Off Kilter (22 page)

“Was there someone?”

“Oh, there was a string of someones. I had my heart broken rather regularly. Shay was generally disappointed in me pretty much all the time. He’s the best mate a person could have, you know, loyal, honest, true. But he’s also the most even tempered, unexcitable person I know. He has a very strong sense of humor, but it’s so dry, I’m amazed anyone gets it but us. Yet the lassies crawl all over him. I’ve no’ ever been able to sort that out.”

“Shay went to school with you?”

“He was in Edinburgh at the same time, pursuing law, same as his father, with the same end goal as the rest of us.”

“Where was Graham?”

“Studying in Glasgow.”

“And all three of you came back?”

“Aye. Graham traveled quite a bit with his studies. Shay still commutes to Edinburgh to oversee his father’s firm, which was handed to him upon Aiden Callaghan’s passing.”

“But you … you’re just here.”

“That I am. I can learn most of what I need as the world grows and expands from the very source I use to promote our baskets. My computer.”

“Have you ever had the urge to go beyond here, beyond Edinburgh, to see the world? You grew up in such a remote place, I’d think the idea of getting out would have been captivating. Or was it overwhelming?”

“Not overwhelming, no. I enjoyed my time at university a great deal. But I was eager to return here and put my education to good use.”

“So … you never leave. Ever?”

“I’ve gone on holiday, visited old school chums, though no’ so much as the years continue on.”

“And you’re happy here, content.”

“You say that like you simply can’t fathom it being enough. But then, I dinnae have yer penchant for travel, or wanderlust. I’m curious, I suppose, to see some of the places we ship our
baskets to, that would be quite a thrill, actually, but I dinnae want to live in a different place. I’d want to venture out, absorb, learn, see … but only so I could come back and put it to good use. So we’d all benefit. Of course, you must think me incredibly green. I guess, given that the world is your office space, it must seem almost suffocating to ye, being stuck in such a small place, surrounded by folks you know and who all know you. No place to hide, no anonymity. You can’t simply be an observer here.”

She didn’t respond right away, though he’d noted her expression went through a series of rapid changes.

“It hasn’t so far,” she said at length, surprising him with her candor. “Been suffocating, I mean. In fact, it’s been … comforting.”

She’d willingly given him bits of insight into herself any number of times. But it always surprised him. He supposed that was at the core of why he’d continued to push, prod, and poke her into interacting with him.

“That’s because you came looking for a cocoon,” he said, as the quiet spun out, more comfortable this time. “While we’re no’ quite as backward or cut off as you might have thought, we do provide a very good nest for those looking to roost, or simply rest.”

She maintained her silence, but her expression was thoughtful. She appeared to be thinking about what he was saying.

As they began climbing into the mountains, he said, “Does the idea of me choosing to stay in one place, especially one as remote as this, make you think I’m stunted in some way? Emotionally, socially … That I’m just no’ willing to risk a life that’s more demanding, that this choice is merely sticking with something safe.”

She immediately looked at him. “Heavens, no. Why would you think that?”

He lifted a shoulder, kept his eyes on the road. “Just curious.” He didn’t just want to know more about her, he wanted her to think about him, too. She’d shown some curiosity …
but he didn’t want to let her wall herself off again. He wanted to provoke her to consider him, to not be able to keep herself from asking for more. Whether it was as a journalist, or as a woman, he didn’t much care. For starters.

“I think you—all three of you—coming back here, or, for that matter, heading off with the very intent of coming back here to improve not only your way of life, but the lives of everyone else here, is admirable,” she said directly, and quite sincerely. “Furthermore, I don’t think there’s anything about struggling on such a remote, relatively inhospitable strip of land that is taking the easy way out. Your survival is a miracle and a testament to how sturdy and determined you are as a group—for generations. I have nothing but admiration for everyone here. In fact, that’s why I was headed off that day to the shore to—” She immediately clipped that sentence off, and jerked her gaze to the window. “I have nothing but respect for what Kira is doing here, and, believe it or not, for what you’re doing, too. Even the damn calendar idea has merit. You’re not close-minded. At all. That’s a good thing. I’ve learned many things from what I’ve seen, but first and foremost, I know when people are struggling, they have to be open to all things, new and old, in order to move forward, to survive.”

She shut up then, seeming almost relieved to finally find a stopping point. He, of course, hadn’t missed her slip of the tongue and she had to know he hadn’t. She was likely praying to whatever God she believed in that he wouldn’t push—while he sat right where he was, and wondered if he should.

She’d spoken so passionately about Kinloch, about the people, about their centuries old journey, and that stunned him a little. More than a little. He supposed, if he thought about what she’d done for a living up until her arrival, he shouldn’t be surprised. Observing, understanding, figuring out the immediate hierarchy of the people whose story she’d chosen to tell, their past triumphs and losses, what the future might or might not hold … all of those things went into it. Could it be, from her slip of the tongue, that she’d decided to tell Kinloch’s story?

Huh. That set him back. Given the rather brutal nature of the peoples and places she exposed and brought into the light, he wasn’t sure what story she thought to tell. Aye, Kinloch had a very brutal history, as did most of their country, reaching back to the oldest recorded time. But the only thing brutal for the past hundred or so years was the blight. While that had been quite harsh, and potentially decimating to the clans, their suffering was nowhere near on the scale of those whose stories she typically told.

At the same time, the part of him that was good at his job latched on to the idea that getting Tessa to document their history would put the calendar project to shame in terms of exposure. All without a bit of skin bared to the world.

Should he just come out and ask? She’d give him a direct answer, or just as directly refuse, that much he knew. It was the part of her he didn’t know, like exactly what demons chased her, that made him step forward with caution. “Ye’ve a good handle on us, aye,” he said. “Not many do, but it’s no’ surprising that you get it. I appreciate that.”

She nodded, but appeared lost in thought.

He battled the urge to blurt out the question, to know for himself and as further insight into her. In the face of her contemplative withdrawal, he opted to let it drop. For now. Pacing was everything.

They traveled on in silence for a few more minutes. The track became narrower and the curves tight as the incline grew ever steeper. Just before the peak, he turned off on an unpaved lane that was barely more than two grooved ruts, and littered with more jutting rocks than grass or dirt.

“Where are we going?”

“A potential calendar shot spot. Trust me.”

She nodded, and appeared more alert and interested in the change in direction, but she still seemed distracted to him. His curiosity about her grew stronger. She was so strong, and at the same time, so vulnerable. She’d seen things that would level
battle-tough soldiers. He believed she was just as tough, just as strong—even with her vulnerabilities clawing at her.

“Here,” he said, as he slowed to take the last hairpin turn through some very narrow, deep ruts.

“These look like they were made over a long time,” she remarked. “The ruts, I mean.” She pointed. “They’ve even been worn into the rock in some places.”

“Aye,” he said, coming to a stop as the track abruptly came to an end. An outcropping of rock in front of them, taller than the lorry, blocked the view of what lay beyond. “Come on,” he said, and climbed out.

He came around to her side as she was sliding out. “You don’t have to get my door,” she said, as he held it for her, then closed it after helping her down.

“I don’t have to do anything,” he said. “I’m fully aware you can do everything for yourself.” He kept his hand under her elbow, holding her between him and the truck. “I admire that, I do. But you don’t have to do everything all the time, Tessa. Let me enjoy pretending I can be a gentleman.”

Her lips twisted the tiniest bit. “Why? You don’t have to put on any act for me. You definitely don’t need to try and impress me.”

“It’s no’ an act. Nor about impressin’ ye. I like getting your door. I like helping you up into your seat and out of it again. It’s part of the dance. A good part.”

“I don’t dance. And I’m especially not good at that kind. Strikes me as more of a game.”

“It’s a courtship,” he said.

Her gaze narrowed. “I thought you were content with trying to be a friend.”

“Even friends can do courtly things,” he said. “What is so wrong about enjoying a friendly gesture? Can you no’ allow yourself that much? Think of it as a guilty pleasure, not an admission of weakness.”

She started to say something then stopped. After a short sigh
and what appeared to be a brief internal struggle, she met his gaze directly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t be so touchy. Maybe it’s because I’m not used to that part. The touchy part.” She dipped her chin, but he gave her time, wanting to know what she was struggling so hard not to say, not to reveal … wanting, more than anything, for her to give him entrée to that part of her. The most private part. She was the only one who could do that. He couldn’t force his way there.

He rubbed his fingers on her elbow, comforting her, but otherwise did nothing to alter their positions, or encourage her to do … anything.

Finally she looked at him again. “In the places where I spend most of my time, I try very hard to be invisible. It’s better for an observer to not be observed. But to gain entrée into some of the places I most need to see, I need help to get there. I need to make my presence known to someone. In almost all cases, every single thing I do or say, every expression, every minute body motion, can be examined, analyzed for any possibility of deceit or impropriety. That I’m a woman makes it all so much more complicated.”

She sighed just a little. “I’m hyper aware of where I am at all times, what I’m doing, how I look, what my expression is, what it should be, what I can’t reveal on my face, and what could cost me my life if I do. I know—always—what those around me are doing. Every flinch, every blink, every sideways glance. And things like this”—she gently removed her elbow from his hand—“casual touching. It doesn’t happen. It just doesn’t. Nothing is casual in my world. If I touch, or am touched, it’s with a purpose. Otherwise, I stay back, I stay hidden, I—” She broke off and shook her head.

He waited. He was humbled that she was sharing confidences with him, opening up in a way that couldn’t be easy for her. That she wanted him to understand her made him very, very glad he’d gone to Kira’s croft that morning.

He wished he felt better equipped. She was the most complicated
person he’d ever met. And by far, the most compelling. The very last thing she’d ever say she needed was a protector or a partner. Yet she made him want to be both of those things.

He took her elbow again, very gently, but with purpose. She lifted her gaze to his … but didn’t tug it away.

“I’m touching you because I like to feel connected. Aye, it’s an ego thing, wanting to be the man to escort you, as it were. Any man would be honored—and very likely gobsmacked—to have you at his elbow. I know this man would. Beyond that, Tessa … it’s about being connected.

“Touching in these little inconsequential ways is a form of courtship and connectivity that is its own reward. The little touches to the small of your back, the hand at your waist or elbow to help you into your seat, the pulling out of your chair. All of those things aren’t because you need them, but because I do. It’s supposed to make you feel good, smug even, that your man wants to have his hands on you at all times, and is finding socially acceptable ways to do that in public, because all he can think about is stripping that lovely suit or dress you’re wearing from your impeccable body and delighting in touching you in all the ways he can’t when the eyes of the world are on you.”

Her eyebrows lifted … and her throat worked. She didn’t pull away. Or step back.

“So it’s courtship. And seduction. And ego. It’s also just being there—so you know I have your back—I am always right there. It’s a good feeling, to know that you’re there, too … right within reach. I pay attention to those myriad little things … but for entirely different reasons. My attention comes from a place of comfort, of titillation, and of wanting to provide security. And no’ just for you. It secures me, too. Grounds me. What you can always count on is that every single time I touch you, in whatever capacity, it will never be motivated by deceit, anger, or malevolence.”

“Roan—”

“It’s a lot, Tessa, I know. But you make me feel a lot. You make me think a lot. I would be a true and loyal friend to you.
But it would be a lie to stand here and tell you that I don’t also want you in every way a man could ever want a woman. I’d honor those feelings, and be loyal to them, too. Because it’s who I am. I know you dinnae have much experience with loyalty and honor in your world. But this is my world. And in my world, Tessa, you’re safe. In my world, you can just be yourself … whoever that might be. Might be interesting, fun even, to find out. It doesnae matter what comes next and it can’t matter why here, why now, or even why me. If you want to find out, if you want to figure it out, then just reach for it. You’ve done far scarier things, I’d imagine—”

“You’d imagine wrong, then.” Her voice was a choked whisper.