3. Alex
Iwent on high alert, my brain automatically running through scenarios where the train had been sabotaged.
Who was the target? The person or group responsible? What was their motive? How quickly could we move all the civilians out of harm’s way? Or was this a targeted attack? Kidnapping attempt?
“We’ve run into a little hiccup. Well, more than a little one. There’s been a rockslide on the tracks north of here. Crews are already working to clear the mess, but it’s going to mean a significant delay. Rest assured, we will work with all of you to assist in making arrangements for your connecting trains. In the meantime, feel free to step off the train to explore the village. You will receive a confirmatory text message when we’re prepared to get underway again. If you do not have a mobile phone, please check back at the station in two hours.”
Not sabotage. At least, probably not. I’d seen no evidence of an obvious high-value target when I’d boarded myself. So this was almost certainly a fluke. But the idea of staying on this unmoving train while they dealt with the issue made me want to climb the walls.
My seatmate reached for her backpack. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I certainly can’t imagine just sitting here for the next two hours. Want to get out of here?”
Was my paranoia that obvious?
But my charming companion showed no outward signs of being aware of my paranoia as she looked at me for an answer, brows arched.
I leapt at her offer like a lifeline. “Absolutely.”
Gathering up our bags, we disembarked at the small station that nestled between two tracks. I’d been so focused on the conversation, I wasn’t entirely certain where we were. This was the sort of small station that these lines frequently blew straight through. The sign on the building read Tarnside. A set of stairs led to a bridge that crossed from the platform, over the second set of tracks to the village beyond. The platform itself was crowded with other passengers who had the same idea.
I was still getting my bearings when I realized my seatmate had marched over to the ticket kiosk to speak with the woman behind the glass. I neared in time to hear her ask, “—within walking distance to grab a cuppa or a bite to eat?”
I was vaguely impressed that, while everyone else seemed at loose ends, she was already making a plan. Confident and capable. Both were attractive traits in a woman.
The ticket woman made some suggestion, and my new friend waved me toward the stairs.
“There’s a wee cafe a couple of blocks away. C’mon.”
Amused that she’d taken the lead, and content to let her, I fell into step and followed her up and over the bridge into Tarnside. The village itself looked to be maybe a couple of square miles laid out more or less in a grid pattern. The cobbled high street led straight down from the train station and was flanked by squat, whitewashed buildings that had been livened up with planters full of early spring flowers. At the end of the first block, she took a right and then a left onto the next street.
The Mossy Stone Cafe sat halfway down on the right. Its otherwise plain white exterior was interrupted by a deep green awning. A pair of garden gnomes flanked the door, and a gnome holding a cup of coffee, seated at a moss-covered stone table, was painted on the window glass. A handful of patrons filled tables inside. A couple of women who looked like young mums, and some old timers who lingered over their newspaper and a mid-morning cuppa.
I had already had breakfast, but I’d been up since the wee hours, so I could handle a bite to eat. I stepped up behind my seatmate at the counter.
The proprietress had a riot of gray-streaked curly hair pulled back into a knot. Her green eyes were lively as she flashed a smile. “Welcome to The Mossy Stone. What brings you to our little village?”
Why did she need to know that? Shouldn’t she just be asking for our order?
Her gaze slid curiously between me and… how the hell had I not actually asked my seatmate’s name yet?
The woman in question just smiled. “Oh, my professor and I were coming back from a conference in London when they had to stop the train.”
Wait… what?
My seatmate continued, leaning forward in a conspiratorial fashion. “Apparently, there’s been a rockslide on the tracks somewhere north of here. They say we’ll be on our way in a couple of hours, but we were a bit famished, so here we are. A woman at the train station said you have the best pastries in town.”
The proprietress beamed. “That we do.”
“What do you recommend?”
Fascinated and more than a little curious why she’d spun this little tale, I kept my mouth shut other than ordering a tea and a sausage roll. Not until we settled in the far corner of the cafe with our food—my back to the corner and a clear sightline to the door—did I raise a brow in question.
She jiggled her tea bag and shrugged. “It’s a small town. They want to hear something interesting, and you didn’t want your personal business shared. This way the essentials got communicated, and she got to people watch.”
Huh. That was not the explanation I’d expected. “Lots of experience with small towns?”
“I grew up in one.”
“Is that where you learned how to shift the focus back on her so she stopped asking questions?” Because that had been masterfully done.
She twitched her shoulders again and sipped. “I’m good with people. Most like talking about themselves. Present company excluded.”
“I don’t dislike talking about myself.” Hadn’t we been talking for hours already?
She snorted a soft laugh. “Please. We’ve been talking all this time, and you haven’t even mentioned your name. It didn’t take much of a leap to assume you didn’t want your personal business shared.” There was no censure in her tone. Only easy acceptance.
I winced. “I’m out of practice just talking to people. I’m Alex.”
Her smile came easy and full, lighting her eyes. “Ciara.”
Damn, but those eyes were gorgeous. Tearing my gaze away before I fell into them and drowned, I sipped at my tea. “So… professor?”
Ciara nodded toward my jacket. “It’s the tweed. It gives the vibe.” Her full lips curved into a grin that popped a pair of shallow dimples in her cheeks. “You, however, do not.”
She’d proved herself a perceptive woman, and I wondered what I’d given away when I was usually so locked down. “What vibe do I give?”
I thought she’d consider the question, but she instantly responded, “Military.” When I only blinked, she continued. “I have family who served. I know the look.”
I made a noncommittal grunt that was probably confirmation enough and bit into my sausage roll. But despite my own reticence, I wanted to know more about her. “Are you in university, then? Was that why you defaulted to the professor thing?”
“I’m in my last term. I’ll be graduating at the end of the spring.”
She’d be about twenty-two then. “From where?”
“Napier.”
“So you’re headed back to Edinburgh?”
“I am. You?”
“Going on to Inverness to visit a friend. Though, I’m not sure what the connection’s going to look like with this delay. I was already going to be getting in late tonight.” That was a problem for later in the day, when I had more information about the train schedule. For now, I was more curious about her. “Do you like it? Uni?”
I’d expected another easy answer, but this one seemed to make her hesitate. “I love the school. I love Edinburgh. But I’m still a little on the fence about what I’m studying.”
“A bit late in the game to be deciding that, isn’t it?”
Ciara grimaced. “Aye. That’s the problem.”
Was that what the worry was about? Or was there something else?
Before I could ask what it was she’d studied, she turned the tables on me. “What about you?”
When I didn’t immediately answer, she held up a hand. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want.”
But I found myself wanting to open up and give her… something. “I find myself in a bit of a transition. I’m trying to figure out what I want to do next with my life.”
She lifted her mug of tea in a toast. “You and me both.”
Feeling an odd sort of kinship, I tapped my mug to hers, grateful for the rockslide that was giving me extra time with her.