Chapter Two

Heather walked into the kitchen and put a large pot on the stove, her mind buzzing with one warning after another.

“I should’ve kicked him out,” she grumbled. But when he’d looked up at her, those dark dreamy eyes taking her in from head to toe, her fingers went slack around her bat. She couldn’t throw him out.

“I couldn’t chance it, anyway.” If he was telling the truth about the owners of the house, then he’d go to the cops and she’d be busted for sure. Then again if he wasn’t telling the truth—nope still no good. He could pretend to be some concerned do-gooder citizen or something, and she’d still get busted.

Either way, he was a major complication. Even though her gut instincts said he was okay, if he was a squatter like her, just a guy with nowhere else to go, floating from place to place, he was trouble. Mostly because he had to be the sexiest Highlander she’d ever seen. Well, the only Highlander she’d ever seen.

At least she thought so. There was a nagging memory still floating just beyond her reach.

She shook it off and twisted the knob on the stove and a flame lit below the pot. It didn’t matter if she had met a man like him before or not. The problem wasn’t with the past, but with the present and with him because when he shot her that grin, her knees wanted to melt. With his dark, shoulder length hair that gave him such a roguish look, and all those lovely muscles, thinking about anything normal was almost impossible.

And don’t even think about those kisses to your hand, she thought with a sigh.

“Snap out of it,” she muttered. “Dumb, stupid… haven’t you learned anything?” she asked herself, as she opened a box of noodles while waiting for the water to come to a boil.

Men were problems, not answers. Of course they were usually the ones out to make a quick buck, legal or otherwise, but she hadn’t gone weak-kneed since she was barely sixteen. Running away from the orphanage with Bo had been the dumbest move ever, even though she hated it there.

She put another pot on the stove and poured in the spaghetti sauce, then added a few of the owner’s spices from a well-stocked pantry.

Thinking of her past and her ex brought a smile to her lips. Bo had been a real smoothie. Handsome, funny, and he had the ability to charm her right out of her panties. He’d filled her head with dreams of the future.

Her smile faded as she stirred the sauce. Living in a dirty hotel off the highway in Georgia, struggling to feed themselves with crappy jobs at a nearby truck stop hadn’t been how it was supposed to be. The rainbows and unicorns had taken a different road and left them behind. But when Bo up and abandoned her, hitching a ride with a trucker, never to be heard from again, she decided then to keep her distance from men unless absolutely necessary and to quit chasing those damn rainbows.

Except for her one disastrous relationship with Bo, all the others were just fly-bys, a means to an end, nothing more. They were deals she struck to get where she wanted to go. And that’s all this one would be, a means to an end. The handsome Scot would keep his mouth shut about her squatting in some rich guy’s house if she let him stay.

“Simple. A deal, just like the others.”

Her instincts about people had never failed her, as long as she kept sex out of the equation. He was nice, courteous, and too damn handsome for his own good, but she didn’t feel any sort of threat from him. It would be fine. He would keep his distance, and she’d keep telling her libido to go stand out in the snow. Simple.

“Something smells verra good.”

His deep voice sent a silky shiver down her spine, but she ignored it as best she could. Refusing to look at him, she waved her hand toward the table. “Sit down. It’s almost done.”

“Och, what a sight this is.”

She shot a glance around her, trying to figure out what was wrong. She’d been as careful as always when she borrowed someone’s house to not make a mess and to try and keep things exactly as they were.

“What sight?” she asked, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

“This, and that,” he said, laying his hand upon the fridge and pointing at the stove.

“Not following you.” She grabbed the colander to strain the pasta and turned toward the sink. The oversized highlander did a crazy two step to get out of her way, and she nearly dumped the hot water onto her feet.

“Where did you get those clothes?” she asked, shoving the words past her constricted throat.

“They were in the wardrobe.” He ran his hand over the cable knit sweater and stopped at the pocket of the battered jeans, hitching his thumb inside. “Are they no’ okay? Aye, the fit is a bit tight, but they feel better than my kilt on a day such as this.”

The word simple just took on a whole new meaning.

“Um, yeah. Just, um, don’t mess them up.” She shook her head to dislodge the crazy images spinning around her brain and made it to the sink before her grip on the pot gave way.

“I’ll be verra careful.”

Heather swallowed hard and tried to squash the zing of attraction. Why couldn’t he have looked like a troll? She turned her gaze skyward, following the float of steam from the pasta, and wondered why somebody up there had it in for her.

“’Tis a refrigerator, is it no’?”

She heard the door open and glanced over her shoulder at him. Even with servants he had to have seen a fridge before. She pinched the bridge of her nose with the onset of one dilly of a headache, as she came to grips with the concept of sharing a borrowed house with a whack-job from la-la land.

“Yeah, it’s a fridge.” She turned and leaned back against the sink, watching the wonder light over his dark features. “It works better if you don’t stand there with the door open letting out all the cold air.”

“Aye. I can feel its chill. Amazing,” he added lowly and closed the door. He then turned to the stove and with the slightest hesitation, fingered the dials. “You light it with these, do you no’?”

“Yeah, it’s a gas stove with an electric igniter.”

“Gas?”

She huffed softly and folded her arms, he’d missed her flat-out sarcasm. What was with this guy? She had trouble believing anyone could be that good at lying. “Are you for real?”

He turned and cast her a wicked grin that laid waste to her insides.

“Aye, lass. I’ve little knowledge of kitchens, as I said before.”

“Uh-huh.” Something wasn’t right about this guy, polite or not. Hunky or not. But she didn’t have a lot of options. He outweighed her by God only knew how much, and her only weapon was a baseball bat. She might could get in a quick strike or two, but he’d win in the end. But his fascination with the kitchen was really getting on her nerves.

Putting aside the puzzle before her, hoping her gut instinct was still reliable, in that he wasn’t bad, just a little nutty she retrieved the sauce from the stove. “Sit down and eat.”

“I thank you, Heather. ’Tis a feast to be sure.”

The way he said her name, rolling the r across his tongue, did more than send signals to her libido, it damn near stroked it into a frenzy. Somebody up there really didn’t like her, or had one hell of a twisted sense of humor.

Think snow, think ice, think of anything but him, she thought.

Once they were seated, she filled her plate, and then he did the same.

“I um, didn’t know what you’d want to drink, so I just poured us both some water,” she said, hoping she’d get lucky and he’d say something really stupid to tick her off. That would cure a lot of her current ailments. Or perhaps he’d let the truth slip.

“’Tis clean clear water. Thank you.”

Well, so much for that idea.

She twirled her spaghetti onto her fork as she studied him. He had to be lying. He couldn’t be that much of a fruit cake.

Lies were her specialty, except when caught off guard, like he’d done. If she’d had time to think, and she always planned ahead, her stories were golden. After all, she’d lived a lie every day of her life. So she didn’t believe for a minute that he bought her house sitting story. But what was his story? Why was he really here, and how had he gotten inside without her knowing?

Of course she did have a knack for getting into secured houses. Burglar alarms weren’t all that hard to circumvent, if they knew how. She’d been an exceptional student, thanks to one of the deals she’d cut way back when, but had he gotten in the same way?

Her thoughts drifted to her old mentor. Sometimes she wondered what happened to him but figured it was best not to know. They’d agreed to go their separate ways and never rat the other out if ever questioned. Thankfully, she’d never been caught.

But one day my luck might run out, she thought, looking across the table at the hunky highlander, hoping it wasn’t today.

“So you have servants?” she asked.

Erin grinned back at her study of him and attempted to get the odd morsels onto his fork as he’d seen her do. At least he was aware of what a fork was. His mother, not caring to eat with her hands or a knife at all times, had the blacksmith make a large set for their use at meals. His father didn’t use them much, but Erin had found anything about the future fascinating and was determined to be adept with the utensil.

“Aye, we do.” He placed his fork into his mouth and nearly sighed aloud at the wonderful flavors bathing his tongue. Although the texture was unusual, he liked the meal very much.

“What is this called?” he asked, then inwardly winced. That was far too odd a question. She’d think him a lunatic if he continued to behave in such a way.

She eyed him, her fork hovering near her perfectly shaped mouth. “You’ve never had spaghetti.”

Erin cleared his throat. “Nay, I’ve no’ had sp-ghet-ti before.”

“Okay, that’s too farfetched.” Her fork landed on her plate with a clink, and she grasped the edges of the table. “Everyone knows what spaghetti is, for crying out loud. So you’d better come clean, or your ass is out of here.”

He set aside his fork in silence and took great strides to temper his voice so as not to alarm her. She seemed on the verge of bolting again, or finding her wee club to beat him to a bloody pulp. Neither of which could he let happen. Now, after seeing what some of the everyday life in the future was like, he would be lost without her. Their very conversation proved he was no match for going it alone in this time. The fact that he liked her was beside the point. He needed her.

He cleared his throat as an idea struck him. “I know it all sounds a bit farfetched, but I am in earnest. I have led a verra sheltered life. My parents were no’ ones for travel and expected their bairns to remain at home with them. They were—are reenactors of an ancient time.”

It wasn’t a total lie. He’d discussed the practice with his uncle Ian on many occasion. It would seem that future folk enjoyed living as if in the past. They believed it to be a simpler time, one of romance and excitement. Not one filled with danger and difficulties at every turn.

She bit her lip, and he could hear her small foot tapping rapidly against the floor. The lass wanted to believe him, and yet she was afraid to do so, because there was little doubt that she was trespassing and likely had nowhere else to go. His presence was in all likelihood more than problematic.

“What century do they reenact?” she asked, crossing her arms firmly over her breasts.

“The seventeenth century. Scotland, to be exact, on the Isle of Mull.”

He waited for some reaction, but she just sat there staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. He wasn’t handling this very well. “Heather, I—”

She stuck out her hand, halting his speech. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that your parents live like it’s the seventeenth century full time on some island in Scotland? That you grew up like it was then and not now?”

“Aye.” It was the truth, after all, except for the reenactor part. It was a good fib, even if he did say so himself. It would help to cover his mistakes, and by the looks of things, there were to be many.

She lowered her hand and her foot stilled. “Holy crap on a cracker.”

Erin wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but he didn’t think it meant she’d be running away, or bashing his head in, so he ventured further. “Heather, I propose an agreement, between us.”

Her look of amazement shifted to one of wariness. “What sort of agreement? I’m already letting you stay here, and don’t think for a minute that I believe your story about knowing the owners. And I’m definitely not all that keen on that last line you just handed me.”

He nodded. “I understand. But let us move forward under the assumption that I am telling the truth, and that you are telling the truth.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. So what’s the proposal?”

“Due to this unusual situation I find myself in, I find that I require your help, lass. I’ve limited knowledge aboot this—century. Will you help me learn what I need to know?”

She sat back and studied him. “What’s in it for me?”

Erin struggled to contain his grin. She was a mercenary, not unlike his sister. Deidra had developed a thick skin and mastered various fighting skills, both verbal and physical, because the world in which they were born could be extremely dangerous. But what could have happened to cause such a lovely lass of the future to constantly be prepared for battle of one sort or another? She was no soldier like his mother, and he knew from talks with Uncle Ian and Adam that the U.S. fought no wars on its soil in their time. And yet, people could be vicious, regardless of the century.

Erin decided in that small moment of silence between them, that he would be her champion should she ever need him. It didn’t matter what she had done or what had been done, he would protect her. She had given him a place to sleep, albeit reluctantly, when she knew nothing about him. There was no evil in her, no malice, only an uneasy wariness disguised by bravado.

“I shall be at your aid, should you e’er need it,” he said.

“My aid, huh? Well, gee, thanks.”

He didn’t miss her sarcasm, but he also sensed relief. The bargain she undoubtedly thought he would propose had crossed his mind, but not as a bartering tool. Nay, that pleasure had to be won.

“I may no’ be able to cook, but I can chop wood.” He smiled at her and took another fork full of his meal.

“Hmm. How about food?” she asked, and partook of the meal.

“Food? You wish for me to hunt?”

She shook her head with a small smile. “No thanks, I’m not into wild game. I meant, do you have any money to buy food?”

“Ah, alas, I do no’. And I wouldna know how to go about it.”

“Right, I forgot. Sheltered life.”

“Aye.” He proceeded to eat his fill and savored this new dish. “Would you teach me these things?”

“In exchange for chopped wood.”

He gave a nod. “And any other task that I might do for you.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it. But don’t get your hopes up.”

He smiled and dumped what was left of the spaghetti onto his plate.

“So much for leftovers,” she mumbled.

“Leftovers?”

She let out a long deep sigh, and his appetite took a drastic turn. He no longer wanted food.

“Never mind,” she said, and waved at the bowl. “Eat all you want. I can always make more.”

“Oh. I am sorry, lass. Did you want more?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“Ah, then, ’tis best that I eat it then. In my ti—um, home what was left was always thrown to the dogs, and I didna wish for this to go to waste, since we’ve none of the beasties here.”

“Thrown to the dogs. Uh-huh. Okay mister reenactor, let’s get a few things straight,” she said, resting her arms on the table and looking him directly in the eye. “Food isn’t wasted, it’s saved in the fridge. That’s what leftovers are. Wood isn’t needed, the fireplaces are gas, and we turn them on with a remote control. Hunting isn’t allowed without a license, which I’m sure you don’t have. However, we will need more food, since you’re a bottomless pit, so only eat what you need. We’ll save the leftovers for another meal. I don’t want to waste my money making you fat. Got it?”

Erin scrapped the food back into the bowl, saving only a little bit of it on his plate for one last taste. She was right in that he was making a bloody pig of himself, but he’d truly thought it would be thrown out.

“My most sincere apologies, Heather. I will no’ make a glutton of myself again. I vow it.”

“You vow it?”

He started to make up some excuse for his speech, his old world tongue slipping through just as he’d slipped through time, but she waved off his answer.

“Never mind, but you’re going to have to catch up with today’s lingo to survive around here or someone will throw you in the nut house.”

“I will do my best.”

“Good, now let’s just get the dishes done.”

“Dishes?”

She let out a low husky laugh that annihilated the rest of his appetite for food.

“You got it, big guy. You’re about to learn how to wash dishes.”

In the end, Erin’s washing wasn’t good enough for Heather, so she assigned him the chore of drying the dishes.

“We could use the dishwasher, but it seems silly with only a couple of plates,” she said.

“Dishwasher? Is that no’ what we are?”

With that husky laugh, she pointed to another modern marvel. “That is a dishwasher. You put in the dirty dishes, add soap, push a few buttons, and it throws water on the plates and so forth.”

He found the latch and opened the unusual box. “Amazing. Does it dry them as well?”

“You catch on fast,” she said, with a sincere smile. “But since it can’t put them away as well, I prefer to clean up my mess right away instead of waiting on it.”

With a nod, Erin resumed drying the remaining dishes.

“Wait a minute.” She turned off the water and propped a hand on her hip while casting him a glare. “If you were raised on an island in Scotland, how the hell did you end up on my couch? You couldn’t have wandered in on a drunk, like you’d said earlier.”

“I, uh…”

“I knew you were full of crap. You have to pick a lie and stick with it, junior, or the house of cards falls.” She spun away and stormed from the kitchen.

Not knowing what she was going to do, he put down the cloth and hurried after her, struggling for a reason that would place him in the U.S. instead of home. “Heather, wait.”

“No thanks. I’ve heard enough bad lies for one day. Be gone by morning, or else.”

She disappeared down the hall, and he heard her bedroom door slam closed.

He wasn’t getting off to a very good start, but at least he had until morning to change her mind.

With a grin, he climbed the stairs and made for his room, wondering what she would do when he refused to leave. She may have her wee club to pummel him with, but he didn’t believe she would do it. She couldn’t call the cops either, for he was certain she didn’t belong in his godparents’ home.

A sigh of pleasure slipped from his lips as his gaze lit on the fine bedding where he was to rest. The morning would come soon enough, and he would deal with the problem then. But for now, he would rest his weary body and enjoy the marvels of the twenty-first century.