just going to sleep there like you own the place?”

Morganna had not mentioned that a cat came with the cottage, and Evie wasn’t about to undo her security system just so she could toss the smug little beast outside.

Without opening its eyes, the feline started purring, sending the deep, rumbling sound echoing through the low-ceilinged room.

“Well, then. That is kind of nice.” The tensed knot in the center of Evie’s chest eased. On her grandparents’ farm, there had always been cats to snuggle. The contented purring carried her back to a happier time that had been so much simpler. “I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Cinder. Yes, for that is what I shall call you, Mr. Cinder, after my cat when I was six years old.”

The cat didn’t open its eyes. She might as well have been talking to the wall.

“I know you can hear me, so here’s the deal: I’ll leave the window open so you can leave whenever you want. Just don’t poop or pee on anything in here, okay? Morganna would not be pleased about that, I’m sure.”

The loud purring continued, and she got the distinct impression that it didn’t matter what she said; the cat was going to do whatever it wanted. Such was the way of cats.

She eyed the little beastie, glad that it had popped in for a visit. She’d needed it. And maybe sleeping wasn’t such a bad idea either. Surely everything would be easier to handle tomorrow once she was well rested. She wheeled her luggage into the bedroom and took a slower look around than when she’d sped through, checking all the windows.

Tartan throws in muted shades of rust, sable, and sunset orange adorned the backs of the pair of wingback chairs sitting in front of a small, bright red woodstove. Matching curtains framed the window. The queen-sized bed was a sea of pillows in the same prints as the faded yet colorful quilt that was doing double duty as a bedspread.

She breathed easier still. Somehow, this room brought back a flood of sweet memories of her grandparents. Wasn’t it odd that it took a trip all the way to Scotland to relive all those precious times on the farm? Gathering eggs with Grandmama. Riding on the tractor with Granddaddy. Picking blackberries. Swinging out over the pond in the tire swing and letting go at the last second to drop into the water. Grandmama and Granddaddy had saved her from the darkness of losing her parents and siblings. They’d healed her with love and the happiest childhood they could provide.

“Mockingbird.”

It was the same voice as before, but this time, it didn’t startle her because it felt more familiar than it had earlier. But how could it feel familiar? It wasn’t Granddaddy’s voice, gravelly and deep from smoking too many cigarettes over the course of his lifetime. But deep in her soul, she knew beyond a doubt that she’d heard this particular deep voice before.

Maybe it was the ghost of one of her ancestors. She’d always been fascinated by that sort of stuff. A shiver of excitement rippled through her.

“Who are you?” she asked ever so softly. “How do you know me?”

Nothing but the faint rustling of the wind outside answered.

“Well…” She turned in a slow circle while stretching her arms overhead and rolling more of the tension from her shoulders. “Whoever you are, I’m sure my guardian angel could use some help right about now. Welcome—as long as you’re nice. If you’re not, then, as Grandmama used to say, scat!”

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