Chapter One #2
“No one will lose anyone, my own. We have the magic of love on our side.”
*
Nashville, Tennessee
Late September 2026
“Come on, Mac.” Evie Waterton adjusted her dispatch headset and settled in to charm the road-weary freight driver on the line until he gave in and took one last extra haul to finish out the week.
“This load’s not so bad, and it’ll put you into bonus miles for a third straight week.
Christmas shopping starts soon. Didn’t you tell me that little Macky-man wants one of those fancy drones this year? Those things are pricey, you know.”
“You gonna explain to Mary Beth why I’m not home till Saturday instead of Friday?”
“I’ll take care of it with Mary Beth, and I’ve already got one of your favorite pickups assigned for late Tuesday, so you don’t lose any home time with your family.”
“I wouldn’t do this for nobody but you, Evie.
You know that, right?” Mac groaned out a heavy sigh as the background noise told Evie that the eighteen-wheeler was slowing for heavy traffic, an off-ramp, or maybe a little relief at a truck stop.
Mac was due for some downtime before he picked up his next load.
“You’re the best, Mac.” And Evie meant every word. “Get some rest. I really appreciate you.”
“Talk to you later, kid, and don’t let them make you work again this weekend. It ain’t fair, you working every weekend so everyone else but you gets a social life.”
“Talk to you later, Mac. Got another call. Be safe.” Oddly enough, she didn’t have any other calls.
She just didn’t want to tell the fatherly driver that she’d already agreed to cover the weekend shift—again.
She needed the money. Bills didn’t care if she had a social life.
Besides, it wasn’t like she had any close family or a boyfriend or anything.
She snorted a laugh. She didn’t even have so much as a goldfish.
Turning her attention to the closest of the eight monitors used to keep track of her team of drivers and their routes, she clicked on her least-favorite icon.
Time to check emails for any last-minute hot loads and review next week’s deliveries that might already be filtering into the system for assignment.
“Seriously?” She hovered her pointer over the same urgent email she’d sent to her spam folder at least a bazillion times, both in her personal and work email.
She blocked the latest address the sender had used to get into her inbox.
Whoever the scammer was, they were persistent.
She’d give them that. But how stupid did they think she was?
There was no way on God’s green earth that she’d won an all-expenses-paid, first-class trip to Craig Durness, Scotland, for an entire month.
She hadn’t entered their sweepstakes. Hadn’t even heard of it.
This was a load of hooey that stank to the high heavens.
She was half tempted to reply just to see how much money they’d try to weasel out of her for their so-called processing fees.
A knock on her apartment’s front door interrupted her before she acted on the temptation.
She hopped up, hoping it was the pizza she’d ordered for supper tonight, tomorrow night, and however many other nights the slices of the extra-large with everything but anchovies lasted.
She’d discovered that stretching takeout orders over several days kept her extremely tight grocery budget realistic and doable.
Buying the ingredients to cook meals for one was expensive.
A glance at her phone to check the video of who waited on the other side of the door not only dashed her hopes for supper but also confused her.
A young, dark-haired guy in a gray, nondescript uniform, looking as though he wished he were anywhere but in her hallway, impatiently tapped his thumb on the screen of a handheld computer while fanning himself with a large cardboard envelope.
“Just wedge it in the crack of the door,” she told him through the app on her phone. Better safe than sorry.
He leaned forward and talked directly into her doorbell. “International registered delivery. I need a signature.”
International registered delivery? That stopped her in her tracks.
Mentally running through her debts, she frowned at the door as if that would let her see through it and into the envelope.
She’d paid everything due and even had a little left over this month, thanks to all the overtime she’d worked.
And besides, she didn’t owe anyone overseas.
Or, at least, she didn’t think she did. Unless one of her lenders had sold her loans to a third party that wasn’t stateside.
But could that even happen? Her student loans were federal, and her car note had been through a local bank for years. Maybe one of her credit cards?
“Well,” she said under her breath, “there’s only one way to find out.” With her trusty baseball bat and pepper spray at the ready beside the door, she opened it just enough to sign the courier’s handheld and take the envelope from him. “Thanks.”
“You bet.” He turned and left without bothering to make eye contact.
After securing the series of deadbolts, which made her feel a little better about renting a place in a sometimes questionable neighborhood, she leaned back against the door and carefully opened the certified packet, bracing herself for the worst. With it gingerly pinched between her forefinger and thumb, she pulled the cover letter out of the cardboard sleeve as if it might explode at any moment.
Two words leapt off the top half of the page, making her yank it out the rest of the way and stare at it. There, in black and white—well, actually in a fancy royal-blue-and-gold letterhead with a sketch of a lovely, bucolic village—was printed: Craig Durness, Scotland awaits ye.
“Wow.” It was the only word that came to mind.
The paper was heavy stock. Expensive stuff.
If this were a scam, the Tourism Council of Craig Durness was going all out to be convincing.
And registered mail from the U.K.? How costly was that?
It read just like the emails, stressing that she’d won a month’s vacation in Craig Durness—all on their dime.
Not hers. Airfare. Lodging. Food. Even a weekly stipend for souvenirs or anything else she might like to purchase while she was there.
She slowly lowered herself onto the couch and read the letter twice more.
A month in Scotland. Free. All she needed to do was confirm that she could arrive within their window of October 10th through the 15th and stay for the full thirty days.
It almost read as though once she agreed, she couldn’t back out or leave early to return home.
“Why are the thirty days so important? There’s something weird about this.
” She returned to her desk and started scouring the internet for anything and everything she could find on Craig Durness.
She’d not bothered with it when she’d received the emails, thinking them some sort of phishing scheme—and she’d definitely not risked clicking on any of their links.
A few sites mentioned the village but didn’t go into much detail. Every description hit the same points: quaint, peaceful, relaxing, a step back in time. Scrolling down the list of search results, she finally spotted Craig Durness’s own website.
“Y’all need to work on optimizing your site so it shows up higher in search results,” she told the link as she clicked on it. As the page loaded, revealing pristine hills of luscious green framed with dusky blue mountains in the distance, she couldn’t help but smile. “Well, aren’t you pretty?”
It was so clean—as if people hadn’t had a chance to spoil it yet. The sky was the clearest blue she’d ever seen, and the shops and buildings were almost sparkling white, with colorful doors and window trimmings filled with flower boxes bursting with blooms.
“Oakchest Teas and Trinkets.” She clicked on that link and smiled at the combination teashop-bookshop cluttered with unique items that would be difficult to dust. A minimalist at heart, Evie didn’t mind admiring things from afar, then going home to a sparse apartment that was easy to keep clean.
The Haggis and Hound Pub looked cozy and warm with a roaring fire in the hearth, dark wood paneling, and a well-stocked bar. Wee Sundries and Such appeared to be a corner grocery, and Ironsunder’s Apothecary looked like a combination pharmacy-herbalist shop.
Craig Durness seemed to be exactly as all the sites had described: quaint, relaxing, a step back to a simpler time.
“Almost too perfect,” she told the letter beside her keyboard. “There has to be a catch.”
She considered herself an upbeat, positive sort, but a girl had to be careful about being too trusting.
She eyed the phone number on the letter.
Speaking to a human would help her know for sure.
A person’s tone revealed a lot about them—even if they were putting on an act.
She prided herself on being a good judge of character and able to sort the wheat from the chaff after a few minutes of conversation.
With a decisive nod, she tapped the number into her phone and braced herself.
“Craig Durness Tourism,” answered a deep, gravelly voice that sounded more like a guttural growl than a natural tone. “How can I be helping ye?”
“Hi, this is Evie Waterton. I received a registered packet regarding a free month-long stay at Craig Durness. I’m calling for more information?”
“Well, hello to ye, Miss Evie Waterton!” The man’s voice changed pitch, brightening like a chorus of happy church bells ringing out good news. “We’ve been trying to reach ye. What information can I be telling ye that will bring ye to our lovely town? Can I help ye complete yer travel arrangements?”
“I didn’t enter your sweepstakes.” Might as well make it clear that she was no fool to be hooked and reeled in like an unsuspecting fish.
“Aye?” The man appeared to be waiting for her to continue.