The Highlander Next Door (19 page)

“I appreciate the ride. And with luck, I’ll be leaving on a motorcycle rather than on foot.” Silas unfastened his seat belt and reached for his pack—only to stop in mid-reach as he looked out the windshield. “Well now, that’s another thing I’ve discovered this area has to offer—plenty of beautiful women.”

Niall looked at where he was looking. “That particular beautiful woman is taken.”

“I don’t see a ring on her finger,” his passenger said, watching the woman under discussion get out of the little red cart and rush into the Bottoms Up.

“Nevertheless,” Niall said quietly, “Birch is already spoken for.”

Silas finished picking up his backpack and straightened. “Birch, as in the shelter director who suggested Noreen should leave Logan?” he asked, grinning when Niall nodded. “I’d like to meet the man who has the courage to date Warden Callahan.”

“You just spent the last ten minutes talking to him,” Niall said, opening his door and getting out. He waited for Shep to scramble over the console and jump down, then closed the door and looked across the hood of the truck as his passenger also got out. “As ye said, Mr. French, there are plenty of beautiful women in the area.”

Silas studied him in silence for several heartbeats, then nodded. “Duly noted,” he said, hefting his pack onto his shoulder and heading down the sidewalk in the direction of the church.

•   •   •

Birch had always considered her decisiveness to be her greatest strength; the one fail-safe trait she could rely on to keep her moving in the right direction. So where had that wonderful quality been the last five mornings when she’d stood in front of her closet trying to decide what to wear? And three days ago, when Cassandra had asked if she could go live with a foster family that actually
liked
kids? Or two days ago, when Olivia had stopped in with some furniture brochures, asking which desk Birch preferred.

She seriously hadn’t been able to choose a stupid desk? What—was she hoping the freaking Special Delivery Fairy would magically plop one down in her office?

And where had her reliable decisiveness been yesterday, when she’d spotted the perfect leather purse in one of the artisan shops in town? She
specifically
had been shopping for a purse and had found
exactly
what she wanted, and yet here she was still lugging around the leather tote she’d dug out of a box after her accident—not that anyone in Spellbound Falls had noticed it was six years out of fashion.

This was all Niall’s fault. The man couldn’t make passionate, playful love to her all night long and then turn into a Neanderthal the next morning, thus ending what could have been a really fun affair before it had barely gotten started. Yes, her wishy-washiness had started the morning Niall had threatened to hunt her down if she left town alone, because instead of letting loose a blistering tirade pointing out his incredible arrogance, she had stood there like some clueless damsel listening to him drive away and feeling . . . well . . . cherished.

Then again, that warm and fuzzy feeling could have been nothing more than the lingering glow of a night of passionate, playful sex.

Seriously; she had to have been insane to consider having an affair with a cop.

Which was why, while staring into her closet this morning and realizing she once again couldn’t decide what to wear, Birch had
decisively
decided she had to get a grip. Who needed to sleep wrapped up in all those stupid amazing muscles, anyway? So she’d pulled out a pair of white linen slacks and a purple sleeveless top, gotten dressed while giving
herself
a blistering tirade on the foibles of lusting after mountains of testosterone, and gone in search of her beachcombing, sand-digging pet.

Mon Dieu
, she hoped that had been a harbor seal or whale bone Mimi had proudly dragged up from the beach yesterday and not a human femur. Apparently reading her mistress’s mood, Mighty Mimi had endured her bath with minimal grumbling, then curled up in a sunbeam with a doggy treat to dry off while Birch had marched into the once formal parlor she’d converted into an office. After ten minutes of sitting at the rickety old table and studying furniture brochures, she’d called Olivia and
decisively
ordered the walnut reproduction desk—even though she preferred the modern design—because it better matched the stately old house.

Birch had then softly knocked on Cassandra’s door, entered once a sleepy voice had invited her in, and sat down on the bed. She’d then told the semi-orphaned teenager that if after one more meeting she truly didn’t want to live with her aunt anymore, they would start searching for a local family who, instead of throwing her sketch pad and charcoals in the trash, would encourage her artistic talent.

And now, armed with a healthy dose of righteous indignation aimed solely at herself—even though it was all Niall’s fault she’d been wishy-washy for five freaking days—Birch was zooming out the camp road in one of the red carts, heading to that pretty little artisan shop to buy that
perfect
leather purse. And the next damsel-rescuing idiot who said he had a powerful desire to kiss her was getting a mouthful of bear spray.

Birch darted into the newly vacated parking slot in front of the Bottoms Up, rushed inside and hopped up on the large pine bar’s footrail, and stretched to give Macie the key. “I left one of the carts out front for you to drive home tonight.”

“But then how will you get home?” Macie asked, also having to stretch past her growing belly. She shot Birch a smile. “I’m not afraid of walking home in the dark.”

“Or of dodging raccoons and skunks?” Birch said with a laugh, hopping down. “Don’t worry about it; I’ve got errands to run in town and will hitch a ride with Mom,” she explained, weaving through tables filled with patrons as she backed away. “But if you’re not home by ten-fifteen, I’m going to—” Birch spun around when she bumped into a warm, solid object. “Oh, sorry, Officer Sheppard.”

“Miss Callahan,” he drawled, rubbing his belly where she’d poked him with her tote. He cocked his head. “Should I hazard a guess as to which one of your residents has you hitting the bar in the middle of the afternoon? Because my money’s on Noreen Kent, since I wrote her a warning this morning for nearly mowing down a family in the crosswalk when she left the bank.”

“Yeah, she told me. But in her defense, Noreen had just found out her husband had made a sizable withdrawal from their savings account a few days ago.” Birch started backing away again. “I told her she can’t use the carts for a whole week. Thanks for just giving her a warning,” she finished before turning and rushing outside—only to step into the path of a man on the sidewalk, her momentum forcing her to grab his arm to keep from falling.

Birch looked up, her apology catching in her throat when she found herself staring into arresting blue eyes set in a sun-bronzed face, the man’s hair pulled back in a tail at the nape of his neck and the humor tugging at his mouth only amplifying his handsome features. Birch immediately let go before she made even more of a fool of herself, and crouched down and began shoving things back in her fallen bag.

The man also crouched and started handing her items. “Silas French,” he said, passing Birch her wallet.

She stopped shoveling and looked at him in surprise, then took the wallet but stood up without shaking the hand he continued to extend. “Thank you, Mr. French. I’m sorry for bumping into you,” she added tightly.

“Wait,” he said, catching hold of her arm. “It’s Miss Callahan, isn’t it?”

She turned back in time to see him glance up the sidewalk. “Yes, I’m Birch Callahan. And you’re the . . . gentleman who’s staying with Logan Kent.”

He lost his smile. “It sounds as if you don’t approve of my helping Logan make repairs to his house in exchange for room and board.” He winced. “Well, Logan may be providing the food, but I’ve taken over running the gas grill,” he said, darting another quick glance up the sidewalk.

“I hear he’s also providing you with money to purchase
bees
. Since when, Mr. French, does a hive cost three thousand dollars?”

“Excuse me?” His eyes widened. “No, he didn’t give
me
the money; Logan wrote the check directly to the supply house.” He ushered them out of the stream of foot traffic. “The hives themselves and protective clothing are relatively inexpensive, but honey extraction equipment can get costly. And I told Logan it’s actually more frugal to buy a high-quality extractor, and that he would be better off getting an electric one.”

“You don’t think starting a beekeeping business is something he should have discussed with his wife before he raided their savings?
Which
,” she added when he tried to speak, “Logan refused to touch for a new cookstove.”

“But the bees could double his investment by this fall,” he countered, even as another grin tugged at his mouth. “
Which
Logan tried to explain to Noreen when she called this morning.”

“You have no business interfering in their—why do you keep looking up the sidewalk?” she asked when he did it again.

“I’ve been hoping to meet you on one of my trips to town to see if together we couldn’t find a way for Logan and Noreen to reconcile—or that was my plan before your boyfriend warned me off,” he said dryly, grinning again when Birch felt her jaw slacken. “That is definitely one man I don’t want to cross.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Tall? Green eyes? Wears a badge?” His eyes lit with amusement. “Have you told Chief MacKeage you two aren’t dating?”

“We’re not—he actually warned you off?” Birch repeated as
she
glanced up the sidewalk. She took a calming breath. “Look, Mr. French.”

“Please, call me Silas,” he said . . . expectantly.

She didn’t reciprocate the offer. “If you truly wish to see Noreen and Logan get back together, then I suggest you pack up and
move on
. Now if you will excuse me,” she said, turning away—only to nearly walk into the young girl standing directly behind her. “Oh, hey there. Are you lost?” she asked when she realized the girl couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve years old. She looked up and down the sidewalk then toward the park. “Did you get separated from your parents?”

“Are you Birch Callahan?”

“That would be me,” Birch said, smiling into her frantic brown eyes. “What can I do for you, sweetie?” Realizing Mr. French hadn’t taken her advice to
move on
, Birch slid her arm around the girl’s shoulders and began walking toward the Trading Post. “How about we start with your name?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you my name.” She stopped and began pulling Birch back toward the church. “I’ve been looking all over town for you, and Mom’s probably worried sick that I’ve been gone so long.”

“Where is she?” Birch asked, not fighting her.

The nameless girl stopped again and leaned closer. “She’s hiding in a gravel pit outside of town,” she said, nodding to the north.

“Who’s she hiding from?” Birch asked softly.

“My dad.” She started off again. “We gotta go get her so you can take us to that house you run, where we’ll be safe. But Mom said she won’t trust no one but you and that you gotta come alone.”

“Is there a problem?” Silas French asked from right behind them.

Ignoring him, Birch redirected the girl toward the cart and urged her into the passenger seat. “It’ll be quicker if we take the cart,” she explained when the girl started to protest. “You wait here while I run inside and get the key. I’ll just be a minute,” she added as she turned and headed for the Bottoms Up.

Silas French stepped between her and the door. “Maybe I should go with you,” he said quietly, obviously having overheard their conversation.

“Better yet, maybe you should start minding
your own
business.”

He caught hold of her arm again when she tried to step around him. “What if the husband shows up while you’re there? The only gravel pit I know of north of here is at least two miles away and rather isolated.”

“Le maudit tannant,”
she snapped, jerking free—only to stumble back when he released her in surprise.

“Did you just cuss at me?”

“You’re lucky that’s all I did,” she growled, taking advantage of several patrons walking out of the Bottoms Up to dart around him and slip inside. She immediately ran to the window to make sure the girl was still sitting in the cart and saw Silas French jogging in the opposite direction he’d been going when she’d first bumped into him.

Or more precisely, in the direction of the police station.

“Nosy, annoying man,” she muttered, making her way to the bar as she searched for a police uniform. She veered left when she spotted Officer Sheppard heading to a recently vacated table and caught hold of his sleeve. “I need you to follow me,” she said as he cooperatively—unlike certain members of the police force—let her drag him along. “There’s a mother in trouble hiding in a gravel pit two miles north of here, and she wants me to come alone because she doesn’t trust anyone.” She hopped up onto the bar’s footrail. “Macie, I need that key back,” she called down the bar. Birch looked at Officer Sheppard. “She sent her daughter to find me, and I’m taking the girl in the cart to go get her mother. Can you follow us without being seen?”

He grinned. “
You
won’t even know I’m there,” he said, turning away.

She caught hold of his sleeve again. “Wait. Call your boss and tell him to ignore whatever the man coming to the station says, and explain that you’re with me.”

He gave a nod and headed for the door that connected the Bottoms Up to the Drunken Moose—so the girl wouldn’t see his uniform, Birch realized. Oh, she really liked these new police officers, since
they
seemed to take her concerns seriously.

Well, okay; Niall had taken her getting run off the road seriously, to the point he’d turned into a caveman and actually forbidden her to go anywhere alone.

Not that she wanted to go anywhere alone while someone was trying to kill her.

“Thanks, Macie,” she said, taking the key and hopping down off the footrail. “If I don’t get the cart back to you later today, someone will pick you up at nine,” she added with a wave as she headed for the door.