Page 10 of Priceless
Everyone knew of Dougie’s savant-like gift, but it still brought a grin to their faces when Dougie asked, “Would ye like a Tennent again, or a Guiness like ye had last Tursdee?”
On slow nights, they would quiz the lad. On busy nights, they took it easy on him and didn’t make him remember a thing.
Dougie liked nothing more than routine. So, of course, when I headed out the door, when he expected me to be in the office keeping the books, he wanted to know why. And explaining myself was a small price to pay to keep him happy.
“I’m goin’ for a walk.” The truth was, Jacob wanted to get far away from anyone who might peek over his shoulder and see what he was about to do.
“What do ye mean, a walk?”
“I mean that I live in the same place I work, so it would be nice to stretch my legs somewhere else for a change.”
“Like where?” A dog with a bone.
Jacob gestured toward the street. “I reckon I might want to walk the islands for a while.”
“The Ness Islands?”
“Sure. And why not?”
“Have ye ever walked them before?”
“I used to, when I was a wee’un.”
“Aye, then? Why now?”
Jacob sighed. “I dinnae ken, Dougie. I reckon…I need an adventure.”
His eyes lit up. “An adventure!”
Jacob hated to disappoint him. “Sorry, lad. This is a solo adventure.” And he ducked out the door before Dougie could start packing a picnic.
Jacob hurried down the road,exchanging waves for a bit, then avoiding eye contact as he hurried along the river’s edge. The familiar silhouette of the Ness Islands had already emerged from the morning mist. Their lush greenery glowed under rare Highland sunshine.
He’d lived in Inverness all his fifty-nine years, the family pub just a stone’s throw from the River Ness, and yet today the islands seemed new to him. The ancient oaks and pines, gnarled and proud, clustered together. Their branches wove a canopy over the footbridges, inviting the boy in him to come explore.
But he didn’t want to adventure here. He only needed solitude so he could adventure across the pond and still be back at the pub for the after-work surge.
As if the river could sense his giddiness, the water lapped musically against the shore as he hurried over the Bank footbridge and onto the nearest isle.
Jings! When had he last felt giddy?
The path was clear of people, but he watched his footing to avoid the spill of wildflowers encroaching from all sides. The reckless bursts of color tried to distract him from his goal—a private haven where he could sit undisturbed, tucked among the ferns, with only the river for company. And when he came upon just such a setting, complete with an arse-polished bench, he was surprised to find himself out of puff.
He'd fairly run the whole way, like a younger man hurrying to meet his lover.
He laughed at himself and pulled the scent of the river deep into his lungs. How shocked Laira would be to know that her AI confidant was really an old man out of breath and off his head!
A check of his phone showed two messages from suppliers. None from Laira. But it was seven hours earlier in Denver. The woman was likely still asleep.
Next, he did something he swore he would never do—sign up for a Facebook page. He didn’t intend to keep it, but he couldn’t search the site for pictures of a certain American without a page. Jocko’s Pub had a business page, but he didn’t manage it, didn’t have access to it. And he had no intention of asking anyone on his staff to help him.
By thunder, he was going to have something in his life completely private.
Jumping through all the necessary hoops took longer than expected, and he was mildly frustrated by the time it pronounced him “live.” But instead of diving right in, as he’d planned, he stared at the wee screen for a wee while just to get up the courage to type in her name.
“Do it, ye feartie,” he muttered. Then he took a deep breath and clicked on the search box.
Laira Harris, Castle Rock, Colorado.
