Chapter 42
“W ait a minute,” Maureen said to Gordon. “How did you get here?”
“In my Range Rover. I’m used to driving over rough terrain.”
“Are you leaving? If so, I want to go with you.”
“Dressed like that? Not that you don’t look bonnie in that dress.”
“Give me five minutes to change my clothes.” Maureen dreaded putting on slacks and a turtleneck. She knew she looked fetching in this dress, but suddenly her looks, her future book, and her career seemed meaningless in comparison with her daughter’s safety. Amanda was probably hiding upstairs in a closet or pulling a prank, her usual routine. Because the girl would do anything for attention. Maureen wondered why that was, but now was not the time to ponder her daughter’s personality quirks.
Maureen turned to Denny. “Are you sure she isn’t hiding somewhere in this hotel?” she asked.
“I haven’t looked in every single room, if that’s what you’re asking.” Denny glanced to Alec. “Want to have one more look in this place?” she asked him.
“Sure, if someone will give me the master keys.” Alec put out a hand to Gordon, who reluctantly gave him a ring of keys. “But let’s face it, how would Amanda get into those rooms without a key?”
“Good question,” Gordon said. “Have you already checked everywhere she could go without a key?”
“As far as I know,” Alec said. “And I can’t imagine she’s hiding outside because it’s biting cold.”
Every head pivoted toward Maureen, who turned off the stovetop, set the frypan aside. All those days and nights she’d been away from her daughter so that she could be a star, so that she could be in the limelight. She felt like a fool.
“If she’s hiding somewhere in the hotel, she will be in so much trouble.” Maureen’s gut told her that Amanda was not anywhere in this building. Maureen knew that she indulged Amanda. Maureen had turned her into a poor little spoiled brat.
Maureen tore off the apron and set it aside. She kicked off her heels, then she sprinted up the stairs and into her room, where she hoped to find Amanda. But no such luck. She wriggled out of her dress, then put on slacks and a turtleneck sweater and her jacket.
Gordon shook his head when he saw her. “Hold on.” He reached into a closet and extracted a fleece-lined rain jacket. “You’d better wear this too. And these Wellies.” He brought out a pair of tall rubber boots. “This closet is where we put all the items left behind by guests.”
Maureen stepped into the boots and wrestled into the jacket. She must look like a goof, but she didn’t care. “Thank you.”
“Now all you need is a hat.” Gordon reached into the closet and pulled out a baseball cap with earflaps.
Maureen hesitated for a moment. She couldn’t imagine who would have worn that hat last or how she’d look. But what did it matter?
She kept thinking that Amanda would pop out from behind a chair, but she didn’t. Raw fear took hold of Maureen. She’d seen on the news and read in newspaper articles about girls being abducted while on vacation, and each time she’d imagined how their parents must have felt. Now she knew. Desperate.
“What if someone calls you while we’re gone?” she asked Gordon.
“I have my cell phone.” He showed it to her. “All charged.”
When they stepped out the front door, Maureen noticed the sky had turned a slate gray. Time had passed. She looped her arm into his to keep her balance. The snow had let up, and her boots slipped on the icy surface. The temperature had plummeted, and the snow had transformed into a sheet of ice. She might as well be ice skating, a skill she’d never mastered.
At that moment, her feet slipped out from under her. She felt Gordon’s strong arm keeping her from falling—also her shoulder wrenching out of its socket. But she didn’t care about the pain. She was grateful. Never had she felt so powerless on her own.
He opened the passenger door of his Range Rover and helped her climb into it, then closed the door after she was safely inside.
A gentleman, she thought, feeling attracted to him despite her trepidation about Amanda’s whereabouts. She knew she needed to focus on her daughter, but she couldn’t help glancing at Gordon. Rugged and fearless. And he owned the hotel, for which she was grateful. She and Amanda might move there forever. Well, maybe not forever.
As Maureen let her thoughts drift, she felt the SUV slide to the left. She loved the feel of it until she glanced over and saw Gordon gripping the steering wheel. His face wore a grimace—the corners of his mouth pulled back and his eyes wide open. A moment later the vehicle took a dip and came to a halt in a ditch. She couldn’t help herself from gasping as Gordon spewed out what must be Scottish swear words because he glanced to her and said, “ Duilich —Sorry.” He gave her another looking over and asked, “Are you alright?”
Maureen did an internal self-examination. “Yes.” But what was he really asking? “Now what?” she said.
“This is but a wee setback. Nothing for you to worry about, lass.”
“But my daughter.”
“Don’t you fret. He hopped out and rounded the rear of the vehicle. He opened the hatchback and pulled out a bag of sand and a shovel.
She should have known he would have thought of everything. “You need help?” she asked, knowing she’d only be in the way.
“No, you sit tight. I’ll handle it.”
Twenty minutes later, after spinning tires and the vehicle’s fishtailing and Gordon digging in the snow, he maneuvered the Land Rover back onto the road. Snow was falling again, blinding Maureen. She feared he’d drive off the road or hit someone.
Through the falling snow, she saw lights. “What’s that?”
“Portree.” He motored toward the light. “Not much open, except my favorite pub.”
Maureen peered out the windshield to see a quaint village cloaked in white.
“The pub’s open.” Gordon’s voice was exuberant. “Let’s stop.”
“No, I need to find my daughter, not dilly-dally,” Maureen said.
“We should stop in ask if anyone has seen her.”
“Oh, right. Good idea.” Surely someone had. Maureen would die if anything bad happened to Amanda. He pulled up in front of the small establishment, rounded the vehicle, and helped her get out. When he opened the pub’s front door, he was met with welcoming voices and a burst of warm air. Gordon seemed to know all of the three dozen or so people perched on stools or crowded into wooden booths.
A large shaggy gray dog lay on the floor near the bar as if a canine in a pub was perfectly normal. Maureen smiled. Denny wasn’t the only one in her family to know about dogs.
She spoke to a fellow sitting on a nearby table. “Is that an Irish wolfhound?”
He screwed up his face and pulled his earlobe as if she were speaking gibberish. “No, ‘tis a Scottish deerhound.”
“Sorry, silly me.” Feeling as though she’d put her foot in her mouth, Maureen backed away and moved toward Gordon, but he didn’t seem to notice her as he waded deeper and deeper into the crowded pub. The air smelled warm and inviting, enticing Maureen to follow him, not that she had a choice. People, their faces ruddy and gleeful, raised glasses to him and offered to buy him a pint of ale. They spoke with a definite accent, reminding Maureen of the few times Lydia had lapsed into Pennsylvania Dutch. On the other side of the world. Maureen felt off kilter.
The temperature in this place was stifling. Maureen longed to shed her outerwear and ridiculous hat, yet she was also determined to find Amanda. But how? She felt helpless, as if the tide had come in to drown her. But she must not be deterred from her quest. Certainly someone would help her. She dared not call James and admit that she’d lost their daughter. There must be a police station nearby. Although she hadn’t seen anyone in uniform.
Gordon finally noticed her and headed her way. “A pint for your lady friend,” an older mustached gentleman with a thick Scottish brogue said to Gordon.
“Good idea,” Gordon said, nearing the bar and resting his elbow on it. “Me? I’ll take a snifter of scotch.”
“Coming right up.” An array of bottles and a wide mirror spread behind the bartender, a balding man wearing a white apron around his waist. Ignoring the dozens of bottles behind him, he reached under the bar and extracted a bottle and then poured amber-colored liquid into a stout stemmed glass for Gordon. “I hide this scotch from the tourists. I save this for my best customers.”
“Hey, I need to find my daughter.” Maureen didn’t care what they were drinking; she wanted no part of their revelry. She had not come here to party. She wished she’d stayed back at the hotel where she was safe.
A man offered Maureen his stool at the bar. “Have a seat lass.”
“No thanks, I won’t be staying here long.”
The bartender turned to Maureen. “Nothing for me, thanks.” She watched the bartender’s hands moving—pouring ale and wine, mixing drinks, and passing them to a waitress carrying a tray. “Is there a police station close by?” Maureen asked.
He frowned and shook his head. “Why would you be asking for a policeman when there’s brew to be had?”
She caught sight of a young woman sitting at the bar with three men speaking to her. At least someone was enjoying themselves. The woman tittered.
“Amanda?” Maureen recognized her daughter’s laughter followed by a man’s beefy chuckle. Maureen whipped around to see Amanda sipping a drink two stools away. What on earth? Amanda was drinking red wine?
Maureen garnered the bartender’s attention by waving her hands. “Hey, what’s the legal age for drinking in Scotland?”
“Eighteen. Unless eating a meal with their parents.”
“That young woman is fourteen.” Maureen pointed at her daughter, who was wearing enough makeup to hide her age. “Did you ask for her ID?”
“No, because she looked older than that.”
Maureen swiveled her head around to evaluate the young woman, but she was gone. Had Maureen imagined seeing her? No, her daughter had no doubt spotted Maureen and then ducked out of sight. Unless another young woman had found the same bottle of redhead color at a drugstore.
Maureen knew it was her own fault for catering to Amanda her whole life, but she feared her daughter had accepted a ride from a stranger. Now what? Maureen imagined all the horrible scenarios. She felt powerless. And angry. Why hadn’t Gordon stayed close? She wondered if she could trust him with anything. She recalled when she was in high school. Her parents had been furious when she’d accepted a ride home from a teacher, who had never made one move on her or said anything inappropriate. But now she understood how her parents had felt.
Maureen’s gaze canvased the bustling room until they came to rest on Gordon. She leapt off the stool and ran over to him.
“Maureen, my dear,” he said, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She could barely get the words out. “Did you see my daughter?” she asked.
“What does she look like?”
She spoke as loudly as she could to be heard above the din. “Red hair.” All conversation around her stopped for a moment, then several people chuckled.
He grinned. “Many a Scottish lass has red hair.”
“Bright red. Like a fire engine. If fire engines are even red in Scotland.”
The room erupted into laughter and gaiety. Maureen felt herself weaken as the crowd of strangers pressed in. She didn’t belong here.