A Highlander's Obsession (Highlander's Beloved) (18 page)

“Gram, no. My life is in the States.”

“True.” She exhaled a sigh and narrowed her eyes the way she did when she was after some information. “Let me ask you, what’s the most important part of your life?”

“Besides you?”

Gram patted the area over her heart and blew her a kiss, a gesture she’d done since Paisley had been small.

“Helping animals. My talent, or gift”—she shrugged—“whatever you want to call this thing I possess, has become my chosen profession. There are creatures that need me to act as a liaison between the animal and human worlds. Their needs give my life purpose.”

“How do most of their owners contact you?”

Apparently, Gram was trying to make a point. “You know how. Either by phone or email.”

“Which you would have here. Right?” She plucked at a piece of lint on her slacks. “Let’s not be too hasty in our return. Don’t you want to see the countryside? Get acquainted with Scotland?”

The answer to Gram’s question made her downright queasy. For it wasn’t the country she longed to get a feel for, but one handsome Scot.

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it. But first, I need to call Alex.” She slipped her cell phone from her pocket and touched the screen. “I haven’t spoken to him since we left Virginia.” Would she tell him what Creighton said? No, she couldn’t. He cared for her, in his own way. She couldn’t hurt him. She had feelings for him too. Yet they paled in comparison to the sensation of belonging to Creighton, and the passion he stirred within her. Alex’s cell rang twice.

“It’s about damn time. I sent you four texts this morning. Why haven’t you answered?”

Her stomach twisted the way it always did when she angered him.
Because I’ve been too busy with another man
.

“Well?” His shout made her jump. Odd. Creighton roared too, but he didn’t frighten her or make her physically ill the way Alex so often did. Odd too that she could hold her own against Creighton and insist he show her some respect, while she’d allowed Alex to steamroll over her time and time again.

“There’s no need to yell, Alex. It’s been a tiring and busy trip. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I did text you once.”

He grunted. “Once, yes. I wanted to tell you about the interview I have set up for you, next Monday on the
Morning News Show
. It’ll give you national coverage of your gift.”

“Me? Why would they want to have me on their show?” Her stomach cramped and twisted. She’d be sharing her secret with millions, no doubt presenting herself as a lunatic who claimed she could converse with animals. This notoriety was the last thing she wanted.

Gram stood in front of her, hands on her narrow hips. “Tell him your career is your affair. Not his.”

“Who was that? Your
precious
grandma?” Alex’s voice rose. “Tell the old bat to mind her own damn business.”

“Don’t forget to tell Alex about your handsome Scot, sweet pea.” Gram winked in that bodacious way she had. Meanwhile, Paisley was caught between two people she loved, trying to keep the peace.

“What Scot? Is she referring to a guy?” He snorted. “One of those effeminate men in a skirt? Yeah, like I should worry about that!”

Paisley rolled her eyes. There were a lot of words she could think of to describe the sexy, arrogant Scot who kissed her into a passionate frenzy, but effeminate was definitely
not
one of them.

“Look, enough of your grandmother’s nonsense. I need you back in Virginia by Saturday. We’ll fly to New York on Sunday and get settled in so you’re fresh for taping early Monday morning.”

“Saturday? I can’t be home by Saturday. We’re staying on for a few more weeks, maybe a month.”

“Like hell. I’ve got arrangements made for two television interviews, plus I’ve hired a ghostwriter to pen your biography. I’ve already got a title in mind—
Paisley Munro Talks to the Animals
.”

Someone knocked on the door and Gram in her pelican slippers shuffled to answer the knock. For a few blessed seconds, Paisley only had to deal with one person.

“Alex, we’ve talked about this many times. I don’t want to publicize my gift. Not everyone is as open-minded about it as you are. Nor do I want to be on a TV show. Now or ever. You had no right to make these plans without my consent. You’ll have to undo them all.”

Gram stepped in front of her, sporting a mile-wide grin and extending a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “Look what that handsome man sent you. Flowers. Aren’t they gorgeous? This is sweet golden gale, a Highland plant, I’m told, white tulips, and a dozen red roses. Ohhh, that man is so taken with you.”

Paisley closed her eyes and waited.

“Get your ass back to Virginia now, do you hear me? What have you been doing? Making out with some guy behind my back? I guess a man who wears a skirt would get a charge out of flirting with a bookish woman few other men would want.”

Resentment roiled in her gut. She’d had enough. Enough of Alex manipulating her life, enough of Gram’s games, and enough of Creighton’s persuasive kisses. “Yes, I
have
been making out with a handsome Scot. I’m sorry, but I don’t think you and I have anything further to say to each other. I’m calling off our engagement.” She ended the call.

Gram opened her mouth to speak.

“Don’t say it. Don’t say another word.”

Gram removed the card from the bouquet and extended it to her. “Then I won’t tell you to read this.”

Paisley snatched the card from Gram’s fingers.

The older woman set the huge bouquet of flowers on the coffee table and strode toward the door to the hallway, singing an off-key rendition of “When a Man Loves a Woman.”

“I’ve had enough of you and your scheming.”

“I love you too, sweet pea.” She opened the door. “I’m going downstairs to visit with Fiona before lunch. Enjoy your beautiful flowers sent by one drop-dead-gorgeous hunk.”

Paisley shook her head. She loved her grandmother with a fierceness, but there was no
getting ahead of that woman. Her phone rang, and when she saw
Alex
on the display, she ignored it. A ding indicated an incoming text. She ignored that too. Meanwhile, her gaze settled on the words written on the card.

I’m sorry me anger made ye cry. Would ye do me the honor of attending a cèilidh with me the evening of the day after tomorrow? I’d love to escort ye and yer sweet grandma to a Scottish social dance. Creigh
.

In typical Alex raging determination, her phone rang and dinged repeatedly. She finally powered it down, walked into her bedroom, and slipped the phone in the nightstand. Her hand rested on the edge of the open drawer as she sat on her bed. Alex had a right to voice his opinion. She’d cheated on him, after all. She also had a right not to listen to his haranguing. So often it turned abusive. Not that he’d ever struck her, but he did have intimidation down to a fine art.

Their engagement had never seemed real. Perhaps it was the lack of a ring or a formal announcement, or his reluctance to introduce her to his family. They’d been engaged for five months, and although he waffled on setting a date, he hadn’t hesitated to take over her life. Like a weak ninny, she’d allowed it. Oh, she’d tried to make him understand she wanted to keep quiet about her talent, but he ignored her wishes. He couldn’t understand why she refused to post a picture of herself on her website, or include her picture when she wrote magazine articles, or why she didn’t want a Facebook page. She wanted to protect her privacy, while he seemed to want to trade it all away to capitalize on her.

Where did she want her career to go? How long did she want to keep helping animals?
Forever, but I want to do it my way, not his
.

Her engagement was over. Shouldn’t she be upset? Shed a tear? Why did a strong sense of relief float buoyantly in her chest like a balloon?

She pushed the drawer closed and her gaze settled on a photo of Creighton on her nightstand. It hadn’t been there before. She was sure of it. Who placed it here? While she couldn’t imagine Creighton doing it, there was always Fiona. She’d made no secret about wanting a wife for her eldest son. Paisley wrapped her fingers around the silver frame. Creighton held a red-haired baby in his muscular arms, feeding her a bottle and smiling while the child—Colleen, no doubt—had her hand wrapped around his index finger. She snorted. Yeah, only a mother would pick a sentimental photo like this as a subtle hint.

“That’s our Colleen when she was eight months old.”

Paisley whirled in the direction of the voice and gasped. Her heart froze mid-beat. The shimmering form of a woman dressed in flapper clothing from the Roaring Twenties stood in the doorway to her bedroom. Paisley struggled to swallow, to form a response, to keep from screaming. Fear slithered up her spine like a snake, while a sense of déjà vu trembled in her mind. Why would a ghost or spiritual being seem familiar?

Rows of fringes on the skirt of the ghost’s black dress swayed as she flickered across the room toward the windows. Creighton had told Paisley about the castle ghosts. He’d said to call them by name.

“Ai … Ainsley?” Paisley pulled the bedspread around her shoulders to erase the chill the spirit seemed to trail behind her.

“Aye. How are ye today? The last time I saw ye was after ye’d fainted.”
Ainsley swung the long strand of pearls knotted at her breasts … if ghosts had breasts.

What was she talking about? The only time Paisley fainted was her first night here. Had Ainsley been floating around, hovering wherever ghosts hover, and seen her faint? Paisley removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. This conversation between her and a ghost couldn’t be happening. Maybe the stress from breaking up with Alex was causing her to hallucinate?

“Are ye all right, child?”

“I … I’m fine. Although seeing you scares the hell out of me.”

“Language, dear. I mean ye no harm. I brought the photo here so ye could see all the good sides of Creighton. Ye are who he needs. He must marry a woman of Norse blood to end the curse.”

“Curse? What curse?”

“Ask Fiona. Fiona knows.”
The nearly transparent form sparkled, spun, and vanished.

Warmth slowly crept back into the room. Even so, Paisley trembled under the bedspread. Her teeth chattered and her heart pounded in her ears. Willing her heart to beat in its customary pattern, trying to make her legs stop trembling, she inhaled long, slow breaths. She’d seen a bear everyone insisted didn’t exist. Hours of her memory were gone. Just now she’d conversed with a ghost as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
I’m going mad
. Still, if she could mentally talk to animals, why was it such a stretch to talk to spirits from the other side of the veil?

Tears pinpricked the backs of her eyes. A major crying jag was brewing. Too much was happening. Enter Creighton. Exit Alex. Talk to a ghost. See an extinct bear. Tears spilled over
the rims of her eyes. So much for normalcy.

She preferred her life quiet and orderly. Perhaps that was one of the things that drew her to Creighton, the way he seemed to keep everyone’s lives ordered. To be sure, his magnetic eyes changed hues with his moods, and all his hardened muscles begged her to touch and snuggle. Twin tears slid over her cheeks.

The man oozed protectiveness and security, as if he’d fight the demons of hell for her. Alex, on the other hand, preferred to give her hell for her efforts to preserve her privacy. He wanted her to capitalize on her gift. She simply wanted to use it to help animals. Her income as a veterinarian’s assistant was enough for her to live on. Alex never understood her goals in life. More tears flowed and she removed her glasses to swipe at them.

After the turmoil of her early teenage years, during which her parents warred with Gram about counseling for Paisley, she wanted a simple life. Isolation was preferable to psychologists probing her psyche to find out why she insisted she could talk to animals.

As a matter of practice, Paisley explained in-depth the condition of her contract dealing with confidentiality. She did her best to deflect publicity. No one wanted to be labeled a freak, especially her.

She reached for a tissue and blotted moisture from her face. The more she wiped, the quicker the tears flooded her eyes and cheeks. Now, here she was in a strange land with a handsome man who insisted she belonged to him, and a ghost who was adamant that Paisley was the cure to some curse. Jumbled emotions tumbled from her heart. For once in her life, why couldn’t she just be normal?

The copious flow of tears loosened the constrictive band in her chest. Fears and desires battled. If she were honest, she’d admit to being very attracted to Creighton Matheson. Something about him formed a large
P
in her heart—for passion, protection, and permanence. Wasn’t
P
Paisley’s favorite letter?

Her gaze settled on Creighton’s card and she reread it. She sincerely wanted to go to this
cèilidh
to experience a bit of local life. Imagine being held close to this muscled man as they slowly moved across the dance floor. A warmth spread from her heart to all her feminine parts, and she sighed.
Yes. Imagine
.

At Matheson Lodge, lunch was served promptly at one. Although Paisley wasn’t looking forward to joining the household for their meal, or to facing Creighton after his bone-melting kiss, she showered in hopes of regaining a grasp on her composure. No use in announcing she’d had an emotionally draining morning. If a vacation was meant to calm one’s soul, this jaunt across the Atlantic was a scrambled fiasco. Her nerves had been tattered into knotted gossamer threads.

Once she reached the bottom of the steps, she tugged on the hem of her purple sweater and smoothed her palms over her matching slacks. She’d hoped the bright sweater would draw everyone’s attention away from her tear-swollen face.

She stilled in the doorway to the dining room, taking in all who were present. The group seated around the large table now was much smaller than it had been at breakfast. There were the Matheson family and the guests staying at the lodge she’d met yesterday—a newlywed couple from New Zealand and two Swiss mountain climbers—as well as her and Gram. Creighton stood and strode to meet her. There was an air of possession about him.