the sea wrack around the two hooks that held it in place. “What are you about, laddie?”
“What are
you
about?” Kendra Chase appeared in the doorway, ducking beneath his raised arm to step out onto the stoop.
Graeme blinked, furious to have been caught unawares.
“What are you doing here?” He tossed the question back at her. “How did you get into my house?”
He could well guess.
His dog, the traitorous beast, proved his guilt by slinking back into the cottage’s darkened entry hall.
A place he hoped Kendra hadn’t spent too much time.
“Why are you putting seaweed above your door?” She eyed the dripping strands of wrack.
“I asked what you’re doing here.” Graeme spoke more harshly than he’d intended.
But his hand seemed frozen where it was, his fingers hovering over the seaweed he’d just threaded around the lintel hooks.
He knew he looked ridiculous.
He also had the distinct impression she’d seen him cross the road from the little strand. That somehow she’d read his face when he’d passed her car, and picked up the thoughts that had rushed him.
Thoughts he had no business harboring about her.
“Well?” She flicked another glance at his hand, still raised above his head.
“It’s an old Aberdeenshire tradition.” Graeme thought fast. “Fisher folk believe that a bit o’ tangle above the door keeps out the tidewater if a storm sends the seas surging up and o’er the road.”
To his shame, her eyes lit. “O-o-oh, I love that.”
“Humph.” Graeme refused to deepen the lie by commenting.
He did lower his arm. He also stepped away from her,not liking how her scent wafted beneath his nose, distracting and enchanting him.
Everything about her did things to him, much to his annoyance.
He turned to face the sea, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “People hereabouts have many uses for seaweed. It’s used for fertilizer, as food when times are hard, for healing, and in legend.”
That was true enough.
“Folklore fascinates me.” Her voice took on a tone of wonder, making him feel even worse for having just invented the wisdom. “It’s such age-old beliefs that make Scotland so much more romantic than the States.”
“You came for your car.” It was the only plausible reason for her to be here. And yet—he shouldn’t go down this road—despite everything, he wished she’d come to see him.
“I did, yes.” She didn’t deny it, her voice oddly businesslike now. “I wanted to stretch my legs after the drive, and there seemed no point in expecting you to bring the car to the inn.
“Not”—she tucked her hair behind an ear, her smile cutting straight to his heart—“when I was out walking right past here, anyway. Jock was on the stoop and—”
“He let you in.” Graeme was sure of it.
“I did mean to knock.” A becoming wash of pink bloomed on her cheeks. “I called out, but when you didn’t answer, Jock nudged open the door and trotted inside as if I should follow him. He kept stopping and looking back, wagging his tail. Of course, I—”
“Were you in there long?” Graeme thanked the Powers that his dog hadn’t yet discovered how to turn on lights.
“Only a moment.” Kendra tightened her jacket against the wind.
“Aye, right, then.” Relief swept Graeme. “Your car key is just inside the lounge. I’ll fetch it, and you can be on your way.”
Rude as it seemed, he didn’t invite her in.
The reasons peered at him from an endless assortment of wall-mounted picture frames as he strode purposefully down the cottage’s entry hall toward the door that opened into his lounge.
A motley collection, the frames were everything from age-worn wood to silver, some of those tarnished. And each held a different picture. Some were quite blurry, sepia prints dating as far back as 1857. Others were clearer, packing a greater emotional punch because the canines caught on film were easier to recognize.
The photographs lined both sides
“What are
you
about?” Kendra Chase appeared in the doorway, ducking beneath his raised arm to step out onto the stoop.
Graeme blinked, furious to have been caught unawares.
“What are you doing here?” He tossed the question back at her. “How did you get into my house?”
He could well guess.
His dog, the traitorous beast, proved his guilt by slinking back into the cottage’s darkened entry hall.
A place he hoped Kendra hadn’t spent too much time.
“Why are you putting seaweed above your door?” She eyed the dripping strands of wrack.
“I asked what you’re doing here.” Graeme spoke more harshly than he’d intended.
But his hand seemed frozen where it was, his fingers hovering over the seaweed he’d just threaded around the lintel hooks.
He knew he looked ridiculous.
He also had the distinct impression she’d seen him cross the road from the little strand. That somehow she’d read his face when he’d passed her car, and picked up the thoughts that had rushed him.
Thoughts he had no business harboring about her.
“Well?” She flicked another glance at his hand, still raised above his head.
“It’s an old Aberdeenshire tradition.” Graeme thought fast. “Fisher folk believe that a bit o’ tangle above the door keeps out the tidewater if a storm sends the seas surging up and o’er the road.”
To his shame, her eyes lit. “O-o-oh, I love that.”
“Humph.” Graeme refused to deepen the lie by commenting.
He did lower his arm. He also stepped away from her,not liking how her scent wafted beneath his nose, distracting and enchanting him.
Everything about her did things to him, much to his annoyance.
He turned to face the sea, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “People hereabouts have many uses for seaweed. It’s used for fertilizer, as food when times are hard, for healing, and in legend.”
That was true enough.
“Folklore fascinates me.” Her voice took on a tone of wonder, making him feel even worse for having just invented the wisdom. “It’s such age-old beliefs that make Scotland so much more romantic than the States.”
“You came for your car.” It was the only plausible reason for her to be here. And yet—he shouldn’t go down this road—despite everything, he wished she’d come to see him.
“I did, yes.” She didn’t deny it, her voice oddly businesslike now. “I wanted to stretch my legs after the drive, and there seemed no point in expecting you to bring the car to the inn.
“Not”—she tucked her hair behind an ear, her smile cutting straight to his heart—“when I was out walking right past here, anyway. Jock was on the stoop and—”
“He let you in.” Graeme was sure of it.
“I did mean to knock.” A becoming wash of pink bloomed on her cheeks. “I called out, but when you didn’t answer, Jock nudged open the door and trotted inside as if I should follow him. He kept stopping and looking back, wagging his tail. Of course, I—”
“Were you in there long?” Graeme thanked the Powers that his dog hadn’t yet discovered how to turn on lights.
“Only a moment.” Kendra tightened her jacket against the wind.
“Aye, right, then.” Relief swept Graeme. “Your car key is just inside the lounge. I’ll fetch it, and you can be on your way.”
Rude as it seemed, he didn’t invite her in.
The reasons peered at him from an endless assortment of wall-mounted picture frames as he strode purposefully down the cottage’s entry hall toward the door that opened into his lounge.
A motley collection, the frames were everything from age-worn wood to silver, some of those tarnished. And each held a different picture. Some were quite blurry, sepia prints dating as far back as 1857. Others were clearer, packing a greater emotional punch because the canines caught on film were easier to recognize.
The photographs lined both sides
Similar Books
