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It’s only the fact I have completely resolve over the situation that finally allows me to drift off to sleep – knowing that the sooner the night passes away, the quicker I can be with her again and embark on my plan to claim her as my own.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Alana
I bite my lip, knowing my nerves will overwhelm me if I hesitate. Then I press the green call button anyway, not allowing my bravado to fail me.
I need to do this.
I need to hear his voice again one more time, even if it’s the last.
The number rings and rings and rings for what seems like an eternity. I close my eyes. I’m beginning to think this is a bad idea. Maybe I should just hang up. Maybe I should….
“Hello?”
The voice that answers the number online for the Barnbraw estate is very deep, very male, very Scottish – but very much not Finlay.
“Um, hi,” I say nervously. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that it might be someone else answering the call. “Is this the Barnbraw estate?”
“You’ve reached us,” the man says, or at least that’s what I think he says. His voice is so gruff like he needs to clear his throat.
“I’m trying to reach the Laird?” I say, my voice trailing up far too high at the end, my nerves making it tremble.
“Och, he’s out,” the man says on the other end of the phone. “Can I take a message? I’m the Ghillie of the estate.”
“Oh, Hamish!” I exclaim before I can stop myself.
“Aye,” he replies, sounding puzzled. “Have we met, Miss…?”
“No, no,” I answer hastily. “Sorry. I’ve just heard about you from the Laird. Um. Never mind. I’ll call back later. Thanks. Sorry. I mean, thanks!”
I hang up and throw the hotel room’s landline phone back into its cradle like it’s trying to sting me.
Which, maybe it is.
My shoulders slump. Not only have I failed to speak to Finlay, but I also made myself sound like a complete weirdo to poor old Hamish, who is now probably utterly confused.
I know I’m not going to call back later. I’m too embarrassed.
What if I get Hamish again?
I’ll have to stammer my way through another awkward call and still see no results for it. And if I do get to speak to him, what will I say?
Begging him to take me out somewhere again isn’t a good look. He’s probably even more convinced now that I’m a stupid kid who is way too young and innocent for him.
Ugh.
I throw myself back onto the bed with a thump, rubbing my hands over my eyes, and wishing I had just gone back to bed when I woke up this morning.
Only to almost jump out of my skin when the phone on the bedside table starts to ring.
I shoot upright and stare at the phone, frowning.
It isn’t as though I gave out my hotel room number to anyone back home – they can always call me on my cell phone. The only reason I used it in the first place was to avoid local charges. So….
Is it Hamish calling back to try and make sense of what I said?
The ringing is too loud and persistent to ignore– and besides, I can’t shake the idea that it might be something important.
