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Chapter 10
With every bit of storytelling wizardry I could muster, I gave Finley a synopsis of the first Outlander book. “So you see,” I said, “my friends and I are here to walk in the steps of Claire Randall.”
“A fictional character…” He seemed dubious.
“Fictional, yes. Yet real in that she embodies emotions and experiences that are universal for women. We can’t go back in time, of course, but we set some parameters for our adventure.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.” He was definitely interested. I could see it in those brilliant blue eyes.
“For the next month, we’re going tech-free. Except in dire emergencies, no cell phones, no Internet, no Facebook. You get the drift.”
“And if you need to contact your friends?”
“Every night at nine o’clock we turn on our phones and check for messages. If any of us has a problem, we text 9-1-1.” I didn’t mention the fact that I’d be using my computer and my photo editing software to work on my photography. I wouldn’t be online, so that activity met the letter of the law.
“How does the Jamie Fraser fellow fit into all this?”
Damn. The man had been paying attention. “Well, um…”
Finley rolled his eyes. “You want to fall in love with a Scotsman—right?”
I stared at him and lifted my chin. “I’m open to the idea. So, yes. Searching for romance and Mr. Right wasn’t a crime the last time I checked.”
“Not at all.”
His expression was grave. I had a hunch he was laughing at me on the inside.
“Go ahead,” I said glumly. “Make fun of me. I can take it.”
“Not at all. In fact, I think I can help.”
* * *
Half an hour later, I found myself taking a brisk walk with my host and a very well-behaved Cinnamon. After Finley dropped his conversational bomb at the kitchen table, it became clear that the puppy was ready to be taken out. At my request, Finley had waited for me to run upstairs and change clothes. He’d already carried my suitcases to my room. It took a matter of moments to grab a pair of jeans, top them with a mauve linen tunic and gold chain, and slide my feet into espadrilles. I was so sick of wearing that white pantsuit I’d probably shove it in a closet for the duration of the trip.
Finley didn’t appear to pay much attention to clothes…but then again, he didn’t have to. Whatever he wore, whether black leather or gray wool or a simple navy T-shirt, suited him. This evening it was old denims and a button up shirt in cream with a tiny black check.
Now that I was no longer wearing heels, the difference in our heights was magnified. He was a tall man and had a long stride. With Cinnamon straining at the leash, I had to walk quickly to keep up. Unlike last night, I was full of energy. I loved the Scottish summer of a warm day followed by a cool night. The climate was invigorating.
Or maybe it was the company.
As we rounded the first bend in the road, we halted where Cinnamon and I had stopped the night before to look at the view. “Have you always lived in your current house?” I asked. I had questions aplenty, but also doubts about how forthcoming Finley might be. He seemed in a mellow mood at the moment, so I decided to satisfy my curiosity.
He squatted to praise Cinnamon for not chasing after a rabbit. “Good girl.” Glancing up at me, he nodded. “Pretty much. When I first came out here from the States, I had been camping out in the used car I bought in Edinburgh. I had a nest egg to start my business. Didn’t want to blow it on lodging. When I made it as far as Portree, something about the place caught my imagination.”
“So you bought a house?”
“Who’s telling this story? You or me?”
“Sorry.” I kicked at a stick and put my hands in my pockets.
“I saw an ad in the window of one of the pubs in town. It was from an old guy who needed help in exchange for room and board.”
“And you accepted.”
“Aye, I did. The arrangement suited us both. I was young and strong and didn’t mind fixing broken furniture and appliances, doing outside chores, cutting back trees…anything like that.”
“Where is he now?”
