Chapter 5 Graeme
Chapter 5 Graeme
I’ve never been a fan of surprises.
Even when a lad.
But as soon as I walked into Mum’s bookshop, I was gobsmacked by a ginger-headed surprise. The very American I’d hoped to
avoid as much as possible sat cooried up next to Mum in the corner of the bookshop with the granny book club crowding in on
all sides.
Like she somehow belonged right in the midst of them.
And what was worse? The poor hen looked as feart as a rabbit in a wolf’s den. Those murky blue eyes of hers met mine as I
entered the shop, all hints of the fiery lass from earlier that morning gone, replaced by a desperate vulnerability. Something
in my chest twisted into a Double Davy knot.
She needed to be rescued.
My shoulders drooped as the realization unfurled into an ache behind my rib cage. And I would be the eejit to do it. I only
fought against retreat for a second. The hardest thing about planning to rescue someone was when you couldn’t. No matter how
hard you tried.
My heart had been soundly throttled by the last woman I’d rescued. After two years together and a short engagement, her wandering
heart not only found someone new but led her to a new life in Edinburgh. I’d thought we’d come to a compromise to make it
work. But somewhere along the way, without letting me know, she’d stopped loving me and the idea of Mull in her future.
Then she left.
Like Greer. Except God alone could have rescued my sister. And He had. Just not here. The knot in my chest tightened to the painful place.
Playing hero proved a dangerous game between hope and failure. And I was full-up of failure.
My attention focused back on the ginger-headed American, and my jaw tensed with added resolve. Well, at least this rescue
didn’t involve hearts or cancer. I could manage this one—my attention swept the gaggle of ladies who’d known me my whole life—maybe.
“How did you trap one of the Craighill guests here already, ladies?”
All eyes turned toward me, but my focus remained on the American. She sighed and mouthed the words thank you before unfurling a smile I felt all the way to my spine. I should’ve turned back right then. The parrot and stair railing
episodes gave clear warning, but instead, my feet stayed glued to the pine floors of the bookshop, confirming how mental I
was.
“Well now, Graeme MacKerrow, what are you doing stopping by this morn? Come for your regular cup of coffee?” Mum stood, bringing
the American with her. “Katie, have you met my son? He’s up at the house something regular working on the repairs and stairs
and such.”
Katie’s grin wobbled, as if she wrestled with it. “We’ve bumped into each other once or twice.”
She raised her brows in silent amusement about her pun, and I forced my grin under control. Getting friendly with a social
media personality from America wasn’t on my to-do list for the day... or year.
Or ever.
She practically breathed “wandering heart.” And crazy. Add social media to the equation and I was beginning to regret ever
stepping foot in the village this morn.
“Aye.” I tipped my head to her and then cleared my throat, dragging my attention back to Mum. “But nothin’ proper since I’m
there to do work and—”
“Well, she’s a travel writer, a podcaster, and a blogger. She’s even been on television .”
Perfect. I ground my teeth and realized, yet again, how Mum didn’t make the same connections in her brain as I did in mine.
Being on television was one of the things that pulled Allison away from me and gave me another reason to refuse to turn on
the telly for anything other than the local station of an evening, lest she pop up on the screen.
“But only documentaries, so keep those expectations duly measured, Mr. MacKerrow.” Katie raised a palm as if to calm the rising
praise. “I’m more of a behind-the-words type of gal.”
“She collects stories, Graeme,” Blair MacKay added, her eyes bright. “And wouldn’t it be grand to share all the stories we
know from—”
“I’m afraid the other guests have arrived at the house.” I sent a weighted look to Katie, testing out her own nonverbal communication
comprehension.
Those large eyes of hers widened with awareness, her bottom lip dropping a little, and the knot in my chest twined a wee bit
tighter.
I looked back to Mum but then realized every set of eyes in the granny book club stared at me with various shades of amusement
on their faces. Heat made a steady climb up my neck, so I rubbed at the spot and took a step back toward the door. “I thought
you might want to know, Miss...”
“Campbell,” Katie offered, reaching down to grab her jacket.
My lips tightened around my growing frown. Campbell? Och! Of course she was a Campbell!
“I’d better get back up to Craighill since Mrs. Lennox wants to meet with all the guests once everyone arrives.” Her smile
widened as she swept the room with an appreciative glance and tucked her hair behind her ear, only to have it slip right back
in place against her cheek.
I rolled my eyes. Why would I even notice something like that? Eejit, indeed.
“Thanks so much for letting me spend time with you today.” She held up the books in one hand. “And for the books.” And raised a fishing rod. “And this.” Then gestured toward her feet. “And the wellies.” Her laugh bubbled out. “I’d say I’ve made a sufficient dent in your sales for today, Mrs. MacKerrow.”
“Mirren,” Mum corrected with a touch to the woman’s shoulder. “And you’re welcome anytime, Katie-girl.”
Oh no! Mum already gave her a nickname, which meant the next statement would be—
“And you should come to my cottage for tea while you’re on Mull,” Mum continued, walking over to the counter. “I’ll give you
my address here, but Graeme can point out the path from the top of the hill as he walks you back to the house.”
I raised my head to alert. Walk her back?
I looked over to find Mum’s knowing gaze burrowing into mine with a warning that brooked no refusal. “Since you’re sure to
do more work there this afternoon?”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble.” Katie looked from Mum to me as she picked up her pace to the door, tugging her rucksack
on her back. At least the one thing I and the American had in common was the need for a quick escape from my mum. “I’m sure
I’ll be fine on my own.”
“None of that, hen,” Mum cooed as she placed a paper in Katie’s hand. “And which days work in your schedule for tea?”
Katie’s mouth opened in surprise, highlighting those pink lips of hers again, and I had the sudden urge to take out my eyeballs
and toss them into Loch na Keal. Perhaps the local pixies were at work with their mischief, because I hadn’t experienced this
much difficulty ignoring a pretty woman in a while.
It must be the hair.
Because it certainly wasn’t the accent.
Katie shifted her attention from Mum to me, as if I had an answer for my mother’s behavior.
I never had an answer for Mum’s behavior. She found new friends on an hourly basis.
“How... how very kind of you.” The woman looked genuinely flummoxed by the admiration and attention. I suppose my opinion
of the celebrity type was stained a little after Allison’s promotion to lead fashion designer for some top brand in Edinburgh
led to her departure.
And right after my sister had been diagnosed with cancer too.
As if my fiancé took the opportunity to run away from my family’s grief, this simple life of Mull, and our future all at the
same time.
“Would you mind if I got back to you on that answer after meeting with Mrs. Lennox today?”
“Of course.” Mum stepped back. “Now off with you.” Mum waved us away, but not before grinning at me with that crafty twinkle
in her eyes.
Not again.
The look nearly gave me the boke. Could she and the entire book club become any more obvious or desperate in their matchmaking
plans? I quelled the nausea and stared back at my mum as I held the door open for Katie to pass.
No! I inwardly shouted in hopes of transporting the clear message to her brain, but it bounced off her growing smile like the
sprite-hearted woman she was.
Katie would be the fourth attempted match in as many months.
And Mum was no respecter of sons. Calum and Peter bore the brunt of her desire to see her weans married off and populating
the whole of Mull.
And despite her grand boasting, none of the matches stuck.
Ever.
Especially the accountant from Inverness. What had Mum been thinking? The woman could talk the bark off a tree without a stop
for breath.
I held Mum’s gaze until the door clicked closed, attempting to communicate the futility of her habit. But I knew my attempt was even more futile than hers.
Drawing in a deep breath and bracing myself for the walk, I joined Katie along the street toward the house while keeping a
very non-romantic distance between us.
“Thanks for rescuing me back there.” Katie tucked the books she held against her chest and gestured back toward the bookshop
with the fishing rod. “I mean, I know you were just sharing a message from Mrs. Lennox, but you arrived at the perfect time.”
I gave my head a shake. “I dinnae think Lennox even knows you’re in the village.”
“Oh.” Her narrow auburn brows took an upswing as that gaze turned back on me with newfound curiosity. “Well, thank you for
rescuing me anyway.”
“Rescue?” It sounded worse when she said it. “Dinnae think that, Katie Campbell. I’m not the heroic sort, but I do know that
those ladies can prove a wee bit overwhelming. No one should have to manage them on their own for too long.”
“So their... excessive welcome is a common occurrence then?” She released a long sigh and then chuckled. “I don’t think
I’ve ever been quite so—”
“Interrogated?”
She snorted and my lips twitched at the ungodly sound. “Um... I was going to say enthusiastically interviewed, but your
word might fit a little better.”
Sunlight brightened her hair to a fiery hue, a color not extinct from the western isles but still uncommon. And made even
more noteworthy by its darker shade instead of the usual bright ginger color.
I rolled an annoyed gaze heavenward at my own thoughts. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I looked ahead and kept my attention
away from the lass beside me turning from the road to go up the hill.
“Well, thank you again. I figured with the way we started off, I’d be the last person you’d want to help.”
I stifled my wince, my shoulders drooping just a moment. Being mistaken as ill-mannered may be worse than being dubbed heroic.
But only slightly. “Those book club grannies are not to be underestimated.”
“Book club grannies?” Her laugh burst out. “You realize I’ll never be able to think of them as anything else now.” She snickered
and then sighed. “I don’t know what happened back there. Usually I’m better at handling myself, but I think they caught me
off guard with their exuberant friendliness and curiosity.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked over at me. “Either that or there
was some kind of truth serum in the tea.”
I coughed to hide my laugh. Few things appealed to a Scotsman like a keen sense of humor. “Does it take a serum to get the
truth out of you then, Katie Campbell?”
I’d only meant to match jest for jest, but the smile fell from her face. She looked away, recovering with a new grin that
didn’t reach her eyes. “I just assumed it was a regular occurence, considering the folklore and legends about this part of
the world. A few faeries here, a mermaid there, occasional book club grannies brewing up trouble with magic tea.”
She took a few steps to get ahead of me, not by much, but enough to notice. What caused such a reaction?
I ground my frown and resolution into place again. I didn’t care. Rescuing... er... helping the lass didn’t mean I had
to know anything else about her. Nothing. “Then I’d give Mirren MacKerrow a wide berth if I were you.”
Katie stopped altogether and turned, brows rising in unison. “Isn’t she your mom?”
“Aye.” Keeping my smile in check grew harder the longer I spoke. “Which means I should know her better than the others. She’s the most dangerous one of the lot.”
The humored light returned to her eyes, and I flinched a little at the sight.
Humor looked good in those eyes.
The hill grew a wee bit steeper as we climbed, leaving the shelter of the surrounding trees and hills to allow the ocean breeze
a more vigorous welcome. The air carried with it the feel of home and life. The blend of salt, buttercups, and phlox.
I paused. But something new today? What was it? A foreign warm scent. Vanilla? Honeysuckle? Something warm but distracting.
Her hair blew untamed beside me, wisping in my path and bringing a renewed hint of that scent.
Was that her?
I drew a deep breath of cool air and honeysuckle into my lungs.
“If I hadn’t spent a good half hour with your mom and you weren’t working so hard to fight a smile, I might believe you.” Katie tossed me a look, lips crooked. “But I should probably
forgo the tea at her house for fear of baring my soul or, at the least, buying more books than I can carry on my next flight.”
She kept my pace up the bràigh, her breaths pulsing in time with mine, so she was used to similar activity. My gaze skimmed
down her—her legs lean but strong. A tactile memory of her in my arms rushed to the forefront of my rebel mind. And the fact
her stride nearly matched mine, highlighting those long legs, sent enough heat into my face to make my beard itch.
“This is a different path than the one I came down to the village on.” Her words came a bit shallow, so I slowed my pace a
little and pulled my brain away from long legs back to cool disinterest.
“Aye, it’s a steeper climb along the back of the bràigh where I can point you toward Mum’s house.”
“Does she often invite strangers for tea?”
More than she ought, to my mind. “She tends to collect strangers like pets, and I suspect you’re a particular curiosity with
your”—I tried to sort out the right word—“career choice and stories.”
Her pace slowed a little. “There aren’t many exciting things to learn about me, but I have a whole lot of stories I can share
about other people and places.”
Did she often deflect from herself? I caught another glimpse of the lost look I’d seen before, rounded eyes like a wounded
creature tugging at my dafty heart.
Och! I turned back to the climb. “What is it you’re doing at Craighill besides writing articles and breaking my stairs?”
The gruffness in my voice failed to disarm her.
“Breaking your—” She narrowed her eyes at me in a mock glare. “Very funny.” She shook her head, loosening her smile again.
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m here”—she opened her arms wide as if to embrace the sky—“to immerse myself in an Edwardian
Experience.”
The way she attempted to mimic Mrs. Lennox on the last two words caused my grin to burst forth again. Ridiculous woman.
“I s’pose since you’ve been invited to the media preview of Lennox’s...” I tried to find the right word. Circus? Spectacle?
“Experience?” Katie tipped her head, expression expectant before she dissolved into another easy laugh. “Believe me, I’ve
been on a lot of trips around the world, but I’ve never been attacked by a parrot, nearly killed by a little girl on a bicycle,
or tried to fit into dresses made for women half my size, all within two days. So Scotland has already proven to be an...
experience,” she repeated before pinching her eyes closed. “Humbling and a bit terrifying.”
“Don’t judge Scotland based on Craighill.” I shook my head. “Or Kirsty. Or the book club grannies.” Why was my life filled
with such mad people? “You’d miss out on much better wonders.”
We’d reached the crest of the hill when Katie came to an abrupt stop.
“What a view!” Her palm flew to her chest, and her head took a slow glide from one direction to the opposite. “And the lighting behind the clouds is just perfect.” She began shaking off her rucksack and then frantically unzipped the bag. “I think this will do great as a first reel from Mull.”
Reel?
She pulled a camera from her bag, removed the lens cover, and then proceeded to look around as if searching for something.
My attention shot back to her fishing rod. Then realization dawned. Reel, as in social media?
She positioned the camera near her face and pointed in one direction, then another, continuing a little conversation with
herself by saying things like, “Not quite that way,” and “Almost perfect. Just a bit to the left, maybe?” and “Is that color
green even real?”
I studied her a minute after the last question and then took another look at the view, trying to imagine someone seeing it
for the first time. I never grew tired of it, especially on days when the sun brought out all the summer colors, so at least
her awe proved Katie had a semblance of good taste.
Then, as if she found an answer to one of her questions, she took the camera away from her face and looked in various places
near me, brow puckered in concentration. She shifted back and forth, staring at the ground.
Perhaps she fit into Craighill’s experience better than I originally thought.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m trying to find a spot to set my camera so I can make a video.”
My frown curled deeper. “Why?”
“Why?” She spun around, eyes wide. “Because you have this.” She gestured back toward the horizon. “The combination of colors, atmosphere, and beauty. And I want to capture it as best I can. I just need to...” And then her attention grew in intensity, eyes narrowing on me. She tilted her head in her examination, her gaze starting at my forehead and trailing all the way down to my boots.
I shifted a step away from her.
I’d had Seamas, the crazy Highland cow, look at me the very same way, and it didn’t end well.
For me.
She stepped closer, continuing to study me. “You’re a great height for this, and I don’t usually get to say that.”
I’d be lying if I said I’d never been scared by a woman. Any red-blooded man who’d lived among the fairer sex for any time
at all had had a little fear (even if he tried to hide it) of at least one lass in his life. They could change in a second.
Or attempt to mind read poorly, and then men bear the brunt of their frustration over imaginary offenses. Or, even worse,
they mind read well, which could cause even bigger troubles.
I avoided eye contact.
It hadn’t helped with Seamas the cow, but perhaps it might with Katie the Crazy.
I crossed my arms and set my feet as if readying for battle. “A height for what?”
She stilled her approach. “For a video.”
I tightened the cross of my arms. “I’m not going to be in one of your social media videos, Katie.” And her name rolled off
my tongue much too easily. A name well at home in these hills.
“I’m not videoing you , Mr. Grump.” She pushed the camera into my chest, and one of my hands unfolded from its crossed position to catch the device.
“ You’re videoing me .”
Mr. Grump? I was not grumpy and would have told her so if she didn’t just turn and walk back the way she’d come. “All right,
I’m going to start walking toward the horizon, and I want you to push the button there, on top, and just follow me as I walk.
I’ll edit out any extras, but make sure you get the loch and the buttercups.”
My body nearly bristled at her directives. First Mum and now some stranger telling me what to do. More reason to steer clear of women as a general rule.
She paused and looked back at me, her nose wrinkling with a frown like a little girl who’d done something wrong. “Sorry, I
just bossed you around like you were a cameraman, didn’t I?” Her shoulders scrunched in further plea, and all my grand resolve
caved like the eejit I continued to be. “Would you please video me? It won’t take but a minute.”
I frowned like the grump I apparently was and raised the camera in answer.
Her smile flashed wide, and then she fluffed her hair so that it fell around her shoulders before proceeding to walk away
from the camera. I pushed the button, and the numbers at the top of the screen started counting.
She continued walking away from the camera, legs taking long strides forward, and then she turned, raised a brow, and shrugged
one of her shoulders, before waving toward the horizon in invitation.
Those eyes stared at me from the other side of the camera, dazzling and engaging, as if they looked directly into my soul.
My throat squeezed against the awareness, the attraction.
A fleeting thing. Nothing to worry about. It had just been a while since a somewhat interesting stranger came through Glenkirk
and into my world.
“Great!” she exclaimed, bringing her hands together as she moved back to me and plucked the camera from my hands. “Thank you
so much.”
She stared down at the screen, reviewing the video, and then cast me a look. “Great job. Usually when I have strangers video,
I get more thumbs than usable content, but you focused right in on my face and the view.”
I cleared my throat and shoved my hands back in my pockets. “Is that something you usually do for your work?”
She nodded, kneeling down to tuck the camera back in her bag. “I usually do three a week and have people guess”—she waved her hand in front of her as if displaying a title in the air—“what misadventure will I find today?”
“Don’t you mean ‘adventure’?”
“Nope. I make a living off my misadventures.” She stood, pulling her rucksack over her shoulder before leaning down to collect
her fishing rod. “So, basically, I get paid to mess up.” A shadow passed over her features as she stood. “And it’s something
I’m really good at doing because I tend to mess up a lot.”
Getting paid to bungle things? What a strange job!
And one I felt much too qualified for.
Without the videos and social media and travel parts.
Katie walked past me toward Craighill, its tower rising in the distance over the next hill, and I followed, mind spinning
with more questions than I’d ever voice. From the longing in those eyes and the curb of sadness in her words, of all the people
at Craighill, Katie Campbell’s story may be the only one worth hearing.