Page 37 of Priceless
“Auch, ye’ll surprise yerself.”
We sat in a mutual nervous silence as we headed out of town. His finger constantly tapped against the far side of the steering wheel, and I alternated between chewing on my lip and sucking on my teeth. Eventually, I summoned enough courage to spit out the question I’d been dying to ask.
“How often have you…played tour guide…for your…customers?”
He frowned and glanced over at me, then back at the road. After a few seconds, I thought maybe he didn’t intend to answer, but then he smiled. “I see. Ye want to know how often I chat up my lady patrons?”
“I guess so.”
“Weel, I dunno. Let me think on it for a mite and I’ll try to give ye an accurate count.”
I bit my lips together, not knowing if he was joking or not. If this was a regular thing, I would have to consider him differently—as just another tour guide.
Finally, he nodded like he was finished counting, then he sent me a quick wink. “If my memory serves me, I havechatted up, and/or offered my tour guide services to exactly zero customers thus far. No. I take that back. I now have lured the first into my car and whisked her away. I’d tell ye how it turned out, but I won’t know that until the evening is done.”
Unfortunately, my relief was audible, and he laughed.
While my face was still burning hot, he continued. “I’d appreciate it if ye’d keep that in mind when we reach our destination. As I am new to the tour guide trade, I cannae promise to know much more than the average Scot, aye?”
“No pressure,” I said. “I’m not looking for a serious education, just a change of scenery and a glimpse of the world outside Colorado, you know?”
“Two adventurin’ hobbits, then. Change of scenery coming up.”
We drove out for about ten minutes before we took a turn down a ribbon of road that curled through random hedges and huge trees. The air smelled of damp green leaves and recent rain.
When we pulled into a designated parking lot, he spoke again. “I must ask, why Scotland? And why on yer own?”
I made myself answer honestly. “I lost my husband, Paul, over nine months ago. It still feels strange to say it, so I don’t, if I can help it. We never traveled. He was a homebody. I just…recently…realized I could travel all I want now. This is the first time I’ve left the country, though I haven’t seen much ofmycountry either.”
His hands tightened on the wheel, and he kept his eyes on the hood of the car. “I’m sorry. That is no small matter.”
“If Paul had a motto, it would have beenLet’s move on. He wasn’t the type to linger over anything.” I glanced out the side window, seeing Paul standing in the kitchen, leaned against a counter, telling me I was being silly. “If ghosts are a real thing, he’d think haunting was a waste of time. He’d already be on to something else.”
Jacob’s voice dropped low. “Ye might be lucky in that. Mine stayed.”
I turned to face him, but he wasn’t ready to do the same.
His jaw jumped. “My wife, Ellie. Cancer took her fast. We were still young. It stole the breath out of a beautiful summer and didn’t give it back.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He gave the smallest nod. “We bought a Georgian house, half a mile east of the bar. Cut stone, long windows. Ellie loved those windows, loved the house. Still does. A friend of the family lives in the carriage house, keeps the place up in exchange for rent. I cannae bear to sell it, but rarely go inside. I have a flat above the pub. The crew there—they’re my family now.”
“Wait. You think your wife is still there?”
“Aye. Not just in memory, but in the rooms. When I step inside, I hear her…sashaying in the hallway, turnin’ a corner. The air moves. I reckon she thinks I’m down at the pub and there’s no tellin’ when I’ll be back. Just like when she was alive.”
I kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt whatever memory he was reliving. This was no time to debate the existence of ghosts or whether there was real magic in Scotland that made spirits want to stick around. Though, judging by the beauty I’d seen already, that might be the answer. Who would want to leave this place?
“I’ve never said so to anyone, but I think it’s tellin’ that she haunts the house and not myself. The few times I went back, I dinnae believe she noticed me at all. I fear it was the house she loved.”
Privately, I thought he was probably wrong. He seemed pretty loveable to me.
My hand just sort of found its way over to his forearm. Even through the thick padding of his coat, I felt the wide hard bones beneath.
He glanced at my hand, then up at me. His eyes were wet, but he smiled and winked. “Speakin’ of the dead, here we are. Clava Cairns.”
“What are those?”
