Page 8 of Not Quite a Scot


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All around me, the night was dark, the occasional lights in the distance no more than the blip of lightning bugs on a summer evening. Overhead, the twinkling stars blurred. Perhaps the planets halted in their orbits. Anything was possible.

I have no idea how long the trip lasted. Fifteen minutes? Twenty?

When we left the main road and turned up a narrow track, the motorcycle faltered momentarily. I heard Finley curse beneath his breath, the sound carried away on the night breeze.

“What’s wrong?” I asked drowsily. If I had my way, we would have stayed out for hours riding the roads and absorbing the poetry of a wild Scottish night.

“Potholes,” he said succinctly. “Ye’d best hold on tight. I’d not want to lose you.”

I grinned, my amusement hidden behind his back. Those were the most romantic words any man had ever said to me. Accompanied by the frustration and disgust in Finley’s deep voice, no woman could possibly get the wrong idea. My rescuer was more of an anti-hero. Reluctant, at best.

He wasn’t kidding about the road. Despite Finley’s care, the steep, unpaved track was getting the best of him. Every time Finley picked up speed, another pothole threatened to send us tumbling.

At last we reached our destination. The low, thatched-roof cottage sat desolate. No welcoming lights. No curl of smoke from the chimney.

I bit my lip hard, hoping the sharp pain would keep me from bawling. “I suppose they forgot I was coming today. Maybe someone had the date wrong.”

“Hmpf.” Again the word that wasn’t a word, and yet communicated so much. He held my hand to steady me as I hopped off the bike. Then he followed suit. “Give me the key,” he said.

I wanted to snap at him sarcastically. Something about bossiness and arrogance. At this juncture, I dared not alienate the only Good Samaritan who had come my way.

When Finley fit the key in the lock, it turned immediately. I exhaled. I’d been holding my breath unconsciously. Following him inside, I bumped up against him when he stopped suddenly and muttered.

“What?” I cried in alarm. “What is it?

“The power’s not working. I imagine the old man forgot to pay the bill.” As I absorbed that unpleasant thought, Finley located a flashlight on a shelf beside the front door. The narrow beam of light brought a sigh of relief…right up until the moment I fully absorbed the state of my getaway cabin.

Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. A container of half-eaten donuts sat on the kitchen table. The mouse droppings around the package were hard to miss.

Swallowing a shudder, I followed Finley as he stepped gingerly around a pile of broken glass. The layout was simple. One large room contained the kitchen and living area. Beyond that were two small bedrooms with a connecting bath. The beds in each room were neatly made, but when I put my hand on the coverlets, the fabric was damp.

“Well,” I said, my throat tight, “this isn’t quite what I expected.”

“The old man’s been forgetful of late. He must have gone downhill fast. He has a daughter living in Glasgow. I imagine she fetched him to look after him...at least that’s what I’ve heard. I’m sure she had no clue old Cedric had booked visitors.”

“Only one. Just me.” And now here I was, stuck in the middle of a dark night in a dwelling that might as well have come straight out of a horror movie. “No worries,” I said breezily. “If you’ll give me a lift back to town, I’ll stay at one of the hotels and deal with all this in the morning.”

We had returned to main living area. Finley stood, arms crossed, and stared at me. He trained the beam of the flashlight in my direction. “There’s a music festival in town this weekend. Every hotel room is booked, plus all the B&Bs. You’d have to drive all the way back out to the mainland to find accommodations.” He paused for what I could only assume was dramatic effect. “And you don’t have a car.”

The man was only stating the obvious. He could have said it with a bit more sympathy. The taciturn, grumpy biker hadn’t even bothered to ask my name. Perhaps he thought there was no need, since he wouldn’t be hanging around.

“Forgive me for asking,” I said, my tone syrupy sweet. “Do you have a suggestion for what I might do? I’m tired and hungry and disappointed and all out of answers.” I hadn’t meant to be quite so honest. The words tumbled out uncensored.

Perhaps my unwitting vulnerability tapped into some latent chivalry on Finley’s part. For the first time, his posture relaxed. “I do. My house is large. It’s near the harbor, so you can walk most places. I’m listed in the B&B registry, though to be honest, I haven’t said yes to any guests for a long time. Playing host is a lot of trouble. Still, ye’re welcome to stay with me until you can make arrangements to have this place cleaned.”

“Stay with you?” I parroted the words, my heart beating rapidly. Finley might not be the Loch Ness monster, but he was definitely an unknown quantity.

When I hesitated, he rubbed two fingers in the center of his forehead as if he had a headache. “I’m an upstanding citizen, more or less. As soon as we get back to town, you can look up the website. If you want to call the bloke who owns the seafood place down by the wharf, he’ll vouch for me.”

“I was there this evening. I have the phone number on the receipt, but I haven’t been able to get a decent cell phone signal.”

Finley shrugged. “You’ve found it,” he said. His quick grin startled me.

“Found what?”

“The proverbial rock and the hard place.”

He was a hundred percent correct. No woman in her right mind would try to spend a night alone in this grimy, unprepossessing dwelling. But most women also wouldn’t agree to stay with a man they’d just met. With no cell service, my only choices were to walk back to town or take a chance on Finley Craig.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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