“I heard she caught him with his pants down around his ankles with another woman. Is that true?” The tiniest of the women, the one called Mrs. Thorpe leaned forward in her wheelchair, her oversized glasses sliding down her long nose.
“All true—and on her wedding day no less! Can you imagine how that poor girl must’ve felt?” The heftiest of the trio, Mistress Olive Johnson scooted to the edge of the couch while reaching for her cup of tea.
“And now she doesn’t trust any man. Why—I even tried fixing her up with my youngest son, Gerald, but she said she’d rather get a puppy. Said she could trust a dog’s loyalty.” Mrs. Thorpe shook her head, then pushed her glasses back up her nose.
“Your Gerald is nearly sixty years old,” Mrs. Neeley said. “What would a young girl like Harley want with him?” She sat back in her chair, scowling as she folded her hands in her lap.
“Well, at least she wouldn’t be alone anymore.” Mrs. Thorpe gave a disgruntled snort, picked up her tea, and settled deeper into the pillows stuffed in her wheelchair. “I caught her when she didn’t know I was watching. I’ve seen the loneliness pouring like a flood out of those goldencat eyes of hers.”
MacCallen angled the tilt of his head to better take in every word the women uttered. Their nattering proved that the Harley lass was the one. Why else would Fate provide him with so much information about her and her history with men?
“Matilda, I wish there was something we could do for the poor dear. You know how fond I am of her.” Olive reached over and patted Mrs. Thorpe’s hand. “But fixing her up with your son is not the answer. That child needs a young man who’ll stir her blood.”
MacCallen dragged his hand across his mouth to cover his smile.If they only knew,he thought to himself, then stirred and sat up straighter as Harley appeared in the hallway and headed toward him.
“Are you ready to go outside?It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we take a stroll, and you can tell me more seafaring tales?”She held out her hand to help him up while tipping her head at the double doors that opened out into the gardens.
“Thank ye, but no, lass. I think I’d best go back to my room. Been up quite a while now. Weary to the bone, I am.” He pulled himself up out of the chair and leaned heavily against his three-legged cane.
“Not even just one lap around the gardens? I promise we’ll take it slow.” She treated him to one of her beguiling smiles while gently but firmly trying to steer him toward the garden doors.
“No, lass. Not today. Besides, I believe I’ve told ye every tale I know.” He pulled his arm free and ambled down the hall toward his room.
Aggravated that their newest resident appeared to be immune to her charms, Harley chewed her lower lip as she watched him turn into his room and close the door behind him. Mr. MacCallen was a puzzle she was determined to solve. It wasn’t good for him to isolate himself the way he did. By the strength of his grasp, she didn’t believe his weariness excuse for a minute.
“Harley, come over here and sit with us a bit. Leave that stodgy old Scot to himself.” Olive patted the cushion on the couch beside her and nodded for Harley to sit.
“What are you ladies up to? You look like you’ve been plotting.” Harley gave the trio her sternest look, knowing it wouldn’t workbecause they were incorrigible. Every one of them looked like a teenager who’d been caught out after curfew.
“We’ve decided that we’re going to help you find someone. You know—fix you up.” Matilda Thorpe smiled so widely that the bright pink gums of her dentures showed.
Alarm bells making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, Harley backed away. “Sorry ladies, but I need to check on the dinner menus and make sure we have all the supplies we need.” She turned on her heel and nearly ran down the corridor, safely out of range of the plotting matchmakers. The last thing she needed in her life was a man.
“Mr. MacCallen, are you feeling okay?”Harley eased open the door, concerned at the lack of response to her knocking. “Rosa said you didn’t eat a bite of the pie I snuck onto your tray.”The darkened room and silence concerned her. More than once, she had been the one to discover when a person had passed away.“Mr. MacCallen, are you awake?” She held her breath as she eased across the room, hoping for the best.
“Aye, lass.I am awake. Just resting.”He shifted positions on the bed, turning toward her.
“Are you all right?”She hurried to the bedside, switched on the softer light over the head of his bed, and gently took hold of his wrist to check his pulse. Slow, steady, and strong. Her heart went out to the poor old soul. Some never adjusted to losing their independence, to life in the retirement home. Some fought it tooth and nail until they died. “What’s wrong, Mr. MacCallen? How I can help you? Make life here better for you?”
“Sit with me a while, lass. Here on the side of the bed.Let me tell ye my favorite story about the sea.”He patted a spot on the heavy plaid blanket he had brought with him and kept tossed across the bedclothes provided by the facility.
She perched on the edge of the bed, tryingnot to shake him. Something about him was not right. His color was off no matter what his heart rate told her.“I thought you said you didn’t have any more sea stories?Were you fibbing to me?”
“Hold out yer hand,”he said with such a weak raspiness that she contemplated pulling the alarm cord hanging beside the bed.
But something about the mysterious shadows in his eyes stopped her. It was almost a pleading look, like a stray animal begging for scraps and a little kindness. She held out her hand and waited. As soon as he took it between both of his, an eerie tingling swept through her as if she had just shoved a metal fork into a light socket. She forced herself not to jump or yank her hand away. Even though it had been quite a jolt, it couldn’t be anything more than static electricity. When he released her hand, a heavy locket, the most gorgeous piece of jewelry she had ever seen, was resting in her palm.
“Mr. MacCallen—how beautiful.Did you find this on one of yer voyages? Was it sunken treasure once?”She slowly turned it in her hand, admiring the exquisite workmanship of the piece.Made of what appeared to be heavy gold, the locket was covered in ancient runes and Celtic knotwork, then edged with curls and cusps of metalwork made to look like the waves of the sea lapping around its perimeter.Each link of the heavy gold chain was also decorated with wavelike lines.The face of the locket had a huge moonstone encrusted in its center. As it warmed to her touch, the gemstone glowed brighter.She couldn’t remember when she’d last seen such a lovely piece of jewelry.The necklace mesmerized her, hypnotizing her with its rare, unique beauty.
“The Sea God Manannán Mac Lir fashioned this locket for the Goddess Clíodhna. That stone only glows for those who harbor a true love of the sea and for those blessed few, great magic lies within it.”He smiled at her, the brilliant blue of his eyes somehow seeming brighter.
She arched a brow as she held the necklace up by the chain.“Magic, you say?” Sometimes old folks returned to their childhood beliefs, and she would do nothing to take that joy away fromthem. “Wouldn’t that be something?”What kind of magic? Does it grant wishes or teleport the bearer to another place or time?”
The old man’s eyes danced as he pushed himself higher in the bed and leaned toward her. “Legend says if ye hold the locket to yer heart and hold yer deepest desires firm in yer mind, they will come true.”
“My deepest desires? My goodness. That’s a pretty tall order for such a lovely locket to pull off.”She stood and smiled at the gorgeous necklace one last time before returning it to the old Scot.
He gave her a lopsided grin and folded her fingers tightly around it while staring deeply into her eyes.“Try it, lass. Where’s the harm? Hold it to yer heart.See what wondrous things come to a true believer.”
