The Charm Stone (4 page)

“Whoa, baby.” Big Griff stumbled back a step, before setting her back so he could look at her. “What's wrong?”

Josie took a deep breath, wondering where in the hell to start. A quick glance showed that Bagan was sitting on her porch table. He waved and swung his feet. Probably she should start with the kilt-wearing midget since her dad might have a few questions about that.

“It's been a… crazy day.”
The key word being crazy.
She turned toward Bagan and said, “Dad, this is—”

But her father was still looking at her and didn't seem to even notice they had company. He turned her back around and took a close look at her forehead. “Board bit ya, did it?” He pulled her into his big arms again for a gentle hug. “I'm sorry, kitten. I should have been with you.” He set her back again, his perpetual grin returning. “Bet that one made you see stars.”

“More like dwarves,” she muttered beneath her breath, not as consoled by his perpetual sunniness as she usually was. “I cleaned it up, I'll live.”

“Of course you will,” he said. “You've got a rock-hard noggin like your old man. Listen, why don't we
go inside so you can sit down and get comfortable while I tell you all about Finola.”

“Finola?” she asked, but he was already ushering her inside, right past Bagan, who winked at her as she passed. She stuck her tongue out at him, then bumped into her dad when he stopped right inside the door.

“What happened in here?”

“I left a pot on the stove too long. Listen, Dad,” she said, intent on telling him what had happened this morning, then stopped. If he truly couldn't see Bagan then how could she possibly explain-

“Hey, what's this?” Griff nodded at the necklace.

“That's what I wanted to tell you about.” Josie darted a look out the screen door. Bagan was still sitting there, poking through some fossils. She turned to her dad and took the necklace off, then darted a look at the porch. No Bagan. She felt her knees go a bit woozy. This was all too much to deal with.

“Whoa there, kitten.” Her dad caught her, took the necklace from her, and laid it on her kitchen table before helping her to the living room and settling her on the couch. “You really took a good whack there, you're pale as a ghost.” He nudged her back against the cushions, then yanked an afghan off the back and tossed it over her, pulling at it here and there. “Can I get you something to drink or anything?” he asked a bit uncertainly. “You want an ice pack for that?”

Her dad was adorable when he was flustered. He meant well and always wanted the best for her, but nurturing in the traditional ways had always been a bit awkward for him. She knew she could count on him for anything, anywhere, anytime, but, growing up, she'd probably done most of the traditional care-taking. She'd never minded, including now. As
mixed up and confused as she was, having him hover about made her feel better.

“I'm okay.” Which was a total lie, but she decided she didn't want to talk about the necklace, the trunk, much less the disappearing dwarf on her porch. She smiled and tried not to wince at the accompanying twinge across her forehead. “Tell me all about this Finola and I'll be even better. Sounds like something good came out of this meeting, huh?”

Her father still looked a bit worried, but was relieved enough at being let off the nursing hook to trust her judgment. He sat down across from her, apparently having forgotten all about the necklace. The excitement rolling off of him was palpable. She finally began to relax. She'd cart the necklace off to the museum Wednesday and that would be the end of that. As long as she didn't ever put it on again, she could simply pretend nothing had ever happened.

“We've done work for people all over the world, right?”

She nodded.

“Surfed everywhere.”

“Right.” Where was he headed with this?

“Not right. Did you know they surf in the U.K.?”

A certain dread welled up inside her. “No,” she choked out. “I… didn't know that.”

“Well, they do. Not too many of them, but the sport is growing over there. Anyway, Finola is in charge of the Scotland National Championships, which are coming up shortly. It's their twenty-fifth and she wants to commemorate the event by handing out boards designed by the world's best to the winners. And we're one of the best, aren't we, Josiecat?” He laughed and slapped his knees. “She wants us to do a special design on one of our signature long-boards and come over there to award it personally.”

Josie couldn't say anything. The room was closing
in on her, darkness creeping in around the corners of her vision. “We…we're famous enough,” she heard herself say. “What do we need this for?”

Her father frowned, obviously surprised. “Because it sounds like fun,” he said. “A new page in our long and colorful legacy. I thought you'd get a kick out of it.” He stood and leaned over her. “You really took a knock today. We should talk about this later.” He bent down and kissed her on the tip of the nose. “I'll let you get some rest. I want to hear what happened today, your report on the new board design, but you need some rest.”

Josie was lucid enough to tell her father that the last thing a concussed person was supposed to do was sleep for a long period of time unmonitored, but she'd monitored her own self for years. “Okay.” Though nothing was remotely okay.

“I'll check back in on you later. You call me if you need anything, okay, kitten?”

She just waved at him and forced a smile. She hated that she'd ruined his enthusiasm for this latest adventure of his, but she'd make it up to him later. Stateside.

Because though she hated disappointing her father, she wasn't going to Scotland. Not now. Not ever.

J
osie settled back in her airplane seat. It had been eight weeks since she'd found the damn trunk. Two long months spent questioning her sanity.

She'd taken the trunk and the necklace to the local maritime museum, causing a few raised eyebrows when she'd all but lunged at a visiting tourist who'd tried to put the necklace on. In the face of the woman's obvious embarrassment, Josie had let her put it on. Mercifully no dwarf had appeared. In the end, she was glad for the incident. It made it easier for her to pretend Bagan had never really existed.

Josie agreed to allow the museum director to send the trunk and necklace to a local university specializing in marine archeology. She'd left that day, hoping it would be misplaced in the bowels of scientific research, never to resurface. Weeks passed, her head healed, and she finished the board design for Finola. She'd almost convinced herself she was in control of her life again.

Then the museum had called with their report. The trunk dated to the midseventeenth century, the stone and chain were traced back to Scotland, the exact origin undocumented, but they'd classified it as likely being a clan charm stone. They couldn't find any paper trail putting it on a ship that had
been documented as having sunk off the coast of South Carolina and Josie didn't bother explaining the ship might have sunk on the other side of the Atlantic. She really didn't want to know anything more about the trunk or the stone.

They'd made some suggestions as to where she could send the trunk to have it fully restored, if that were her intention. Josie had no desire to keep it, much less restore it. She'd grudgingly picked it up, telling herself to be thankful they hadn't made a media event out of her find. Back at home, she'd wrapped the trunk in a moving blanket and tucked it on a shelf of gear in the corner of her porch; out of sight, out of mind. Or so she hoped.

She'd even gotten out of the Scotland trip. Her father had been a bit confused and a little hurt by her wish to stay behind, but he'd reluctantly agreed. She'd finally allowed herself to completely relax. Episode over. Josie Griffin: one, Destiny: zero.

Then came the last-minute phone call from Hawaii. One of her father's oldest friends had passed away and he'd been asked to be a pallbearer. So he'd hopped a flight to LAX with a connecting flight to the big island… and she'd hopped a flight to Scotland.

Destiny. Fate.

The two words had echoed in her mind since takeoff. She leaned her forehead against the small airplane window and closed her eyes. She only wished she could shut out Bagan's voice as easily. The dwarf might have vanished from her life, but he hadn't vanished from her thoughts.

In the end, she'd decided that if Fate were indeed dragging her to Scotland, the least she could do was be prepared. So she'd done some research of her own and discovered where Glenmuir was. As it hap-pened-and it was a coincidence, no matter what

Bagan said-Glenmuir was a Hebridean island off the western coast of Scotland… a three-hour ferry ride from the neighboring island of Tiree, where the championships were taking place.

So she'd decided to go to the championships, then package up the trunk and ferry it over to Glen-muir. She'd pay someone to drop it off with whoever currently resided in, or was in charge of, Winter-haven Castle… then she'd fly home. The trunk and stone would be with their rightful owner, her dad would be happy she'd represented the company, and maybe her peace of mind would finally be restored.

Ye can't escape yer destiny.

“Oh shut up,” she muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

She opened her eyes to find her seatmate, an older woman, frowning at her.

Josie smiled weakly. “I'm sorry, I was just talking to myself.”

The older woman's frown turned to something that looked like pity. She patted her hand and said, “I know just how you feel, dear. Hard to turn off the problems in your life sometimes, isn't it?”

Josie just nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes that helps.”

Josie just shook her head. “But thank you for offering.” She could only imagine the poor woman's expression if she told her she had a magic necklace that enabled her to see an invisible dwarf.

“I understand, dear,” the older woman said. “Why, when my Harold left me for that floozy that worked in the perfume department, I thought I'd never get over the shame…”

Josie closed her eyes and pretended not to hear, but that didn't stop the woman. In fact, for the entire flight she got to listen to every horrible thing

Harold had ever done. By the time they landed in Glasgow, Josie understood why Harold had chosen the floozy. Self-preservation. She'd rather have spent the flight talking to a Bagan. At least she could make him disappear when she wanted.

She disembarked and found Finola waiting for her. They'd spoken on the phone numerous times and Josie felt like she knew her fairly well. Finola's beaming smile and warm Scottish brogue as she welcomed her had her relaxing almost immediately. For the first time Josie let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't such a huge mistake after all.

Five days later, she wasn't so sure.

“One hundred pounds,” Josie offered, desperation creeping into her voice. “I'll even throw in this surfboard. It's an autographed original.”

The MacBayne ferry captain sighed wearily. “Do I look like a surfer, to you?” He was in his fifties, short and quite stout, with a white beard ringing his chin. She'd seen men in worse shape attempting to shoot the tubes, but she understood his point.

“Okay, okay, name your price. I just need this package delivered. Please, it's important.”

He tried a kind smile, but Josie knew she'd pushed him as far as she was going to. “Lassie, I appreciate that yer in a spot of trouble here, but this is a ferry, no’ a postal service. I'll be glad to book you passage, but I canno’ be responsible for deliverin’ a package. I'm sorry.”

“My flight leaves tomorrow,” Josie said, not caring that she was whining. “If I don't take the other ferry to Oban this afternoon, I'll never make it back to Glasgow in time. I can't take the ferry to Glen-muir and get back in time for the ferry to Oban.”

“That's for certain since the ferry doesn't return
this way. It goes on to Harris, then all the way to Oban itself. There won't be service from Glenmuir again for three days.”

“Three days?” Josie wanted to cry. This wasn't supposed to be so difficult. She'd looked at the ferry schedule when she'd arrived and purposely made sure she got here in enough time to send the package off before heading back to the mainland. She'd have done it on her way to Tiree, but Finola had been with her and she hadn't wanted to explain. Now it looked like she was stuck.

“You could post it from the mainland,” the captain suggested.

Josie had thought about that, but she really wanted to make sure it got into the right hands. Plus she had no idea to whom she was sending it. She hadn't been able to find out much about Glenmuir other than how to get to it. It was too small to make the travel guides. She'd intended to do some research on it and Winterhaven and the MacNeils after she got here, but Finola had kept her so busy that there hadn't been any time even to look at a map.

And there was no one else lined up to make the trip over that she could bribe to help her out. She looked to the captain. “You wouldn't happen to know who resides in Winterhaven Castle, would you?”