Finding It (29 page)

I don’t tell the not-quite-Ashton-Kutcher-but-still-very-handsome-hero that if he makes me ride in that basket, I am afraid I might soil myself. I am not going down like that—flat as a pancake and covered in my own piss. No way. Uh-uh.

“Ma’am, I ken ye are a wee bit frightened, but you have to get into the basket.”

“I am not a wee bit frightened; I am full-on freaking terrified. And stop calling me ma’am. You’re making me feel old. I might feel like pissing myself right now, but I am hardly geriatric.”

Great. And there it is. I just admitted I wanted to piss myself. To a man who rappels out of helicopters.

“My name is Collum,” he says in a low, steady voice, keeping his hands on my waist and his gaze on my face. “Vivia, right?”

“Y-Yyes.”

“Vivia, I need you to get into the basket so we can hoist you to safety. You’ve got a pretty bad bump on your head, and we need to get you to hospital.”

“Please don’t make me. I will wait until morning and walk back down the mountain.”

“This is serious, Vivia. You can trust me. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Besides, there’s someone in that helicopter who would probably throw me off this ledge if I let anything bad happen to you.”

Luc! Maybe Fanny called Luc and told him I was missing. Maybe he caught a direct flight to the local airport, joined the rescue crew, and is up there with them now.

“Vivia, please get in the basket.”

This man is risking his life to save me. The longer we stay on this ledge, the longer the pilot must fight to keep the helicopter steady, fighting against winds and rain, and the greater the chance something could go tragically wrong.

“Fine”—I say, inching closer to the basket—“but if I piss myself, you have to promise not to tell a soul. Ever.”

“I promise.”

I lie down in the basket, cross my arms over my chest, and take deep breaths while Collum secures the slender straps that will hopefully prevent me from rolling out of this flying coffin and plunging to my death.

Collum steps back, gives the thumbs up, and the basket lifts. I feel myself spinning and spinning, and then someone pulls me into the helicopter. I look around for Luc, but when I realize he is not one of the men strapped into the blue jump seats I want to ask them to put me back on the ledge.

They hoist Collum back into the helicopter and we are off, blades whooshing, flying blind into the stormy night.

Collum fusses over me, pointing a slender flashlight at my eyes, checking my pulse, securing blankets around my trembling limbs.

“Ye’re safe now, Vivia. The best pilot in Her Majesty’s Coast Guard is at the controls of this copter.”

The pilot looks over his shoulder at me and…

…and it’s Calder MacFarlane.

My vision narrows like the picture screen on an old-school television set, until the world appears to be a tiny dot and finally fades to black.

Pack a Tight Chute

I wake up in a strange hospital room to the muted sounds of beeping machines and distant conversations. Poppy, Fiona, and Fanny are standing around my bed, all anxious expressions. They look fuzzy. If fact, the whole scene looks slightly out of focus, like an old-school soap opera.

I expect a plasticky-looking doctor to diagnose me with a brain tumor and tell me I only have three weeks left to live, unless I can track down my previously unknown twin and convince her to agree to a brain transplant.

Fiona’s lips begin moving, but there’s this five-second delay thing going on in my brain where the words don’t match up with my comprehension. It takes me a few seconds to understand she’s going to let the nurse know I am awake.

My eyelids feel heavy and my mouth full of cotton. I am wearing an ugly mint green gown and an IV is jammed into my right arm.

This is really happening.

Fanny gently sits on the side of my bed.

“How are you feeling, Vivian?”

“I am warm all over and totally chill.” I close my eyes. “Am I stoned or something?”

“Non,
ma cherié
. You had an accident, remember?”

My skull feels tight, like my woolly cap shrank in the rain and is now too tight for my head. I reach up to pull off my cap and feel thick gauze.

“Why is my head bandaged?” I open my eyes and struggle to sit up. “Did they shave my head? Am I bald?”

Fanny half laughs, half cries.

“No, you daft cow.” Poppy wipes a stray tear from her cheek. “Your hair is fine, it’s your brain that needs some fixing. You really scared us.”

Poppy’s use of the word brain triggers a hazy flashback of being on the ledge and staring at my bloodstained hands.

“I was taking a selfie and I fell down the side of the mountain.”

“Why were you on the mountain in the first place?”

“It had something to do with Luc and Spartan warrior training and—” I shake my head and wince as a pain shoots from my temples to my toes.

Fanny darts a worried look at Poppy.

“It sounds crazy now, but it made sense at the time.”

Fanny chuckles softly. “I’ll bet it did.”

“So when are they bringing the discharge paperwork? I want to get out of here.”

Fiona returns with a plump grandmotherly nurse carrying a needle and small glass bottles.

“Ye’re not going anywhere, lass.” The nurse sticks the needle into one of the bottles and pulls the plunger. “Ye’ve suffered a traumatic head injury.”

I throw the cover back and try to swing my legs out of bed. “I can’t stay. I have to go.”

I have to see Luc. I have to tell him about my near-death experience and the epiphany I had as I was clinging to the side of a mountain, to life. Without him in my life, the world is a monochromatic place, devoid of color and depth.

“I talked to your boss and told her what happened,” Fanny says, misreading the cause of my anxiety. “She is very worried about you. She said to take all of the time you need to heal and not to worry about Glasgow. They’ll be filming the movie for the next few months and the interviews can be rescheduled when you are well.”

Glasgow? I don’t care about going to Glasgow or interviewing a pampered over-preening actor about his role in some big-budget hack job of a classic. I don’t care that I spent hours researching David Tennant and memorizing Dr. Who quotes just in case he turns out to be the lead actor in the movie. I care about getting to Luc.

“You don’t understand.” I try to sit up again. “I have to get out of here.”

The nurse jabs the needle into my IV line and pushes the plunger. I suddenly feel flush all over.

“What is that you put in my IV?”

The nurse pushes me back against the pillow and adjusts my blankets. “The doctor ordered an antibiotic, an anticonvulsant, and pain medication. This is phenobarbital. It helps to reduce swelling of the brain, but it might make you sleepy.”

“Now, lassies”—she turns to my friends and makes shooing motions with her hands—“visiting time is over.”

“Wait!” I grab Fanny’s arm. “Can I just have one minute to talk to my best friend, please?”

“One minute.” The nurse holds her finger up. “I’ll be back.”

Okay, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Don’t shoot!

Fiona and Poppy give me hugs and hurry out of the room before Nurse Terminator returns.

“I’m sorry, Fanny.” I grab my best friend’s hand and give it a squeeze. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Well, you did worry me.” Her voice cracks, and tears fill her eyes. “When you didn’t come back to the cottage—and then when you posted that photo of the top of a mountain—I imagined all sorts of horrible things.”

I’ve never seen Fanny cry. She’s normally so self-contained and unflappable. I’m usually the over-emotional Henny Penny, dashing about and crying, “The sky is falling!”

The phenobarbital must be working its magic because it’s becoming an effort to keep my eyes open.

“I love you, Fanny, and I know I’ve probably called in all of my chips with this latest stunt, but I need you to do me a favor.”

“If you’re going to ask me to make a ladder out of sheets and help you climb out the window so you can go interview David Who, you’re crazy.”

We don’t have much time left. Nurse Terminator will be back any second, so I quickly tell Fanny about my mountaintop epiphany, my determination to win back my man, and my decision to travel to France to ask him to marry me.

“You want to propose to Luc?”

“Yes, but it has to be epic. I am talking violins and flowers and white doves and fireworks.”

“Please tell me you don’t want me to release the doves; you know birds freak me out.”

As promised, Nurse Terminator returns. She stands in the doorway and repeatedly taps her wrist with her finger, even though she isn’t wearing a watch.

“Ten more seconds,” I say, slurring my words. “I prom
ish
.”

“Ten…nine…”

“Fanny, I need a ticket to Montpellier, a new iPhone, and a new pair of pink Wellies. My credit card is in my wallet.”

“Why—“

“…five…”

“I’ll explain later.” I squeeze her hand. “Will you help me?”

“…three…”

“Leave everything to me.”

* * * *

Nurse Terminator adjusts my IV, closes the blinds, and turns down the lights. I am asleep before she even leaves the room.

I wake up sometime in the afternoon and sense I am not alone in the room.

Calder is sitting beside my bed, long arms resting on his knees, intense gaze focused on my face. He’s wearing a flight suit, and his close-cropped hair is flat against his head from having worn a helmet. He looks impossibly handsome…and impossibly exhausted.

“Ye worried me something fierce, Boots.”

“So it was you piloting the rescue helicopter. I thought I dreamt it.”

“First ye call me Master and now ye admit ye dream aboot me.” He laughs. “It wilnae be long before ye have me picking out China patterns.”

I don’t know how to say what I need to say to Calder, so I just smile. Is there an easy way to tell the man who just saved your life that you don’t love him and never will? The thing is, I like Calder…a lot. He’s just not the man for me. He’s exhaustingly, ostentatiously flirty and charming. With his constant winking and grinning, he’s like the attention-seeking middle child. Luc, on the other hand, possesses the easy, confident manner of a first child.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Not long.” He fidgets.

I know he’s lying.

He reaches down and lifts a wrapped box from the ground. “I brought you something.”

“What is this?”

“A wee gift.”

“A gift? For me? I should be giving you a gift.”

“What for? I dinnae fall off a bloody pap.”

“For saving my life.”

“Ach.” He shifts.

It’s the first time I have seen Calder embarrassed.

“I was just doing my duty.”

“Well, then, thank you for doing your duty and saving my life.”

“You’re welcome.” He hands me the box. “Open your gift.”

“I can’t accept a gift from you. Not when…”

Not when I plan on begging another man to marry me.

Calder looks into my eyes, reads the words I did not speak, and smiles sadly.

“Just go ahead and open your gift, lass.”

I open the box and pull out a small nylon triangle.

“What is it?”

“An emergency parachute—just in case you go for another hike.”

“Very funny.” I stick my tongue out at him. “Some men bring flowers when they visit people in the hospital.”

“Aye.” He smiles, and his dimples deepen. “And some lasses dinnae jump off cliffs to get a man’s attention.”

We laugh.

Nurse Terminator comes in to check my blood pressure. Calder stands.

“Well, I am going tae leave ye to rest.” He bends down and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “In case I dinnae see ye again before ye leave, blue skies, happy travels, and pack a tight chute, Boots.”

“Thank you, Calder…for everything.”

He’s halfway out the door when he stops.

“If things dinnae work out with…” He shrugs. “Remember what I said when I took you to see the stones and the gorse.”

He leaves before I respond.

“The gorse,” Nurse Terminator says, strapping a blood pressure cuff around my arm. “Ye ken what they say about the gorse, don’t ye, lass?”

Beating Around My Bush

“Do you have my flight itinerary?”

“Yes, you’re flying into Montpellier. I called Chantal to let her know you would be arriving. Philippe will meet you at the airport.” Fanny hands me my tickets and new iPhone. “I think I remembered to pack everything in your suitcase, but if I forgot anything I’ll just send it to you.”

“You? Forget something? I don’t think so.”

Perfectly Polished Poppy lifts my carryon out of her trunk and rolls it over to me. I rest my MacBook on top of my suitcase and open my arms to give her a big hug.

“What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?” She leans back on her high heels. “You’ve already exceeded your annual allotment of hugs.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, laughing. “You don’t do hugs. Now get over here and give me a little British love.”

“Bloody brash American, breaking all the rules.”

“Damn skippy!” I wrap my arms around her and give her a good squeeze. “Be good, Bubblegum Poppy, and thanks for everything.”

Poppy sniffles.

“Are you crying?” I pull back and look at her face. “You are crying!”

“Rubbish! I am British, remember? We don’t do weepy.”

“Liar! You have tears in your eyes.”

“It must be my damned bloody allergies again.”

I open my purse and pretend to fumble around inside, looking for my Visine.

“Fine,” Poppy confesses. “I might be the tiniest bit melancholy over your departure. I detest good-byes.”

I give her another quick hug. “It’s not forever. I’ll be back…like Nurse Terminator, only without the scary needles and brogue.”

The intercom makes a dinging noise, and a perky Scottish voice says, “Flight BE1322, Inverness to London City, ready for immediate boarding at gate…”

“Thank you for picking up the pieces of my life again, Fanny,” I say, grabbing my best friend and hugging her until it hurts. “You’re the best friend in the entire universe. I am sure you won’t ever make such a mess of your life, but if you do, I will be there to pick up your pieces.”