Since my hair was sopping wet again, I dug my roller brush out of my suitcase and straightened my hair a little as I dried it. Iturned off the lights and headed for the bed, but was interrupted by another knock at the door.
I suddenly remembered that Nick was in town, and maybe Tara. And if they were at my door, I didn’t plan on answering. A peek through the keyhole showed a waiter holding a tray, obviously at the wrong room. I opened the door to let him know.
“Compliments of the manager,” he said. “He reckoned ye might enjoy some proper food before the festivities.”
My stomach grumbled, warning me not to send it back. The meal I’d made of the gift basket goodies apparently hadn’t atoned for a couple of sparse days.
“Thank you. And thank him for me.” I took the tray.
“And…I was to remind ye that folks’ll be expectin’ yeat six.”
“Tell him I will be prompt.” I closed the door. “Probably.” I took the food to the ottoman and lifted the lid. Two little pies, one leaning against the other one, set in the center of a little moat of gravy. A pile of frilly carrots sat at one corner of the square plate, and a pile of peas opposite.
My heart is broken. I shouldn’t have an appetite.
My stomach begged me to focus.
Inside the pies were cubes of roast beef and potatoes. I ate one and then half of the second before I stopped to catch my breath. The crust was much different from mine, but I was in no mood to dissect ingredients or wonder how they’d created the unique lines in the carrots.
None of it mattered. I no longer had a menu to worry about. Or a husband, or a house…or a Highlander from the 1700’s. But I worried about the latter anyway.
I stripped down to my underwear and slipped between the cold sheets. The blankets were heavy, but not enough to shut off my brain and knock me out.
How long before Cian would be back at the bothy? Was he already there? Had anyone seen him and followed? Was hestoking the fire, reheating what was left of the soup? And just how soon would he forget me?
Even though he said he wouldn’t…
It was almost easier to imagine that he hadn’t really cared, or that he kissed me only because I was the only female to stumble into his life for at least eight years. Even imagining that he preferred brunettes or really, anything but strawberry blondes, was less painful than seeing the image of him sitting at the table with his head in his hands and his heart in pieces.
If he hurt as much as I did…
I eventually took a deep enough breath to fall asleep. And when I woke up, at twenty minutes to six, my pillow was even wetter than I expected. If it was possible to weep while sleeping, I obviously had.
CHAPTER 23
Iwore jeans, a sweater, and a down vest. I’d packed a dress, but since I’d picked it out with Tara, there was no way I’d wear it, especially if she was coming to the hoachin’ hoolie. My cute boots had good-sized heels, so I wore them for Nick.
The only makeup I’d added, so my eyes would actually show up in a picture, was some tear-proof mascara. The cry-swelling was gone from my eyes, so I looked my old self. I wondered how Cian was looking, and cursed. I couldn’t think about him until I escaped the party or no mascara, no matter how waterproof, would last long.
Promptly at six o’clock, I started down the colorful, plaid-covered staircase. I kept my attention on my feet so I didn’t supply anyone with footage that might go viral—rescued skier breaks neck hours after rescue.
My host was decked out in a kilt and full costume and stood at the foot of the stairs beaming up at me like a proud father. I figured the fact that I had arrived at the appointed time was enough compensation for my meal. And if I was the cause of a higher bar tab for his pub, that made up for more than just a night’s stay.
Looked like it was going to be a guilt-free night. Or at least it was until I spotted Nick standing just behind the manager. If it was a set up for an emotional reunion, someone was about to be horribly disappointed.
I didn’t have to look far to find Tara. She was a few feet away from Nick already nursing a drink. She tried to catch my eye, but I let my gaze pass over her, like I hadn’t recognized her.
The hotel manager held out a hand to help me down the last steps, and I wondered if he wished I could come up with a limp or something. He wore a nametag now. Big letters. Craig something, followed by his title.
“We reckoned we’d put together a wee hoolie for ye, lassie, to make up for yer sufferin’ in our mountains.” He smiled into the bright light of a massive TV camera mounted on a man’s shoulders.
A woman beside him stuck the fluffy end of a microphone toward Craig. “They say ye’re putting the lass upnon gratisuntil she has recovered, is that true?”
“Aye, it is. A nice suite with a turret might erase the memory of that snow cave she was forced to shelter inside.”
Lights, camera, and suddenly Craig can speak clearly enough for any audience to understand?
“What do you think, Mrs. Gaines? Can we call you Matty?”
