BULL: MC ROMANCE (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 6) (129 page)

Chapter Three: What are the Chances?

Calleigh boarded the plane on Thursday afternoon with nothing more in mind than spending three weeks where the air and water were clean, the skies clear, and the people friendly. By the time she stepped off the train in Inverness her back hurt, her clothes were wrecked, and her hair defied her brush and was wadded in knots around her head. Then there was the reek of day old Strongbow from her jeans, after she spilled half a pint on herself in the dining car.

She stumbled from the taxi and dragged her bags through the lobby to the Concierge desk.

The French Concierge took a long look at her and said, “Took the train did you?” We are here to help. Anything you need, extra soap, towels, just ask.”

The room was perfect. A king bed set in the center of an airy room. It was fresh painted as well, and with modern furniture to boot. She was more than happy to take of her beer and sweat stained blouse and throw it away entirely, she was so annoyed by the spill and the smell of them. After she showered and re-dressed, she stopped and took a long, hard look at the bed. A nap would be bliss, but if she could power through the day, the rest of the trip would be jetlag free, she thought.

Well, if she were going to stay awake, then she needed people, someone to talk to. As she strode through the lobby, she updated her Facebook status with her new locale. It wasn’t often she was travelling abroad and she was excited to share her adventure with her “friends.”

Inverness seeped into her skin as she walked along Castle Street. From the tourist souvenirs along the High Street to the luxurious cashmere sweaters in shops she would never have dreamed of entering when she was a student, she took it all in. Three and four story stone buildings lined both sides of the winding streets, the pavement crowded with pedestrians. A crisp breeze blew off the River Ness and pushed her hair off her shoulders. From the pedestrian suspension bridge she watched seals play in the clear water. Despite being exhausted, she felt better than she had in years.

Hunger drove her away from the bridge in search of a serving restaurant. At 10:30 in the morning it was too late for breakfast in Inverness and too early for the lunch service to begin. She was saved by the familiar sight of a bright yellow “M.”

She ignored the vibration of her phone until she was finished eating. There was a flurry of, “Have a great time!” and “Lovely!” Facebook messages, and actually one invitation to meet and catch-up. She did still have some “friends” from her days here, after all. Muriel Corrie, a childhood mate of Dixon’s, whom she had actually never really liked, was interested in meeting up. She had actually hoped a few more of her old friends would have seen she was in town. She jammed the phone back into her purse without answering Muriel’s offer.

Driven by nervous energy, and a punch drunk sleeplessness which somehow actually pushed her to accomplish something, she strode down Church Street. She tried to slow down and take the time to thoughtfully look at each piece of artwork in the first gallery she entered, but was back out on the pavement ten minutes later. The day had to have a goal, something which said, “This is what I did on my vacation.” Then she tore through a stationary shop with such speed the card racks were left spinning in her wake, the idea of sending cards dismissed as quickly as it had struck. Eastgate Centre. She might not have come to Inverness to shop, but she would at least be able to walk off this unsettled feeling inside a toasty warm mall. 

A bright blue A-frame sign stood in the center of the pavement on the opposite side of the street with “Used Books and Café” painted in arched gold letters across the top. A book. Would. Be. Perfect. With a book and a nice cup of tea she would have a reason to sit down, to calm down and settle into being on vacation. 

Condensation ran in streams down the inside of the glass front door, the drops obscuring any view of the shop beyond. Visions of strictly ordered shelves covered in undiscovered mystery novels danced in her head as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The gleaming shelves by the front door supported stacks of newer hardback titles, divided into fiction and non-fiction sections, each section arranged in alphabetical order by author. The new Robert Crais caught her eye, and she plucked it off the shelf. With the book nestled in the crook of her left arm against her chest, she walked through the short hallway and into the main part of the store.

The smell punched her in the face and stole her breath. Her eyes watered under the twin assault of mouldering paper and broccoli soup. To her right was the Mystery section, every inch covered in a thin layer of thick, brown dust. Books were stacked in precious piles on the floor in front of every bookcase and down the length of the common pathway. The check-out counter was buried in books but for a two foot square of bare wood countertop, behind which a heavy-set man sat reading a tattered copy of Jasper Fforde’s
Thursday Next: First Among Sequels
.

Two backwards steps and she was back in the gleaming entrance hall. She took deep gulps of the clean Inverness air carried in as customer’s streamed in and out of the building. Out of her purse came the notebook she kept for just such occasions, where she noted the name and address of the shop, why she would never return, and which social media sites the posting should be listed on. Notebook returned to her purse, she flipped open the front cover of the Crais. £2.50. It would cost five times that at a first run bookstore. Fortified with a deep breath of clean air, she stepped back into the shop and dropped the book on the counter, her credit card already laid on top. If all went well, there would be no need to breath.

The man behind the counter pushed the card onto the scarred wood counter, flipped the book open, checked the price, closed the front cover, and then entered the price into the cash register.

Calleigh could feel her face flush as she fought the urge to breath.

He turned toward her, “Do you want a carrier?”

When she shook her head, “no,” stars burst in front of eyes.

Caiden picked the card up off the counter, a quick glance at the expiration date and…

Calleigh gasped. The blood drained from her face as she choked on the dust clogged air.

“Are you going to live?”

She nodded “yes,” her right hand circled in a “move along” gesture.

He ran the card through the machine, the screen immediately flashed “Invalid.” The expiration date…sat right above the name “Calleigh R McCabe.”

“Aw, you’ve got to be joking,” Caiden said under his breath. He turned to Calleigh, “Are you from the States, by chance? Sometimes we have a wee bit of trouble with cards from the States.”

“Yes, I have another card here if…” She had her head down as she dug through her purse.

“No, it’s all good. Just give me a moment to,” Caiden shoved a stack of books off the counter behind the register into the floor. “Where are you, you fec…,” he muttered.

“What was that?” asked Calleigh.

Caiden turned back to her with a smile, “Nothing.” He rooted around behind the register until he came up with a handheld intercom. A high pitched whine shook the windows when he flipped the switch on the side of the base. He pressed a large, red, toggle button, “Ceannard, if you could come the counter, please.” Feedback screeched through the overhead speakers as he released the button. To Calleigh he said, “Won’t be a mo.”

Calleigh pulled her fingers from her ears and mentally added this deficiency to the list of reasons to never set foot in this shop again. “It’s fine. If I could just get my card back…”

Caiden held up his index finger to say “just one minute” as he let loose through the intercom again. “Ceannard!” He turned back to Calleigh with a sloppy grin. “It’s the difference in the system, you see. We use Chip & Pin. In the US you use magnetic strips. He’ll be here in a minute, set you right up.”

Great. Two guys who won't be able to work the credit card machine,
thought Calleigh.

***

Dixon slammed the phone down. Four cleaning companies and not one was willing to clean his flat for less than £250. He quite liked the smell of soup and having an extra £250, thank you very much. The whine of the intercom brought tears to his eyes. He put his hands over his ears and waited for the muffled screech of the sign-off signal. Twice a year or so Caiden re-discovered the old intercom system, amused himself for a few days, and then forgot about it again.

He was caught off guard by the shout of, “Ceannard!” from the speaker over his desk.

“Bloody hell.” Dixon wove through the boxes of books stacked around his office, around the bookcase which covered half the doorway which led from the office to behind the counter. “Is the building on fire?"

Caiden leaned against the counter, his back to Calleigh, right hand stuck out toward Dixon with a credit card gripped between his index and middle fingers.

Dixon took the credit card and read the name, “Calleigh R McCabe?”

Calleigh had her head down as she dug in her purse for Kleenex and looked up when she heard her name. “Dixon?”

Caiden gave them both a sloppy grin as he leaned with his head in his hands, elbows pressed against the countertop. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Four: Old Flames Reunited

Dixon stared at Calleigh as Calleigh stared at Dixon. Neither of them moved.

She looks exactly the same
, Dixon thought.
Better, actually.

He is exactly the same
, Calleigh thought.
I gave him that t-shirt.

The awkward silence between the two stretched as Dixon stood behind the counter clutching Calleigh’s credit card like a life line while Calleigh stood in front of the counter with both her hands in her purse, trying not to sneeze. Dixon darted around the counter and wrapped Calleigh in a we’re-friends-but-not-really-‘cause-we-used-to-be-more-and-I’m-happy-to-see-you-and-at-the-same-time-this-is-weird-and-I-don't-know-what-to-do-half-sorta-whole hug with their shoulders touching but their bodies two feet apart.

“Don’t mind me. Just slowly dying.” Caiden smacked his forehead against the countertop.

Calleigh gave Dixon a half-hearted pat on the back, her hand full of the Kleenex she had dug out of her purse. “It’s good to see you,” her voice a nasal whine as she tried not to further irritate her itching sinuses.

He released her and stepped back. They both shifted from foot-to-foot through the, “How are you’s?” and the stilted half-starts where neither of them really knew what to say.

Every ounce of nervous energy which had propelled Calleigh in her breakneck tear through Inverness drained away as they chatted. From out of left field, she said, “I’m staying at the Rock Arundel Preserve.”
Why did I say that? Makes it sound like I want him to pop over sometime and do me.

That’s a bit posh for three weeks,
was Dixon’s thought on the matter.
Was there not a B&B available?

She smiled and nodded.
Why did this have to happen today? I’ll back out of the conversation and we can try again tomorrow after I’ve bought a couple of sexy, killer outfits, spent a fortune on my hair, and had some sleep. I’ll just say,
“We should get together sometime for coffee and catch-up. I’m free to…”

“Brilliant. Let’s go upstairs to the café.” Dixon beamed, his eyes glowed in the dusty light.
You look fantastic. I have missed you so much.

Noooooooooo! I look like I was hit by a Mack truck,
thought Calleigh.
I want this to be perfect.
“Don’t you have to work?”

Dixon shrugged his left shoulder. “I own the shop, so I think the boss will forgive me.”

“Go with God, my son.” Caiden held out the book and Calleigh’s credit card. “And take these with you.”

“You own this?” Shocked, her eyes wide at the thought anyone would admit to being responsible for this mess. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah,” Dixon nodded as he surveyed his kingdom. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Calleigh took a seat at a small bistro table next to the wrought iron rail which separated the mezzanine’s café customers from a twenty foot drop onto the floor below, and watched Dixon debate with a set of forty-plus twins who were dressed in perfectly matched outfits. The twins shared a glance, hard frown lines criss-crossing their brows, before the one on the right said, “Just this once.”

Dixon joined Calleigh at the table carrying two large cups of coffee and a plate full of sandwiches. “They don’t normally do sandwiches, but they made a one-time exception.”

“How can you tell them apart?” Calleigh asked.

“As far as I know, no one can. Everyone calls them ‘The Ladies’ and that suits them fine.”

A man in his twenties in a Harris tweed jacket with a newspaper tucked under his arm, lingered in front of the dessert trays, torn between the Bakewell tarts and the shortbread scones. He leaned forward at the waist, his nose close to the glass partition.

“Take your pick or shove off!” One of The Ladies growled.

He hastily snapped up a Bakewell tart and shuffled away down the counter to pay.

“They seems to be pretty a bit of a tough crowd.” laughed Calleigh.

Dixon leaned back in his chair smiling. ”Aw, they are sweethearts once you get to know them. With that he leaned in and said, “Tell me everything.”

***

What happened? You were going to write a novel, start your own magazine, do something with yourself. Where did that ambition go?
Calleigh thought they both would have changed during the intervening years, but he seemed to have devolved. Though the thought did not rest well, knowing he did own his own business certainly counted for something; even if it was this place.
Aren’t you ready for something more? A move into the corporate world? To write those novels you talked about maybe? A family?

You were going to be a math teacher. I understand wanting to do something else, but the oil business? Really? There has to be something better. Are you happy doing that?
Dixon was startled to realize that his version of Calleigh –how he remembered her -had been left in the dust, only to be replaced by this semi-refined woman through whom he could only catch the occasional glimpse of the girl he once knew.
And what’s with the fancy hotel? What happened to the girl who would have been happy staying in a hostel?

***

I’m still attracted to him though.
Calleigh’s thoughts of needing perfection, the sexy, killer outfits or a better hairstyle drifted away as they talked, replaced by a long-missed feeling of just feeling like she was at home. The warm comfort of being in the presence of someone she could say anything to and express every thought in her head without worry. She didn’t even notice when she lowered her guard, or when her defenses disappeared. She just knew that after an hour with Dixon, she just felt incredibly open and free.

             
Am I attracted to the woman in front of me or the girl I used to know?
Dixon smiled at Calleigh, hearing the thoughts in his head more than the words which flowed from her mouth.
Both
, he decided as he leaded forward across the table to be that much closer to her.

***

Caiden’s, “Sorry,” floated up to them from below when the overhead lights flickered.

Calleigh looked through the railing to see Caiden, The Ladies, and an elderly woman she had mistaken for a dedicated customer, all wearing their coats as they hovered by the front door. A glance at her watch told her it was 4:03 in the afternoon. Eyebrows drawn together in a moment of confusion before she remembered the shops of Inverness rolled-up the carpet and turned out the lights promptly at 4:00 PM. In an hour, the restaurants would start dinner service. Otherwise, Inverness had just closed for business.

“How about getting together Sunday?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
What am I doing, I didn’t come to Scotland to date.
There was a nagging voice at the back of her head which asked,
Then why did you come here?

Dixon’s head tilted to the right as he smirked. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said, “I’ve always enjoyed a Sunday. Seems a decent day of the week, as far as days go.”

“We could do something, maybe.”
How incredibly vague can you be? He’s looking at you like you grew a second head.

“Sure. We can walk the river, have a ramble.”

“I’d like that. “ Calleigh stood. She pulled her coat off the back of the chair and ignored the four sets of eyes from the floor below as they scrambled to look anywhere other than at her.

They walked down the stairs. Before she stepped out of the building, she turned and hugged Dixon. Their bodies were close as she wrapped her arms tight around his back.

Both had bite their tongues, neither wanting to be the one who caved into sentimentality first by admitting how much each had missed the other.

***

The smell of soup and rotting paper had been forgotten during the hours she had spent with Dixon. Out on the street, the twin odors roared back.
Ugh, I smell like burnt broccoli. I need another shower. And I may need to burn my coat.

The obviousness of her motivation in returning here hit her square between the eyes as she wandered back down Castle Street toward her hotel. Every building and every stone was a place she had been with Dixon. Her memories, as well as the feeling of home she had hoped to replicate by coming here were all tied to being here with him. It had cost her a mere $5467.85 to figure that out.

She felt weak, her arms and legs trembled in the same jittery twitch she would develop after too many energy drinks.
Do I really want to do this all over again, or should I just leave the past in the past?

Phone in hand, she flicked through the screens until she found the train timetable she bookmarked. The Caledonian Express departed Inverness at 8:44 PM. She would be back in London by 8:30 the following morning.

Do I stay or do I go?