Echoes of Edinburgh (11 page)

She'd taken a drink of her coffee. Bad timing. Sputtering, Shelby slapped her napkin over her mouth before lowering it a few seconds later. Heart pounding, she stared at him, wide-eyed. “Harry, are you saying you think my mom is...was...?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on hers.

They said it in unison. “Kentucky Woman.”

 

 

 

 

14

 

Thursday Afternoon, Day Six

“Where are you taking me today?” In her cotton floral skirt, pretty pink blouse, and sandals, Shelby managed to singlehandedly change Harrison's mind about pink—a color he normally disliked.

“You're staring at me again. I thought I'd been very careful at lunch and didn't spill anything on my clothes. Please don't tell me I have a stain somewhere?” Shelby smoothed a hand over her skirt.

Her question cut into his distracted thoughts. This time, she'd caught him red-handed. Her tone was coquettish, her smile coy, making it difficult to tear his eyes away from her. The woman moved like none other. When she fully relaxed, she giggled, and he loved that giggle, that smile.

“I, uh,” he said, trying to cover his shame of gawking like a love struck adolescent. Something about Shelby brought out a social awkwardness he hadn't experienced since his voice changed and he'd sprouted up four inches in the span of one year. While it was unexpected, it also made him feel much younger, less jaded. “The thing is, I'm kidnapping you.”

“Sounds like fun, although kidnapping usually implies taking someone somewhere against their will.” Slinging her purse over one shoulder, Shelby bounced past him. “You don't sound very convincing. Should I be scared?” She infused her voice with fake tremors and widened her eyes while forming an “O” with her lips.

The difference between
this
woman and the woman he'd met in the Castlehill Gardens almost a week ago was extraordinary. Chuckling, Harrison followed her out of the hotel and then ushered her toward Robert's car. After making sure she was tucked inside, he felt her eyes on him as he walked around the car and slid behind the wheel.

“Do you drive on the wrong side of the road often?” she asked. “It's strange enough to sit in the left passenger seat, but I'll try to not be a front-seat driver.”

“It helps if you try to think like a Brit. A prayer or two doesn't hurt either.”

“Then let's do that.” Surprising him, Shelby grabbed his hand. Seemed she wanted to pray on the spot again, like she'd done for Pops in the park on Sunday afternoon. “Father, keep Harrison on the right—well, make that wrong—side of the road. The left side. Keep us safe and may our conversation and actions with others be pleasing unto You. Thank You for the new opportunities You bring our way each day.”

“Thanks for praying for your kidnapper, but you should protest. At least a little.”

“Fine. I'll scream out the window a few times. Does that work for you?” Lowering the window, Shelby started to angle her head outside. “Getting ready to holler for help...”

“Get back in here. I'm forcing you to go to Musselburgh for ice cream.” Starting the engine, he wasn't about to pull the car away until he knew she'd be safe in her seat.

“Anyone listening out there?” Shelby called, leaning farther outside. “Harrison Reed, handsome American nomad and...foundation person...is kidnapping me to go get ice cream.” Her smile was infectious as she raised up in the seat a little and cupped her hands over her mouth. “In a place called Muscles…burg.”

“I mean it. Get back in here now,” he said, tugging on her arm, chuckling but starting to get a little nervous. “You're nutty, woman. Yell at
me
a couple of times, not out the window.”

Shelby dropped back down and secured her seatbelt. “I sure hope you're a better driver than a kidnapper. I think I've found the one thing you don't do so well.”

Darting a glance her way, Harrison smirked as he started driving. “You've got to trust your kidnapper. Once you taste the ice cream at Luca's, you'll forgive me. What's your favorite flavor? Pear?”

“To be honest, I haven't met an ice cream flavor I didn't like, but you can't go wrong with chocolate. That's pretty much one of my mottos in life.”

Considering how slender she was, he doubted she indulged in many sweets. Not that she didn't have curves in
all
the right places. Harrison shifted in the seat and focused on keeping the car in the proper lane as he made a left turn. “In that case, I highly recommend Cheeky Chocolate or Fudgy-Wudgy.”

“I've changed my mind. You're actually the greatest kidnapper ever. What's
your
favorite flavor?”

“Succulent Strawberry is really good and Vivacious Vanilla is anything but boring. You're in a great mood. How was the tour of the castle with Pops?”

“Enlightening, but not about Kentucky Woman, if that's what you're thinking. He wore his official jacket with the royal insignia. It was impressive the way the staff treated him with such respect. I didn't say anything about his position at the castle and neither did he.”

“He probably assumes I told you or that it came up in conversation.” He shot her a grin. “Pops knows we've shared a lot.”

“Yes, he told me he thinks ‘our fair-haired friend' is good for me, as he termed it. Imagine that. He told me some very interesting things about the Scots, too. Like how patriotic they are and how they believe in the class system. Did you know they think Americans closet themselves inside big houses and shut out other people?”

Harrison nodded. “Some of them do. That's a big reason why pubs and public houses are so important to the Scots. Friends can get together often. Actually, I think there's something to that theory. Even though they sometimes joke about Americans, there's no real animosity there.” He grinned. “They're also impressed with intelligent conversation about their history and culture as well as advanced education.”

She laughed. “Then I'm sure they must adore
you
. So, how far away is this divine ice cream place?” She half-turned toward him, distracting him. “My mouth's already watering.”

“Patience, my friend. You're such a kid. Luca's is only about five miles east of Edinburgh, so we're almost there.”

Shelby tapped her fingers in an impatient rhythm on the side of the window. “With all this traffic, we probably could have walked there faster.”

“It's all the people coming into town for the Jazz Festival,” he said, enjoying her enthusiasm. “I hope you're game to pitch a blanket in the park tomorrow night? Do a little dancing under the stars?”

“Sure. Sounds romantic. Count me in.”

“Good answer.” That comment sent his pulse soaring. “I wanted to drive today so I could show you some of the sights: St. Andrew's High Church, the Old Bridge—also known as the Roman Bridge—and the New Bridge which was actually built in 1806. There's even a golf course where Mary Queen of Scots supposedly played.”

She turned big eyes on him. “Are you making that up?”

“Nope. I'm sure old Mary swung a pretty mean club.” He pointed out the front window. “See that building that looks like a castle?”

“Lots of those around here, Harry, but if you mean the one straight ahead, yes.”

“It's called Old Tolbooth and survived a sacking by Henry the Eighth's English army during the ‘Rough Wooing' period back in the mid-1500s.”

The corners of Shelby's mouth quirked. “Rough Wooing? Hmm. That's intriguing.”

Harrison laughed at her implication. “War was declared on Henry the Eighth in an attempt to force the Scots to agree to a marriage between Henry's son, Edward, and the infant Mary, our golf club-swinging queen. It was the last major conflict between Scotland and England before the Union of the Crowns in 1603. And here we are,” he said, parking the car on a side street. “Luca's is only a couple of blocks from here.”

Considering how low the car sat to the ground, Shelby managed to climb out of the car with uncommon grace with those fabulously long legs of hers. Must be a skill they taught tall young ladies in old Edna what's-her-name's charm school. Not wishing to negate his chivalry by leering, Harrison averted his eyes as he closed her door.

“You may not be a good kidnapper in the traditional sense, but you're a very knowledgeable and amusing guide.” Shelby hooked her arm through his as they started down the street.

“Don't forget handsome. You called me that when you leaned out the window.”

Her brow furrowed. “I did?” She tugged on his tartan tie, the one she'd presented to him after their visit to the Scotland Shop.

“Yes,” he said, “but you
were
delirious at the time.” While holding open the door of Luca's, he caught the sweet scent of her hair as she passed beneath his arm on the way inside.

Talk about delirious.

 

 

 

 

15

 

Shelby took another bite of her Cheeky Chocolate ice cream, savoring the luscious treat. They sat at a table outside the café. “I've had lots of chocolate ice cream cones in my life, but this,” she said, holding up her cone like Lady Liberty with her torch, “is the stuff of some serious cravings.”

“Probably has a lot to do with the fact it's a family-owned business,” Harrison said. “Full of tradition and pride in making it so good. Want to hear a little history about Luca's?”

“Sure do.” She suspected the ice cream's rich flavor had as much to do with sharing the experience with Harrison, but she'd willingly listen to his little history lessons anytime.

“Luca Scappaticcio and his wife, Anastasia, came here from Italy in the late 1800s. He became a pastry chef at a hotel where he learned to make ice cream from a Swiss sous chef. By 1908, he'd saved enough money to rent a shop here in Musselburgh, and they named it Luca's since—let's face it—it's much easier to pronounce than Scappaticcio.”

“Agreed.” She tried to say the name but bungled it in royal fashion before taking another bite. Slurped was more like it. Then she licked around the base of the cone so it wouldn't drip.

“Question for you.”

This man had a lot of questions. Not that she minded. From some people, she might be wary or annoyed, but not from Harrison. “I hope I have an answer. Ask away.”

“If you hadn't been able to speak with your dad before he died to know about the envelope for Robert, what do you think would have happened when you found it?”

She stopped midway to taking another bite and tucked a napkin into the top of her blouse as a bib. “You know, I haven't ever thought about it.” She watched as he took a generous bite of his Succulent Strawberry. “Honestly? I probably would have tracked Pops down and then had the letter hand-delivered, but I seriously doubt I'd have made the effort to deliver it in person.” After taking another bite, Shelby licked her lips. The expression on Harrison's face was one of bemusement. “You find that funny?”

“No, not at all. May I?”

“May you...what?”
Oh, no
. She was afraid to look down.

“Hold still, please.” He skimmed his thumb across the tip of her nose. “You're wearing Cheeky Chocolate.”

Shelby touched her nose. “I am?”

“You were. It's gone now. Adorable though it is, it might get a little sticky.”

Her shoulders drooped. “You must think I'm such a slob. I can't even eat like a grownup without spilling or dribbling my food.” She'd also never felt more like a woman than when she was with Harrison. Granted, he could be a little odd in his predilection for wiping food from her face, but he had this uncanny way of making her thankful the Lord, and her parents, made her halfway pretty in the eyes of the man sitting with her now.

“Oh, trust me. You're all grown up, Shelby. If you want the truth, I—”

She held up one hand. “Maybe you shouldn't finish that sentence.” As it was, shivers ran through her again and she squirmed in her chair.

“Why not?” The challenge in Harrison's eyes made her heart jump.

“Let a girl have
some
secrets, Harry.” She took another bite.

“Tell you what. I'll stop by the Scotland Shop and pick up a tartan bib for you as a souvenir,” he said. “It'll serve as a reminder of our time together here in Edinburgh and protect your clothing all at the same time.”

She laughed. “You're silly, but I'm messy, so methinks you have a very good idea. You might want to see if they have a bib that matches the plaid of your tie.”

 

****

 

Harrison walked with Shelby toward the car after they left Luca's. He held her hand in an almost possessive way, increasingly reluctant to part her company. Their earlier teasing a thing of the past, both were quiet. He waited for her to speak first, curious as to her thoughts.

“Have you ever been in a serious relationship before?”

For better or worse, and besides the fact she'd asked, Harrison
wanted
to tell her about his past. Walking slowly, kicking a few pebbles along the way and watching them skitter across the pavement, he told Shelby about Tiffany, leaving out nothing. He told her how after the eventual burnout, he'd awakened with the clarity of hindsight that he'd been played for a colossal fool.

“Were you engaged?” Although Shelby didn't glance his way, she still held his hand.

“No, but we dated for two years. Long-distance relationships are difficult under any circumstances, but especially since I travel so much, we only saw one another about once a month at best. I think a lot of people expected the natural progression for us would be marriage. For a few months, I considered the possibility.”

Stopping beside the car, he paused. “She liked the idea of being in a relationship, but”—he lowered his eyes with an admission that was equally difficult—“even though Tiffany claimed to be a Christian, I never witnessed much of a commitment. Suffice it to say she put an emphasis on the wrong things.”