I couldn’t imagine why that mattered. “That’s awfully nice of them.”
“Not a’tall. Good for advertisin’, and all that.”
“Advertising?”
The other officer winked at me. He was bursting with excitement and couldn’t sit still. “The news of yer rescue will draw quite a crowd.”
“My…rescue?”
“The Martin kids who found ye on their skidoo.”
“Oh, right.”
The driver found me in his rearview. “Sure but a news crew will show up tonight.”
The other one shrugged. “Aye, well, we havenae thrown a rescue party all year. It’s bound to be a hoachin’ hoolie.”
A hoachin’ hoolie. It was probably exactly what it sounded like. A big party to celebrate the rescuers. I was just the excuse to throw it.
I thought about it during the short drive and realized the Martin kids might have a really great story about how they’d rescued me. And if I was smart, I’d find them before I talked to anyone about what had happened after I got lost in the storm—to get our stories straight.
Then I wouldn’t have to make one up.
But before I worried about any of that, I needed to find out how far it was from the Cairngorm to the local Armory.
When we hit the main road, we turned right, away from the row of buildings Cian and I had been headed for. I wanted to ask for a ride to the armory, but they’d have wanted to know why. And in my panic, moving farther and farther from Cian, I couldn’t think of a thing!
I figured we’d gone about three miles before we finally pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. And though I should have been eager for a hot shower and a chance to catch my breath, all I wanted was to go back to that field and lie about who I was.
I wondered how much jail time would be required, in Scotland, for stealing a police car…
I thoughtCian had been hard to understand…
I caught less than half of what the hotel manager had to say after I was escorted through the parking lot and into the busylobby. The police left me in his hands, very dramatically, by the way, for the benefit of those looking on. I’m sure he introduced himself, because he shook my hand in there somewhere while he chatted away.
Another man nodded to me and said he was putting my skis in a storage locker before taking them from the officer who’d carried them inside. And as the manager led me up the stairs, people took turns shouting at me. All of it kind.
“Welcome home!” Like I had lived there all my life.
"Help ma Boab!" Not a clue.
"Glad ye're still wi' us!"
"Ye gave us a right gliff!"
"Gaun yersel!"
"Glad ye're still wi' us!"
“Someone get a dram intae her!”
The last made everyone laugh.
On the second floor, my host said something about me being too something to climb another flight of stairs. He unlocked a door and led me inside a spacious room with a turret in the corner. A charming sanctuary. A space I could catch my breath in.
In the turret, the circular walls felt like a hug, and the large windows offered a panoramic view of the mountains I hadn’t wanted to leave behind. Every corner of the room was touched with warmplaid accents—from the heavy wool blanket draped over the armchair to the brown tartan curtains, to the matching lampshades—giving the whole suite a sense of old-world charm.
Almost as charming as the old world where I’d spent the past two days.
