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I hadn’t heard anyone use that Scottish proverb in a long while. I think the last person I’d heard it from was my maternal grandmother, when I had been worried about getting my nursing qualification. It meant what was destined for you will be yours, in the end.
“Very true, Anna.”
“I hope your date goes well.”
“Thank you.” I felt that I needed to take the opportunity to see if she remembered any more from her past. My searching through the Auchness social media page for any James MacDonalds had not been useful. There had been a couple, but not of the right age. “Anna, I don’t know if you remember us chatting about the village you lived in when James was little. I wanted to ask—was it Auchness?”
“Yes, I think that’s right,” she said, looking up from her cross-stitch. “I have to say, my memory hasn’t been that great recently. I’m not sure if I told you that.”
“Mm, you did mention it,” I said, not wanting to tell her that her memory was so bad that it was what was keeping her in hospital. “But did you move away from Auchness?”
Anna paused to think about it. “I think so. I think we went to Glasgow. But . . .” She blinked, appearing puzzled. “I’m not sure. I can’t quite picture us there. I’m sure that’s where we went though . . .” She pressed her lips together, worry lining her features.
I patted her hand. “It’ll come back to you, I’m sure.”
She nodded, the concern falling from her face as she busied herself with the cross-stitch again.
“Right, I’ll leave you to it. Stay out of trouble till I get back.”
She chuckled. “I’ll try.”
Anna’s social worker would be in to see her again this week. They were looking into getting her a place in a care home, while they tried to discover whether she had any family somewhere. I just wished there was more to go on to find James. Where did he live? A bolt of dread fired into my heart, making my skin prickle. What if he was dead?
I shook my head. I hoped not. But whatever had become of him, it was better to know, for Anna’s sake.
*
I pressed the doorbell, taking a step back to wait. Why did I feel so anxious? I’d never felt that way on Kerr’s doorstep before. Angry, sure. But never anxious.
Overwhelmed with anticipation, I tried to peer through the little frosted window at the top of his front door, then about fell through the bloody thing as it whooshed open to reveal the man himself standing behind it.
He gave me that bemused smile that he seemed to reserve just for me, when I was doing something outlandish or downright foolish. The one that hinted, dare I say it, that he liked it when I was just being me.
“Hey,” he said. God his voice was sexy. And he exuded a cozy-sexy vibe in a chunky cable-knit navy jumper and dark blue jeans.
“Well, hello there,” I said, putting on a weird deep voice.
He chuckled. “Just let me grab my shoes and jacket.” He gestured for me to wait inside, in the warm house, and I watched him pull on a pair of boots and a fur-lined leather jacket. Then we headed out to his Range Rover and climbed in.
“Your lights are all set up again,” he commented, nodding over at my brightly lit display across the street. Minus the extra, fire-inducing set, of course.
“Yep,” I said. “Read it and weep, Murdoch.”
He chuckled. “You’re still a step behind me, I feel.”
“Humph,” I replied, still pretty annoyed about that particular issue.
“How’s Aisha?” he asked, smiling.
“Fighting fit,” I said as we drove down our street toward town. For some reason my eyes kept being drawn to the way his big hands gripped the steering wheel. “Bossing Seb around like nobody’s business.”
He smiled. “Excellent. And what about Izzy?”
I turned to study his profile. “Also fighting fit, thanks to you and Katie.”
His smile turned a little bashful and my heart melted into a gooey pile of mush. Seeing a man as strapping and serious-looking as Kerr look bashful was the best mix of hot and cute.
I fingered the base of my throat, where, under my winter layers, the little bruise that he’d sucked onto my neck lay. I’d been touching it multiple times a day since, remembering the heat of his mouth on my skin.
