Page 24 of Madly Deeply

"Give her time, love. If it's meant to be..."

"Aye." He glanced toward Alexandra's house, wondering if she could see him pacing his wide porch like a lovesick teenager. Then a thought struck and he stood stock still. "What if I've imagined it all. What if she isnae meant for me a' tall? What if I'm supposed to meet someone else? Besides, Gran, ye should see her. Then ye'd ken she's completely out of m' league."

"Dinna fash, love. It's too soon to ken such things. Follow yer heart." She sighed loudly into the phone. "And Christmas or not, Callum Fraser, dinnae come home alone, do ye hear?" Then she hung up.

He might have felt bad had she not started laughing before the line cut off. He was fairly certain she was jokin'.

Relatively certain.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Their warm Arizona days settled into an oddly comfortable routine. Alexandra spent mornings in her favorite spot—the window seat overlooking their backyard garden—while Spreag read to her from his old favorites. His voice, rich with Highland burr, made even the driest texts sound like poetry. She only had to turn the pages.

"The Complete Guide to Arizona Native Plants?" She'd raised an eyebrow when he began to read from a book she'd left open on a shelf.

He settled into his usual spot beside her. "Did ye know the saguaro cactus can live to be two hundred years old?"

"That's nothing compared to you." She smiled, trying to keep her Cheerios from coming back up. "You're over three hundred."

"Cheeky thing." His eyes sparkled. "I dinnae look a day over two hundred fifty."

These moments were her favorite, when she could almost forget he wasn't real. The morning sickness helped distract her from reality, and when it got bad, it was Spreag who distractedher from the morning sickness. Sometimes the nausea lasted all day, and sometimes it waited until evening to strike. But Spreag never left her side, murmuring encouragement and singing slow Gaelic lullabies.

"What does that mean?" she asked one morning, head resting against cool porcelain.

"Just sweet nothings," he said. "The kind my mam used to say when we were peely wally."

"Tell me about her?"

He settled cross-legged on the floor beside her. "She was tiny, like a wee bird. But fierce as a Highland storm when riled. She'd have loved ye, Alexandra. And she'd have been over the moon about the babe."

The mention of their child brought fresh tears, but happy ones. "What should we call the baby? I mean, if it's a girl? If it's a boy, he'll be Spreag."

He nodded and turned away, moved by emotion. When he turned back, he was smiling. "And if it's a lass?"

"I've been thinking about it. I want to name her Huntly."

"Huntly?" He was surprised but obviously pleased. "A charming name to be sure." Then he bit his lip and turned away again. She wondered why.

"What's going on?" Then it dawned on her. "Youknow what it is!"

He closed his eyes. "Ye'll want to be surprised, sure."

"What are you talking about? Surprise me now! What does it matter when?"

He tilted his head. "I'll think on it."

The doorbell rang.

"Speakin' of surprises, that'll be yer anonymous well-wisher." He pointed his thumb at the hallway. "Shall I try to catch them in the act?"

She waved him off. "No need. They'll leave whatever it is on the porch and go, like they always do."

Sure enough, when she felt steady enough to check, she found a fresh loaf of bread wrapped in a dishtowel. It was still warm and the smell made her stomach growl.

"No note." Spreag peered over her shoulder. "They should leave a note so ye dinnae suspect an enemy might be tryin' to poison ye."

She snorted. "I don't have enemies. Besides, we know who it is."

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