Chapter 20 Taran
“Tierney needs a manager, pronto,” Cammie grumbled as we strolled through the crowd of tourists and locals who had gathered for today’s games.
While London and I were able to join our friend, Tierney couldn’t leave the B and B unmanned, so it was just the three of us this morning.
“I’ve told her the same,” London agreed. “But she wants to make sure she’s in the black before she takes on a big expense like that. She’s already paying me as the chef, and she’s paying a part-time housekeeper.”
“I know. I just wish she were here.” Cammie’s face lit up. “There’s Mum and Greg. Come on!”
“Uh …” Instant nerves hit me at the thought of seeing Quinn and Cammie’s mum again. Once I got older and was like a second daughter to her, she’d insisted I call her Janice.
I’d seen Janice in passing because it was difficult not to in a tiny place like Leth Sholas, but I got the distinct impression she was avoiding me.
Janice and Greg owned a small farm and farm shop twenty minutes south of Leth Sholas, so they weren’t in town as often.
The last time we’d spoken was a few months after mum’s funeral.
I’d still been in a fog of grief, and Janice brought back bittersweet memories.
I hadn’t been particularly warm or friendly toward her, which was probably why she’d avoided me since.
“You’re coming.” Cammie looped her arm through mine and practically dragged me to her parents.
Along with the usual competitions—caber tossing, hammer throwing, shot put, tug-of-war, racing, haggis hurling, sword dancing, Highland dancing, pipe band, and bagpiping—produce makers from all over the islands set up stalls at the Highland Games’ market. Janice and Greg had set up their own.
“That looks fun.” London gestured toward the Highland dancers mid-competition. “Did you guys ever try it?”
“Aye, I was shite. Taran was a natural but hated being the center of attention, so she quit,” Cammie explained.
I shrugged because it was true. The dancing part was fun. The everyone staring at me while I did it part was awful.
As we neared the market stall, Janice spotted Cammie, her eyes lighting up. She gave her a quick nod of acknowledgment as she helped a customer. Greg saw us, waved, and immediately took over so Janice could round the stall to greet her daughter properly.
“I didn’t know you were coming along today.
” Janice enveloped Cammie in a tight hug.
Cammie and Quinn had inherited their height from their mum’s side of the family.
I’d always thought Janice was so tall and elegant.
She’d had masses of blond hair like Cammie when she was younger but now her thick hair was cut into a silvery-blond bob that framed her angled jawline.
Dressed in a silky wide trouser and matching shirt set, she looked anything but an island farmer.
Unlike her husband who wore a ratty worn sweater and jeans.
Greg was about an inch shorter than Janice and all the hair on his head had migrated to the bushy beard on his face.
They looked like they should be opposites.
But Quinn had sworn he’d never seen his mum happier than when she married Greg.
I saw it too when we were kids. Greg McNulty was a kind man who thought the sun rose and set with Janice.
Memories washed over me, tightening my chest a bit.
“We’re showing London around her first games.” Cammie turned to gesture to us. “You remember London. And, of course, Taran.”
A flare of panic in Janice’s eyes made me feel terrible, so I stepped forward. “Hi, Janice. How are you?”
Her relief made me feel even worse. “I’m well, Taran. It’s … it’s so good to see you. I heard about the break-in. Are you both all right?”
News traveled exceptionally fast on Glenvulin. Every local who had seen us this morning had come up to ask after our well-being. The break-in had put everyone on alert. “We’re all good, thank you.”
Janice seemed to sag with the release of tension as she turned to London. “And are you enjoying the games?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of insane and wonderful all at the same time.”
We chuckled as Janice offered, “Aye, I bet the wailing sound of the pipes must take some getting used to.”
“Actually, we have the Tartan Day Parade in New York to celebrate Scottish heritage. Pipe bands march through the streets of the city. It’s incredible. I always liked hanging out of my balcony, watching them go by.”
“Do you have Scottish heritage?”
“I do. We’re Scottish on my dad’s side. My great-great grandfather was Scottish but my dad was never really into exploring his ancestry. Too busy saving lives.” There was a bitter note in her words that only Cammie and I picked up on.
“Oh?”
“He’s a neurosurgeon. Mom’s a cardiothoracic surgeon.” London gestured toward the strawberries they were selling. “Those smell amazing.”
Janice went with the subject change. “Take some, please. Let me get you a carton. Do you girls want anything else?”
I smiled to myself at her use of the word girls, as if we were teenagers. With the awkwardness over between Quinn’s mum and me, I let myself relax.
After we all had a small carton of strawberries to munch on, the three of us wandered past the other stalls, listening to pipers practice before their events. As we crested the hill toward where the caber tossing had been set up, Cammie asked London, “Have you heard from your parents recently?”
London snorted. “No. The last time I spoke to them, they pretended like they knew Nick was an asshole all along—note that was after he got arrested for insider trading, not after I told them he’d beaten me and threatened me not to leave him.
I told them I wasn’t coming back to New York—they got mad and said I was cut off financially.
I got mad and told them they were cut off entirely. We haven’t spoken since.”
Anger boiled in my blood. London might be able to relay these facts with a blasé casualness born from years of neglect, but her parents infuriated me.
My mum would have walked through fire for me.
London’s parents might be renowned surgeons, but I held nothing but disdain for arseholes who procreated out of ego and then abandoned their child from the get-go because their work was more important.
“Good.” Cammie wrapped an arm around London, giving her a quick squeeze. “You don’t need those fuckers. Also, I hereby disown your father as a Scot.”
London almost choked on a strawberry as she laughed.
Affection for Cammie warmed me. Quinn’s sister and I might butt heads over her brother, and the introvert in me found her bluntness uncomfortable sometimes … but Cammie would walk through fire for the people she loved too.
For a while we marveled at the caber tossing, making inappropriate comments about some of the bulging calf muscles and biceps on display. London was more than bemused when she saw the length of the cabers—long logs.
“Okay, what the hell is happening right now.” She waved a strawberry, gesticulating toward the competitors. “I’m distracted by the kilts and muscles and beards, so I have no idea why these guys are putting their lives in danger throwing massive logs. Is it to see who can toss it farthest?”
“No.” I shook my head. “First, they’re called cabers. It derives from the Gaelic cabar, which means a wooden beam.”
“That is a log, not a beam, and it’s huge. These dudes are insane.”
Chuckling, I continued, “Okay, see how they lift it from the base … they have to keep the caber perfectly upright, run a few steps and then toss it so it flips end over end. It should fall directly in front of the tosser. Closest to an absolute twelve o’clock position scores highest.”
London grinned at me. “I know you think you’re making it make sense, but it doesn’t make sense.”
Cammie leaned in. “Thank goodness you missed the hammer throwing.”
I laughed, feeling a lightness come over me as we stood together, bantering and enjoying the flipping of kilts as cabers were tossed.
“I thought no underwear?” London pouted comically, making us laugh harder.
Soon, however, Cammie insisted we return to the main area of the games for more food and drinks. It was another humid day, despite the cloudy sky, and the mugginess was making my hair stick to the back of my neck.
“Next games, I might set up a stall,” London mused as we stood to order at the deli stall. “I’m kind of in my savory pastry era. I think they’d go down well here.”
“Eh, absolutely,” Cammie agreed.
“Cameron!” We turned in line as one to find Forde striding toward us in his paramedic’s jumpsuit. He’d taken off the sleeves and unzipped the top half to reveal a tight tee with a band name on it. The tee itself revealed his strong body and many tattoos.
“Off duty?” Cammie asked him as he neared us.
“Aye, just for a minute.” He hugged her into his side for a second before spotting me. “Taran.” The next thing I knew I was wrapped in a hug.
Surprised, I barely had time to return the embrace before he released me. His dark eyes washed over my face. “You all right after yesterday?”
“All good,” I promised him.
Forde pressed his lips together but stepped back, nodding hello at London.
“Have you been busy with all the caber and hammer injuries?” Cammie asked him.
“It’s not been too bad. Nothing major.” Forde tapped her head. “Touch wood.”
“Piss off.” She batted his hand away good-naturedly.
His gaze flickered over her, and he crossed his arms over his chest, his tee tightening quite deliciously around his biceps. I’d never been able to see past Quinn, but there was no denying his best friend was sexy as sin. “Where’s the man boy?”
Cammie narrowed her eyes. “Say his name first.”
“Greig,” Forde spat like he’d tasted something bad.
She tilted her chin. “I broke up with him.”
Forde’s folded arms dropped to his side. “For real?”
“For real.”
“Got sick of babysitting?”
London made a gurgling sound in her throat as if she’d just swallowed a laugh, which, of course, made my lips twitch.