Distracted, Daisy nodded. “I’ll show you how to use the cooktop in the van next time.” She let Frankie off the leash to explore while she went in their little home to see what they had for dinner.
Callan collected twigs and branches. His movements practiced and efficient as he placed them in the stone fire pit. As the fire came to life, its warm glow illuminating the campsite, he felt himself relax. Building a fire, sleeping out under the stars, these things were familiar, no matter the century.
While she was inside, Callan went to the back of the van, pulling out the folding chairs from the small storage area. One was red, the other blue, and each chair had a pocket and a place to put their drink so it would not fall over on the ground. He set up the comfortable camp chairs in front of the fire.
“How can I aid ye?” he asked, sticking his head inside the open door.
Before they left town, she had ordered a fine mesh curtain to hang in the open door so the bugs would not get in, but they would have a breeze. ’Twas a marvel to ask for something he wanted from the tablet, and it was delivered to their door that day or the next.
“How about salmon and baked potatoes for dinner?”
She handed him a cold bottle of ale and the jar of pickles he favored.
“Aye. I like the potatoes with lots of butter and the sour cream.”
“Good. Why don’t you wash the potatoes, drizzle some oil on them, sprinkle a bit of salt all over the skin, and wrap them in foil. You know, that shiny stuff? Then put them in the fire to cook.”
Callan had learned to cook simple foods when he was a lad to aid his mum. Whilst traveling with Daisy, they quickly found they could not both be at the tiny kitchen counter at the same time. There wasna enough space without them bumping into each other. So, he put the potatoes in the fire and fed the dog while she gathered plates and whatever else they needed to sit outside and eat.
Once dinner was ready, they sat across from each other, a small folding flowered table between them. The delicious smells making his stomach growl. Back from exploring, Frankie ate his dog food bits, along with the salmon skin, and then curled up near Daisy as they ate.
The fire was reflected in her eyes as she took a sip of ale.
“Tell me about your life … before.”
Callan looked into the flames, the dancing light casting shadows on his face as he began the tale.
“After my mother died when I was thirteen, I was alone,” he began, his voice low.
“I learned to fend for myself, to make my own way. The highlands are unforgiving, and ye need to be strong to survive.”
He took a breath.
“I was but a wee lad of six when the clan banished my mother and I for her sin of loving an Englishman. Her name was Joan, and she was beautiful, though always sad, waiting for a man who would never return.”
Risking a glance at Daisy, he found her face open. No trace of scorn or disgust as he told his tale.
“My half-brother, William, who is, well was, Lord Blackford, said his father was a good man. That he believed my mother’s letter never arrived.”
Callan ran a hand through his hair.
“He said his father wanted sons, ’twas why he strayed from William’s mother. He thought if he had known about me, he would have come for my mother and I.”
Daisy reached out, taking his hand in hers. “I think he would have. I’m sorry you never met him, but I’m glad your brother accepted you.”
Callan squeezed her hand, grateful for her presence. In this moment, with the fire warming them and the stars winking across the sky, peace washed over him. The past would always be a part of him, but with Daisy, mayhap he was ready to start anew.
As they settled in for the night, Daisy and Frankie inside, and him outside under the stars, Callan lay awake, listening to the sounds of the night. The rustling of leaves, the distant call of an owl, and her voice from inside the camper, talking to the dog, brought him comfort.
Daisy was sittingat the tiny table in the van, hair damp from her outdoor shower. At first she thought they’d just use the cold water from the sink, but she was so glad they’d purchased a bucket with a hose. Then she heated water in the kettle, poured it in the bucket, and if she was fast, it was just enough for a nice hot shower.
Last night, relaxing in front of the fire, she’d painted her nails blue and white, deciding she’d wear one of her favorite white tees and a pair of blue and white polka dot shorts.
There was plenty to choose from in the Berkshires, and while she’d been hiking once several years ago, the trip hadn’t gone well.
While Callan took a shower, and no, she was not going there, though what a sight it must be, she poured herself another cup of coffee and fired up the cooktop in the kitchen to make omelets for breakfast.
“I know, you want bacon. Everyone loves bacon,” she said to Frankie as he practically sat on her bare feet, shamelessly giving her sad puppy eyes.
