Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Katie
The words are flying onto the page this morning, inspiration for my new novel erupting from me. Being fucked by a gorgeous soldier, nearly twenty years my junior, may have something to do with it. Major Lance McDonald is good for my soul.
He was gone when I woke this morning, but he left a cute note on the pillow.
Thank you for a fantastic night, Gorgeous.
Please say we can do it again xoxo
A big, dirty smile spreads across my face. He wants to see me again—he’s not running for the hills. I can’t believe my luck. After sprinting away from all the shit and heartbreak into the middle of nowhere, I find him.
Deep down, I know there can never be anything serious between us, but fun in my life feels overdue. I intend to enjoy him while I can.
My Saturday is spent writing and reading. Sprawled in front of the fire with my pen in hand, I discover my notebook is packed with scribbles. When inspiration strikes, I must write. Some of my best work has been written at the strangest times, in the most surreal places.
Once, while I was sitting on the toilet minding my own business, my lead character popped into my head to tell me his time was limited.
This happened in a public facility, and the full-blown conversation with him in the cubicle, trying to convince him otherwise, was infuriating.
When I emerged from the stall, two women were standing at the sinks, giving me disbelieving looks.
My afternoon is spent taking a walk in the woods with the rats. After hours of typing, the cold air slaps some sanity back into me. People aren’t lying when they say Scotland is freezing; padded jackets are a must in all seasons. Summer appeared and disappeared within the same week.
My phone beeps. His name lights up the screen, and my heart skips a beat.
Hey, Gorgeous. Hope you’re not missing me too much. What are your plans for this fine evening? xoxo
My mind automatically returns to last night. The feel of his hands, his body against mine. My sex clenches at the memory. What do I say without sounding needy?
Hello, Major. I’m just walking the rats. Heading home to sit with my feet up and eat chocolate. Had a wonderful day thinking about all our fun last night. Are you having a nice day with Hannah? xoxo
A fresh wind swirls through the trees, and I wrap my jacket tighter. I check my watch: only fifteen minutes before my phone call with Jeffery Eden. Last week I missed it.
At seven o’clock, a black car appeared with a severe-looking driver called Harold. He had been sent to check on me and emphasize that my call at six every Sunday is non-negotiable.
The Edens are obstinate as hell.
My phone pings again as I march toward home.
Brilliant day with my girl. We’ve been up the funicular railway to see the mountain before the snow falls. It’s just as beautiful in summer. Have you been up? xoxo
I cringe. I’ve been a hermit since I came here.
Not yet. It’s on my list of places to visit.
He replies instantly.
I’ll take you. xoxo
My inner vixen does a little happy dance.
Eek! He’s serious about seeing me again. He wants to spend actual time with me.
Not just sex. Time.
A man has never truly wanted me for that. It feels so damn good. Almost too good to believe it’s true. But something inside me believes him. Every word said or typed is framed with an invisible truth. I think I can trust him.
Walking through my front door, I kick off my wellies and toss my jacket on the couch in a heap. In front of the fire, I spread my fingers to absorb the heat. This is my favorite thing about my little cottage—the huge, roaring fire.
The old phone rings, and I pick it up.
The conversation is stilted. Jeffery always asks the same questions.
Is the house secure? Yes.
Have there been any strange people arriving? No. Unless you count Harold, the human gargoyle they sent last week.
Then he reminds me I’m not allowed in the main house. Hanging up with no farewell, just the click of the call cutting. What a strange man.
I grab my phone, biting back a smile at Lance’s last message, then type:
A date with you up a mountain sounds great. I’m glad there’s a train. I couldn’t climb up there. Lucky for you too. You won’t need to carry me. xoxo
I stare at my phone like a teenager, cheeks warm with excitement.
Five minutes pass, but no message appears.
My heart wills him to respond. Maybe the word date has scared him off. Panic burns in my throat. Great, my fun is ruined before it’s even begun, me and my big fingers.
I should know better than to get my hopes up. To accept what I have as the best I can get. It never gets better; it only gradually declines. If my failed marriage is anything to go by, I’ve been well trained not to deserve more than what’s on offer.
Then, ping.
I’ll have you in my arms any way I can. xoxo
Fucking hell, this guy is dangerous. The whiplash of my inner turmoil collides with his words, knocking the air from my lungs. Maybe this time will be different.
***
I’m curled up on the couch watching a good old romantic comedy. My dressing gown is snug, my tea hot, and life feels bloody good.
Lance has been texting me all weekend. We’ve chatted about everything and nothing.
It’s easy to forget he’s only in his thirties.
With his job and life experience, it puts us weirdly on the same level.
The distance, the years, melt away to nothing.
We both have so much to tell, neither more important than the other.
As I scroll through my newsfeed, Amy’s picture fills the screen. Not having spoken to her in a while, I hit call.
“Hello, Scottish adventurer. How are you?” she sings.
“Hey, Amz, I’m good. Loving it up here. The animals keep me busy. Writing plenty. Feeling settled.”
“Aw, Katie, I’m so pleased for you. I was so worried when you ran off up there. I’m glad it’s going well. Met anyone interesting?”
Amy is as subtle as a bulldozer. Her code for have you met a man yet?
“Well...” I drag it out, and she shrieks.
“You have. Tell me he’s gorgeous and rich. Oh, fucking promise me he has red hair and talks in that sexy accent. Like that sex god off the TV. The one from history, who wears the skirt.”
Her excitement makes me hoot with laughter. “No TV fame. But he’s roasting hot. He’s in the Army. Scottish. He has a twelve-year-old daughter. And he’s fucking incredible in bed.”
“Lucky bitch. Tell me everything. Did you scream like a harpy? How did you meet him?”
“Um... he rescued me from a burn.”
“A burn?”
“It’s what Scottish people call a stream. I fell in. Anyway, he walked me home, we talked, he asked me out for dinner... and ended up on the mattress.” I snort, the details slipping from my lips too easy.
“Oh, my god. Send me a picture.”
“No pictures yet. But he’s gorgeous. Tall, like really tall, with a washboard stomach and strong arms. Tattoos. And he’s thirty-two.”
Silence.
She takes a breath. It’s not often Amy is lost for words. “Thirty-two? Like twenty years younger than you?”
“Seventeen,” I squawk. “I’m not fifty yet.”
She laughs warmly. “Good for you. Enjoy him. He sounds exactly like what you need in your life right now. Have you met his daughter?”
“Not yet. I’m not sure I will. He only came back from tour a few months ago… and found his wife in bed with an old friend.”
More silence. My eyes close in preparation for the onslaught. This she won’t like.
“What do you mean, his wife? He’s married?” Her tone turns from warm to harsh instantly.
“Separated,” I rush out. “It’s just a bit of fun.”
“Be careful, Katie. A newly separated action man sounds dangerous. I don’t want you hurt.”
“Careful is my middle name,” I protest to deaf ears. The idea of romantic stories makes me a sucker. She knows that. “Anyway, How’s Terry?”
Her breath hitches. “It’s been hard since we were told we most likely won’t have children. Terry’s really struggling. He’s grieving. And it’s my fault.” Her voice cracks, a small sob escaping.
“It’s not, Amz. You’re grieving too. He needs to step up and support you,” I say. She cries. “If you need to get away, I’m here. Come to Scotland. Get some space. Clear your head. It would be wonderful to see you.”
“I might just do that.”