What Lies Between Read online

  “Bring a small bag, and I’ll pick you up at six.”

  “Six tomorrow morning? Is it too late to say no?”

  “You can manage. And throw in some food.” Ben turned to leave, then wheeled around. “You should know you’ll be in the same bed and breakfast as me. The guests will be staying in a different place.”

  “We have our own rooms, right?” I asked in mock suspicion.

  “No, I assumed we’d share.” He gave me a quizzical look. “Is that a problem? You would have your own bed, of course.”

  I crossed my arms, narrowed my eyes in a stern warning, and pursed my lips in defiance.

  He laughed. “Of course, you’ll have your own room. Och, Ellie, you’re safe with me.”

  Obviously I am safe with you, but do I want to be?

  I glanced over at the alarm clock and bolted upright, the faint memory of hitting the snooze button more than once coming into focus. Leaping out of bed, I grabbed items I’d meant to gather up the night before and threw them into my pack in between yanking on various pieces of clothing and brushing my teeth. I’d hauled everything to the foyer just as two short beeps announced Ben’s arrival, prompt at six.

  After opening the front door, I bent to retrieve my pack, bag of food, water bottle, and rubber boots, just in case. My hiking shoes were still damp and wouldn’t fare well if the trip dumped loads of rain. A last-minute panic started me rummaging in the pocket of my pack to confirm I had stuck in some British money when a scuff of shoes on gravel caught my attention.

  My eyes were greeted with a sight I wasn’t expecting—heavily worn leather hiking boots, thick wool socks pushed down to their tops, sinewy calves leading to muscular knees, a tooled leather purse strategically draped down the center of a green and black plaid kilt. A black thermal shirt hugged every muscle of the man’s athletic upper body.

  I instantly understood the dreamy look on Kami’s face, couldn’t imagine any woman, or man, being immune. Despite the jokes of guy friends back in the States, a kilt hardly qualified as a skirt. Whether because of history, tradition, symbolism, or the confidence of the Scotsman wearing it, what stood in front of me punched another level of masculinity. I’d never personally seen a man in a kilt and had discounted Kami’s starry-eyed ravings as a bit dramatic; I had thought it would be nothing more than kitsch, but I admit when I’m wrong. And holy schnikey, I was wrong by a prairie mile.

  Standing to my full five feet seven, I forced a nonchalant expression, a ridiculously wasted effort. Ben strode toward me, kilt swishing behind with theatrical effect.

  “Good morning, ready for a Highland adventure?”

  If not for what appeared to be a genuinely oblivious look on his face, I would swear the man was the master of the double entendre. “Of course,” I replied, stifling a chuckle.

  The conversation of the day before had faded along with my frustration and we fell into a comfortable banter; an observer might assume Ben and I had known each other for months rather than a couple of days. A tentative friendship had started, but I still wasn’t sure about him. Being around Ben was beginning to make me feel as Glenbroch did—peaceful and wildly unsettled at the same time.

  It was too early in the morning to be chatty, and my initial rush at seeing Ben in his Highland glory subsided as fatigue threatened to close my eyes in spite of the beautiful drive through Kintail. I couldn’t get my days and nights straightened out. Just as well I was half asleep, since looking at Ben was plain ridiculous. No one should look that good in a kilt—or in anything.

  Ben turned onto an intersecting road. “We’ll follow the shore of Loch Ness most of the way up the Great Glen. Keep your eyes open. You might be the one to get lucky.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

  “Nessie, right? Do you believe she exists?” I asked.

  He tossed me a sideways glance before returning his attention to the narrow, twisty road. “Don’t you?”

  My laughter faded quickly. He was serious. “Only that the Loch Ness Monster is a great hoax. Why not make the most of it? I suppose it doesn’t do any harm.”

  “When I was a bairn, my father would take me fishing out on the loch and scare me with stories. Once he scared me so bad I peed myself. He thought it was hilarious and told everyone at the pub. I never fished with him again.”

  I covered my surprise at Ben’s unabashed revelation. “Did he apologize?”

  “My dad?” Ben let out a derisive snort. “I’ve never seen my father apologize for anything, ever.”

  “What’s it like between you now?”

  “He never did think much of the tour operation and wanted me to settle back here. He has his view of the world. Makes sure everybody knows his opinion about anything and everything. I got tired of fighting about the tour company every time I came home and sold my share to Ewan.”

  “Sad that you felt you had to sell your business. But now you work with wood. That’s cool. I enjoy restoring old furniture. It’s not the same as what I’ve seen of your craftsmanship by any means, but it’s taught me to appreciate the skill it takes to create beautiful woodwork.” A sudden wave of shyness turned my gaze away and to the view out the window.

  “Working with wood is a great job, I think. I’d be called a joiner—same as your carpenter. The work is practical and straightforward. But I’d rather be out on the road showing people the country I love than putting up with my father’s bloody god complex.”

  The tension in Ben’s body spilled from his pores, filling the truck’s cab and threatening to blow out the windows, motivating me to change the subject. “Still, it must have been such a gift, growing up here,” I said, studying the side of his face.

  He looked over at me, anger set firm in his features. “I’m sure all of this looks great to an outsider, but nothing comes without a price.”

  The ferocity of his tone unnerved me and my head jerked back in surprise. “Excuse me for thinking that you had a good life. I would have traded you,” I bellowed.

  He sucked in a deep breath and his shoulders relaxed a tad, but his scowl didn’t recede. “Right. It wasn’t anything like yours, but you don’t know what you’re saying all the same.”

  “Just forget it,” I spat out, turning my face back to the window.

  An uneasy silence filled the space between us, but the beauty surrounding the small truck worked away on my sour mood. As the truck followed the curving shoreline of Loch Ness, the tension between us slowly evaporated.

  Ben pointed to his right. “Keep your eyes open for Urquhart Castle on this road. A ruin, but still impressive.” His tone sounded conciliatory, obviously wanting to put the tension to rest without directly talking about it. I couldn’t get a handle on him. He was so easy to be around at times, while other times things unspoken simmered under the surface, waiting to explode.

  I wasn’t looking for a fight with a man I barely knew. Unable to smother a yawn, I mumbled, “I need coffee, buckets of it.”

  “Aye, it’s too early, but the group is scheduled to be at the pickup point in Inverness at half eight. I needed a cushion in case we ran into any problems.”

  “Not complaining, just saying I could do with another coffee,” I half-grumbled, belying my words.

  “I have a thermos in my pack, but it’s instant.” He flung a playful smirk in my direction.

  My face screwed up in disdain. “No thanks. I’ll take foggy brain for now and get a proper coffee in Inverness.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Silence fell between us once again as I turned my attention to the view. Far from dark and foreboding, Loch Ness sparkled in the patches of sun streaming through ragged holes punched out of the shroud of clouds. The slight air of mystery it managed was due to mist hugging the green hills on the opposite shore.

  I sat taller in my seat to better glimpse the castle ruin jutting out on the edge of the loch. “I wonder what life was like then. I guess they didn’t have the monster hype and the loch was simply pretty and serene.”

 
“Less peaceful than you might imagine. Castles were often built this way, at the edge of the water, for protection. Most had their share of invaders. Scotland didn’t get its reputation for war and conflict without cause.”

  Soon we reached the outskirts of Inverness. Ben pulled into a drive behind a house and parked next to a Mercedes passenger van. “We’ll park the truck here and drive the van up to the meeting location, next to the river.”

  We transferred our gear and a few minutes later pulled to a stop near the foot of a busy four-lane bridge arching over a wide rush of water.

  “Here we are. That’s the River Ness there. If you’re back up here sometime, take a walk through the wee islands in the middle, farther down.” He pointed to his right. “They’re connected to each other and both banks by footbridges and you can take a relaxing stroll through them on a nice day.”

  “I’ve never seen a place like this—a castle watching over the city, steeples of old churches lining the river, Highland hills rolling along the horizon. I’m enchanted, I have to admit. I definitely would like to spend more time here.”

  “Once you’re comfortable driving, you can visit anytime. The cafés are across the bridge in the city centre. You have thirty minutes to get your coffee.”

  “Do you want some?”

  “My good old cheap stuff suits me fine.” He lifted the thermos and raised his eyebrow in a gesture of superiority. “Low maintenance.”

  “Too bad. High maintenance is much more interesting.” I turned, hiding the sly smile I couldn’t suppress.

  “Is it now?” he murmured.

  I was sure his eyes followed me as I strutted away. Scotland was more interesting than I’d imagined, and Calum was right—I needed to relax and explore before hitting all the work ahead. Joining this tour couldn’t have been a better decision; I would get to know the area, and it was the distraction I needed from the stress of the past several weeks.

  Hurrying back across the bridge, cappuccino and scone in hand, I could see five tourists encircling Ben. The seven of us would be together in a small van for the better part of three days. I had conveniently forgotten that the tour was with a group of strangers. This could either be a nice time full of lovely memories or the kind of nightmare that inspired people to write epic blog posts deriding the experience as the worst thing they’d ever done and swearing off tours forever.

  Ben introduced me as his apprentice-in-training. Chiding myself for having too much skepticism and with my freshly caffeinated exuberance kicking in, I extended my hand to each of my fellow passengers in an enthusiastic greeting. The last woman I met clasped my hand in both of hers. She had a meticulous kind of beauty with a perfectly polished and capped smile frozen on her face.

  The woman scanned me up and down. Her pale blonde hair, bronzed skin, and expensive clothes hugging perfectly formed curves couldn’t have been more different from my mess of brown waves, a body with not much in the way of curves except for the slope of my nose, and pale skin that didn’t understand a thing about tanning. I had grown to appreciate having girl-next-door looks and a lean physique that served me well in sports, but this woman’s ballsy assessment stopped me short. To make matters worse, I had to look up to meet her eyes, and I was on the tall side.

  “My name is Shayne, nice to meet you. Crazy a cheerleader from Texas would be this far from home, but here I am. You said your name was what?”

  Her face relaxed with the confidence of a woman who has sized you up and decided you’re not worthy competition, and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or offended. Forcing a smile onto my face, I withdrew my hand. “I didn’t say. I’m Ellie. We’d better load up.”

  Shayne reminded me of two people I never wanted to see again: my ex-boyfriend’s baby mama, Courtney, and Malika, the resident kleptomaniac in my second foster home.

  Allowed to bring a few personal items when I was first taken into foster care, I chose to bring Buddy, the sock monkey my parents had given me the Christmas before they died. Two days after I got there, Buddy disappeared. I was sure Malika had taken him. My foster parents believed her denials and punished me for lying. Her angelic face made people believe the words that came out of her mouth.

  Child Services came to move Malika to a new home, and we were all rounded up to say goodbye. Malika held up Buddy in the rearview window, a wicked grin on her beautiful face. I couldn’t look away, caught in her triumphant glare until the car turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

  Courtney was nearly Shayne’s doppelganger with the airbrushed, perfect beauty and entitled arrogance. Courtney hadn’t been satisfied with just having Matt; she’d ground the loss into me, sending a letter full of intimate details about their affair and making sure it arrived on my birthday. Letters seldom brought good news into my life. I spent my birthday driving to the lake and sat in the car until the sun came up the next day. Then I drove home and kicked Matt out of the house.

  “You work with our guide, right?” Shayne shrilled. “Would you get my luggage? Be real careful, now, with my leopard-skin bag. I’m sure it cost more than you can afford to pay if you damage it.”

  I sucked in a long breath and let out an equally long groan.

  Shayne.

  I had a feeling this would be my one-word response to anyone asking how my tour had gone.

  5

  Even though my brain understood my overreaction to Shayne, I couldn’t help but be annoyed by her snobbish demeanor. And where had Ben’s gallantry gone? He hadn’t offered to pick up her luggage, leaving me to lug it into the van. He was probably basking in her attention. Clearly time to practice my relaxation breaths—I had come on this tour to see the Highlands and didn’t need to get worked up over other people’s behavior.

  Then right on cue, Shayne slid her national television-worthy rear end into the front seat, staking her territory next to Ben. The moment threw me back in school in an instant, the strange, quiet girl sitting on the outside looking in at all the cool kids. It wasn’t easy shaking the lousy past out of my system; I never could get it to leave completely. But I refused to let my history get the best of me.

  “Hope it’s all right to sit up here with you, Ben,” Shayne purred. “I’m afraid I’ll get carsick if I sit back there.”

  “No bother. Suits me fine,” Ben replied.

  I bet it did. Shayne’s short skirt and floppy sandals would make for interesting hiking, or maybe not. It looked like Ben wouldn’t mind pitching her over his shoulder firefighter-style and carrying her up and down the hills.

  Wanting as far away from the front as I could get, I climbed into the van’s third row; the woman who had introduced herself as Li climbed in beside me. Li said she was a teacher from China who lived in London with her husband and kids and needed a break. She started telling me a story of hectic London life, providing a welcome distraction from my unwanted imaginings about what was going on in the front seat.

  Karen and Bill, a couple from Illinois, settled into the second row, and Todd, an Australian who gave a rundown of his Scottish roots, grabbed the spot next to them. Bill announced he would share after Todd, apparently having decided each of us needed to provide a brief bio and declare why we were visiting Scotland. I hated this sort of thing. I’d reached my lifetime limit of circle sharing by age nine. How did I feel? How was it going with my new family? What issues was I burying?

  “I sold my company . . . we sold our company,” Bill corrected after an intense stare from Karen, “for enough money we can travel the world for, how many years did you figure, Karen, twenty? Nah, I’m joshing. We figured we could go for sixty-two years and three months, isn’t that right, honey? And first class too! Scientists need to determine how to keep us alive that long.”

  Bill didn’t wait for Karen to comment; his vigorous laughter and jiggling belly turned the entire van into a giant vibrator chair.

  Shayne’s high-pitched laugh, at either Bill or whatever conversation she and Ben were having, carried to the rear. Todd elbowed i
nto their discussion, sticking his head in between them and spreading his arms out in an effort to catch Shayne’s attention by taking up space, with no success. Shayne’s eyes and lashes and body were honed in on Ben.

  Groups. Enough said.

  Huge beads of rain plopped on the windshield before we had gotten outside the Inverness city limits. In seconds it blanketed our windows, a never-ending carwash. Instead of the Highland scenery, we would only be able to see each other for far too many miles.

  “We’re crossing over a sea inlet, the Moray Firth, home of a large school of bottlenose dolphins,” Ben said. “On a clearer day, you could probably spot a few. You won’t be able to see much of the Black Isle on the other side of the bridge either. It’s not what its name implies; it’s not an island, and it’s mostly green. Its name comes from its fertile soil. On a less Scottish day, you’d see the loads of Highland farms in the area.”

  The others laughed. I didn’t. I’d inherited the weather along with my new home and didn’t know what it would be like over the course of a year. Hopefully the weather wouldn’t live up to the reputation Calum and Ben gave it.

  Not being able to see anything out of the windows left me feeling claustrophobic, made worse by Bill and Todd’s nonstop chatter and Shayne’s annoying laughter at pretty much anything Ben said.

  I looked from person to person, studying them, taking apart their features, their sounds, the rise of a brow, curve of a mouth. These people possessed breath and life in the cells of their bodies. They had choices. They had time. They were here, unlike some. My father. My parents. My “almost dad,” Alan. Who was alive and who wasn’t felt unfair and random, and banged up against the bizarrely remote chance that this group, each of us, would end up in this small van on this rainy day attempting to see the sights in a country other than our own . . . and our only view would be of each other.

  It started without warning. The laughing, then snorting and sucking in loud inhales like a dying seal. I couldn’t stop even when everyone ceased talking and turned to look at me. The laughter welled up from my belly, deeper even than that, and bent me sideways in the seat—the only direction my body could go in the compact van—and I rolled over onto Li. Couldn’t be helped. I lay nearly in her lap. Our eyes met. Then she started laughing. We leaned on each other, roaring, red-faced, tears streaming, until, miles later, we sobered up.