Prologue #2
I thumped a fist off the wheel. “Callum, I gotta go.”
“We have to talk at some point.” He always sounded tired when he talked to me.
“Yep,” I agreed, knowing I’d put off that conversation for as long as possible. I hung up without another word, then edged my vehicle as close to the Beetle as I could. I lowered my window. “Miss?”
Either she didn’t hear me or didn’t care because she didn’t glance up.
She had the small torch clutched between her teeth while her fingers fluttered over the engine, clearly having no idea what to do.
Only a thin pink anorak protected her from the rain, the front unzipped, and it whipped around her body like a parachute, ready to drag her into the air.
Early spring on Skye could be just as bad as autumn.
I cleared my throat. Yelled, “Hey, miss!”
She finally noted me, offering a single hurried look over her shoulder. It was too dark to clearly make out the colour of her eyes. Still, they settled on me, wide and a little irritated. She took the torch from her mouth. “What?”
“You’re blocking the entire road.”
“Not like I can help it.” Her voice was smooth and crisp. English. She glanced back at the engine that was likely as old as the car.
Fantastic.
“Have you called a tow truck?”
“Nope. One won’t come out on a Sunday. I’ll be as quick as I can.” Right. Water ran off her back in sheets, down her bare legs, soaking her pink cowboy boots. Oh jeez. This girl was more clueless than I was. If I left now, she’d probably stumble through the field, right off the edge of the cliff.
“Guess I’ll call one then.” I yanked my phone from its holder. Kinleith didn’t have a garage, but there was one in a neighbouring village that was sure to be open. Rural as Skye might be, this wasn’t Middle-earth. Rumour had it, the pub in Kinleith now stayed open past nine p.m.
The phone signal was shit all the way out here, and it took a minute for the search results to load.
“Well?” she finally called.
“Closed.” Christ, it was like I’d fallen into a time machine.
“Like I said,” she hummed, not even turning around to speak to me.
“Look, you obviously don’t know what you’re doing,” I said, trying not to sound pissed off at her smug tone. But she was the one holding me up. “Is it worth getting soaked to your skin? Get back in your car, I’ll call you a taxi.” Then I could be on my way, guilt-free.
Apparently, it was, because she ignored me.
I watched as she kept tinkering uselessly. “Look, lass—” I started. The English adored that nickname, didn’t they? Because of that stupid time-travel show.
“Don’t ‘lass’ me, all right, Braveheart? I’m getting really tired of men thinking they can dictate my life, so just keep quiet and enjoy the show.”
Well, colour me fucking told.
Lips pursed, I rolled up the window. Could I really just sit and wait?
The wind tore her hood back, revealing honey-blonde hair that quickly soaked to a dark brown before she yanked it back into place. My fingers twitched toward the door handle.
Don’t do it.
Don’t do it.
Your shoes are Italian leather. Just don’t look.
Then a startled cry left her lips.
“I’m a moron,” I muttered, throwing myself into the driving rain. Mud immediately squelched around my feet. I tried not to wince, grabbing the umbrella from the back seat.
As I got closer, I finally saw that the tiny car was loaded up with bin liners and boxes spilling with clothes. In the front seat, a small girl, no older than my seven-year-old twin nieces, sat quietly in the front seat, playing on an iPad.
Her sister? Cousin?
The woman didn’t seem old enough to have a daughter. Maybe the wee girl was a kidnap victim, and I was about to aid and abet a criminal.
Funnily – or not funnily, I suppose – it wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to me this year.
The tourist was shorter than I expected up close. Her head barely grazing my shoulder as I settled beside her, angling the umbrella to shield us both. “I’ll have a look,” I offered, taking a quick inspection of her.
A thick braid curled over one shoulder, the end disappearing into her jacket. I could only see the lower half of her face beneath the brim of her hood. But it was enough to note her pale skin and full lips that naturally turned up at the corners in a constant smile.
“You know about cars?” she asked
“A little.” Nothing. I wouldn’t have even known that in a tiny car like this, the engine was located in the back. “But I’m a doctor.”
“A doctor of cars?”
Deliberate sarcasm?
“A GP.” The title slipped from my lips. Then I continued like an absolute arsehole, “I could perform an emergency tracheotomy with my eyes closed. How hard can this be?”
She laughed and gestured to the engine. Her teeth glistened perfectly white in the torchlight as she passed it to me.
“Be my guest.” The action made me shiver.
That might have been the rain – I’d forgotten to put on my coat.
Even with the umbrella, the wind whipped rainwater onto my face and it trickled down my back like chilled fingers while I bent over the engine, taking in all the various pipes and cylinders.
It felt like reading a foreign language. One I knew I could get to grips with if given enough time to study. I spoke passable French and Spanish and had taken up German in my free time. I could get a goddamned car running.
The tourist folded her arms, her fingers flicking over her forearms while I studied. I stemmed the urge to reach out and still them.
That is definitely the battery, I mentally ticked off the square black box. I moved the torch beam. And I was sure that other thing was called the alternator, but it was impossible to tell if there was something wrong with it from sight alone.
“Maybe if I google it.” I fumbled for my phone, making a mental note to do some research into cars. I was a fixer by nature. When I came across a problem I couldn’t solve, it consumed me until I put it right.
“Oh my god.” Clearly exasperated, she wedged herself into my space, tangling her hands in the material of my jumper. My pulse jumped. Mouth gasping as she tugged me close enough for the heat of her body to seep into mine and . . . dried her hands on the end of the fabric.
“Hey, do you know how much that cost—”
“Got any water?” Using both hands, she unscrewed the cap of a translucent little reservoir in the centre.
I blinked. Brain stumbling. “In the car.”
“Can I have it?”
“You’re thirsty?”
Her teeth flashed again. She was laughing at me. “It’s for the car.”
I returned in moments, handing over the metal water bottle with the urgency of a man desperately trying to ignore the mud seeping into his socks. She poured it into the reservoir and stepped back.
“How will that help?”
“It’ll cool the engine down,” she said, like she’d done it a thousand times before.
After a minute, the engine stopped steaming and I realised I’d been had. “You never needed any help, did you?”
Her lips twitched. “No. I know a little about cars. Well, this car anyway.” Replacing the cap, she handed the bottle back to me.
I became thankful for the rain; it cooled my burning cheeks. “Why even let me try?”
“I needed to wait for it to cool down enough to get the cap off. And I really needed a good laugh. Your ‘I’m a doctor, how hard can it be’ speech was the most entertainment I’ve had all week.”
Fucking excellent.
“I’m so glad I amuse you.” I ground my teeth together. “You can take it from here?”
“Yep.”
“Wonderful. Kinleith village is in that direction.” I pointed over my shoulder and turned back to my vehicle.
“Hey!” she called after me. I paused, despite myself. “You should give me your number in case I break a nail next time.”
Ha, ha, ha. Who knew the English had jokes? “Have a nice life,” I threw back, dragging my soaking body into the driver’s seat. Not bothering with my seatbelt, I shifted the Land Rover into first gear and half mounted the bank to circle her car.
My shoes squelched against the pedals, definitely ruined. I had a mind to send her a bill. But that would involve seeing her again.
The adjoined cottages sat a few twists and turns down the lane and I pulled up a few minutes later, ignoring my allocated parking space out front and parking on the gravel around the back instead.
Thankful I didn’t have neighbours, I let the SUV idle, trying to trick my brain into mistaking the engine’s quiet rumble for white noise.
Or whale sounds, that was supposed to be relaxing, right?
Mind still churning, I stared at the crooked little structure. No desire to go inside. The lights were off and I’d left the curtains open, the darkened windows gaped back at me like lonely, uninviting voids.
Despite what I’d told Callum, my mind was made up.
I might have ruined things back in Glasgow, but that didn’t make Kinleith my home either.
I didn’t fit here anymore.
I’d get my shit together, sell the surgery Dad had left me, then I’d get out of here.