Highlander for the Holidays (14 page)

“Okay, then,” he said, turning to set them on the groomer’s track. “So tell me, how much are you liking that MacKeage fella, anyway?” he asked, rummaging through the pile of scarves. He looked over his shoulder when she didn’t answer, and frowned. “I’m only asking so I’ll know which one of these I’m needing to give you.”

“Thank you, but I’m good,” she said, bending to grab Toby’s leash. She slowly started backing away, deciding she’d better leave before Roger finished unloading all of his wares on her. “I just ordered a fleece scarf from the L.L.Bean catalog. It should be delivered in a few days.”

Roger turned to her, his hands on his hips and a scarf dangling from one of his fists. “What color is it?”

“White. And I also ordered a pair of matching mittens. Really, the walking stick is more than enough.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “And besides, all I’ve got left to barter are my house keys, a roll of orange tape, and my cell phone.”

That perked him up. “Ye got one of them newfangled phones that’ll let a person go on the Internet from almost anywhere? One with a screen that works off the heat of your finger, that ain’t got no buttons?”

Good Lord, the man appeared positively eager. “I’m not trading you my phone,” she said with a laugh. She started backing up again, wondering if she should continue to the main road or just go home so he couldn’t ambush her again on her way back. “But I’ll bring my wallet with me next time and
buy
a scarf from you.”

“I don’t got no need for money. But I sure could use me a cell phone.”

She stopped retreating. “But you do need money to buy service for the phone.”

He smiled. “Not if a fella knows how to harness what can’t be seen, he don’t.” He waved at the sky. “The air’s full of all sorts of energy, so I can just borrow some of it from any one of them blasted towers they’ve put up all over the place.”

“But that’s stealing. You have to
pay
for the energy coming from those towers.”

He folded his arms over his chest and rested his weight back on his hips. “My my, ain’t we little miss Goody Two-shoes all of a sudden.”

Okay, now this crazy conversation was deteriorating to name-calling. Jessie wasn’t actually afraid of Roger, considering Toby was lying at her feet calmly nosing her new walking stick, but really, little miss Goody Two-shoes? “Do you live around here?” she asked again.

“More or less,” he said with a nod. “Why?”

“Well, I was just wondering why you didn’t set up your wares on the main road where there’s actual traffic?”

“Because then that sneaky bastard Jack Stone might catch me.”

Jessie tugged on Toby’s leash to get him to stand up, and started walking backward again when Roger started toward her—only to stop when she saw a look of desperation wash over his face.

“If’n you don’t want any of my scarves,” he said softly, using the one he was holding to weakly gesture behind him, “then maybe I could interest you in a sturdy pot. It’s perfectly seasoned, and has cooked up many a fine venison roast and rabbit stew.”

Oh God, the poor man was lonely. “How about if I come back tomorrow, and I’ll bring something to barter with for the pot? And I’ll also bring my friend, and we’ll check out all of your wares and see what else I might need. Are you going to be set up here all week, Roger?” She smiled warmly. “I’m certain Merissa would like one of your scarves, and she’s really into antique books.”

His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “It’s gonna be storm’n something fierce tomorrow,” he muttered, walking back to the groomer. But then he suddenly changed direction and strode directly up to her and held out the scarf. “I don’t want you catching your death ’cause I took your old scarf before your new one gets delivered, so you take this one for now and we’ll settle up later.”

Jessie sighed in defeat and took it from him, then transferred Toby’s leash to her hand holding her stick so she could drape the scarf around her neck. “It really is beautiful. In fact, I like it a lot more than the one I ordered.”

His smile returned and he nodded. “That’s because them red and green and lavender stripes on that field of gray speaks to your woman’s heart.” His eyes took on a twinkle. “Those particular colors carry a mighty powerful promise, Jessie. Now,” he suddenly barked out, rubbing his hands together. “About that seasoned pot.”

Jessie stifled a groan. “Really, Roger,” she said through a forced smile—that he didn’t even see because he was already heading back to the groomer. Jessie followed, determined to get her point across. “There’s no way I can carry that large pot home today, but I promise I’ll come back tomorrow in my car.”

“No need,” he said, opening the door on the groomer. He reached inside and began wrestling something out from behind the seat. “I got just the thing for you,” he continued with a strained grunt.

Jessie had to scramble out of the way when Roger staggered backward under the weight of a wooden wagon nearly twice as large as Walker’s. “Roger, be careful!” she yelped, grabbing his arm to steady him.

He set the wagon on the ground between them and straightened with a scowl. “I might be old, but until the day I’m push’n up posies, I don’t need coddling by no weak-kneed woman.” He grabbed the cast-iron pot and plopped it in the wagon. “There, now you can take it home, no problem.”

Jessie started backing up again, only she didn’t get two steps away because Toby seemed more interested in sniffing the pot than following her. “Toby, come,” she said, giving his leash a tug.

“See?” Roger said. “The big fella also wants you to have the pot.”

How in hell had she gotten herself into this predicament ? And more importantly, how was she going to get herself out of it? “But I told you, I have nothing left to barter.”

“Ye still got one of them cell phones, don’t you?”

Jessie slapped a hand over her pocket. “I’m not giving you my phone!”

“Why in tarnation not?” He folded his arms over his barrel chest again. “If’n you did, it would stop all those pesky calls you keep getting from everyone asking if you’ve come to your senses yet.”

Jessie went perfectly still. “How would you know people have been calling and asking me that?”

“Well now, maybe ’cause you’re a single woman hell-bent on moving here all by yourself? What else they gonna ask you?”

“You don’t know that I moved here by myself,” she said, growing truly alarmed.

“I told you I ain’t push’n up posies yet, but now you’re thinking my ears don’t work, either? Everyone within fifty miles of here knows that a big-time advertising executive named Jessie Pringle, recently of
Georgia
, just bought Megan and Jack Stone’s house.”

Jessie released her breath, finally realizing why Roger had set up his little display on her road. The cunning old goat had even risked being caught by Jack Stone, Pine Creek’s chief of police, in order to barter his wares to the new girl in town. She gave him a warm smile, nodding in acquiescence. “Guilty as charged. So tell me, what’s the word going around town as to
why
I’ve moved here?”

Roger folded his arms again and rubbed his beard, his answering smile somewhat smug. “Well now, I do believe something powerfully strong was pushing ye out of Georgia.” He arched a brow. “Or should I say something even stronger was
pulling
you north.”

Jessie went back to being alarmed.

“It’s not going to work, you know,” he continued quietly, dropping his arms to his sides. “Not as long as you persist in believing this is something you can do alone. It’s not enough to move here merely hoping all this powerful energy will help you remember what happened that night, Jessie; any more than hiding up on his mountain is helping Ian forget. Healing one’s self is nearly impossible—and far less rewarding—compared to the magic that’s created when two souls combine their strengths and heal together.”

Jessie stood perfectly still, utterly speechless. There was no way this crazy old man could know what she’d hoped to accomplish by coming here, much less that she’d spent the last four years trying to remember what had happened that night. And what did he mean that Ian was hiding, trying to forget? Forget what?

“You answered your heart’s call to rejoin the stream of life, Jessie,” Roger continued softly. “But for you to fully reincarnate, I’m afraid you’re going to have to allow yourself to be vulnerable again.” His eyes shone with tender warmth. “Ye have my word, lass, that if you find the courage to grasp the hand being offered, you’ll not only heal yourself, but also the one extending that hand—which you will then have the privilege to still be holding long into old age.”

Fighting the fear threatening to immobilize her, Jessie somehow managed to respond to Toby’s sudden insistence that she move and allowed him to lead her down the road toward home.

“I would also warn you to be mindful whose hand it is that you grasp, Jessie,” Roger quietly continued behind her, “and that you carefully weigh what both men are offering, because neither of them is quite what he seems.”

Jessie silently walked toward the curve in the road, not daring to look back.

“I’m sorry to have scared you, lass,” Roger called after her. “Because my honest intention today was only to warn you of the danger you’re still facing, and of the decision you must make as to where you place your trust.”

Jessie tried throwing the walking stick in the ditch the moment she rounded the curve, but her fingers were frozen so tight she couldn’t let go. So she picked up her pace now that she was out of Roger’s sight, and concentrated only on setting one foot in front of the other on the frozen dirt road.

“You’ll be okay if you keep listening to your heart, Jessie,” he continued, his voice growing distant, “and you have the courage to embrace the magic.”

Jessie didn’t know who was more surprised, she or Toby, when she suddenly broke into a run. And almost as if her feet had sprouted wings, they covered the distance home in what seemed like only a heartbeat. She dropped Toby’s leash and pulled off her glove to fish her keys out of her pocket as she rushed onto her porch. It took her several tries to fit the key in the lock because she was shaking so badly, and after a frantic glance up the road, Jessie finally stepped into the house behind Toby, slammed the door shut, and threw the dead bolt.

She slowly backed to the center of the room, her chest heaving painfully as she unbuttoned her coat, only to clip herself in the chin with the walking stick. Taking a calming breath, she forced her fingers to relax enough to drop it and then flinched when the stick clattered to the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the empty house like gunshots.

She shed her remaining glove and coat and the scarf Roger had given her as she continued backing toward the woodstove. “Toby, come,” she whispered, collapsing onto his bed beside the hearth. Sitting with her back pressed against the wall, Jessie held out trembling hands to Toby, who was standing in the center of the room straddling the walking stick, staring at her quizzically. “C-come, Toby. Safe place.”

He picked up the stick in his mouth, then padded over and dropped it in her lap, causing Jessie to suck in her breath at the feel of its weight on her thighs. “No, I don’t want it,” she said, pushing it away. She held her hands out again. “Toby, come. I need you to keep me safe.”

The dog placed his front paws on his bed and lazily stretched backward, then lay down and rested his head on her legs with a heavy sigh.

She lifted his snout to make him look at her. “Are you trying to tell me that I’m
not
going to have a flashback?”

Toby licked her fingers and pulled free, gave a huge yawn, then rolled onto his side with another heavy sigh and rested his head on her thigh again.

Jessie took a shuddering breath, fighting back tears. “But I could feel it,” she whispered, running a trembling hand over his shoulder. “I saw the dark curtain descending when Roger started talking about that night as if . . . as if he
knew
. But he couldn’t; nobody around here knows what happened in Atlanta.”

She stared at the stick lying half on the bed and half on the floor, and realized that Toby had also felt its vibration. But it was wood, not metal; a branch off a tree or even a young sapling that Roger had cut and peeled and sanded smooth. So how could it have given her a shock, and why had she felt a gentle hum when she’d held it?

Unless . . . well, rubbing a balloon on wool created static electricity, and balloons certainly weren’t made of metal. And her coat was wool, as was the scarf Roger had given her. And the air had been quite dry lately, she’d noticed, making her hair fill with static whenever she brushed it.

Jessie finally started to relax, and she even smiled when she touched the walking stick with the toe of her boot and didn’t feel anything. It was just an ordinary piece of wood, not some magical conductor of energy that had traveled clear across the universe and had patiently been waiting for her to come here and claim it.

Releasing another deep breath that left her feeling totally drained and utterly boneless, Jessie started to lie down on the doggy bed next to Toby. But she suddenly bolted upright again, realizing that she still hadn’t explained how Roger knew there even
was
something she was trying to remember. And why had he said that two men were extending a hand for her to grasp? Which two? Was Ian one of them, maybe? But who was the other one?

And what had Roger meant when he said neither man was quite what he seemed?