anyway. ” She laughed.
“ Is he bothering you, this Calan Kirk? ” demanded Phyllis, frowning. “ I can send my nephews around to talk some sense into him, if you’d like. ”
“ No! It’s quite all right, ” Maggie was quick to respond. That was all she needed. Brawling men on the front yard. “ But I do have a question for you. Did Gran ever mention … any special keepsakes? You know, interesting heirlooms? ” She hoped that if the women knew of the selkie pelt they would tell her, but she knew if she asked about it there was a fair chance she’d sound bonkers.
Liz asked, “ What kind of keepsakes, dear? ”
“ Oh, you know, anything of a … zoological nature? ”
They stared at her.
“ Never mind. ” Maggie grabbed a fifth oatcake. “ These things are delish! ”
After a couple of hours of meandering chatter, in which they mostly discussed nothing, Liz and Phyllis took their leave. Maggie offered once more to drive them to their homes, but they declined, as Liz had driven. As the octogenarians took off at a breakneck speed in a car that resembled a Model T on steroids, Maggie smiled and locked the door.
Her thoughts automatically flew to Calan.
She stomped back through the house and into the kitchen to clear away the remains of the tea. “ Stop it, Collins. Stop thinking of him! ”
She put the plates in the sink, and within a nanosecond, was remembering the cocky line of his eyebrow when it arched at her. Not to mention his flirty grin, which looked
more suited to a devil than to a man. And to say nothing of the look in his eye when he’d admitted to staying the night with her. A look that seemed guarded, but distinctly protective.
“ Oh, pooh, ” she muttered. She couldn’t stop thinking of him at all. Resigned, she decided to call it a night, hoping she’d forget him as she slept.
In a cruel trick of fate, Maggie tossed the night away, her dreams perforated by hazy, tantalizing images of him. She dreamed of the seal on the beach. She dreamed of Calan rising nude out of the water, of him touching her in a way no man ever had. And, as she lay there moaning in the darkness, she realized each dream just left her wanting more of him.
The crazy bastard.
* * * *
Around midnight, Calan pulled up to Maggie’s house. He turned off the ignition on his bike and stared toward her temporary residence.
Damn that woman.
He’d gone home and done nothing but obsess over Maggie all night long. Over her particular shade of hair. Over the way she wrinkled her nose when she was frustrated. And he couldn’t get the sound of her soft voice out of his head, the ginger temptress.
And then he began to worry, not that he should. But something just felt off. It had bothered him to see the prowler in her house. And it alarmed him to think the would-be thief might want the skin. He’d known folk to do strange things to obtain a selkie skin. The idea of Maggie all alone in that place put a bee in his bonnet. She was just a wee thing, and fairly attractive. What if the eejit came back and decided to try it on with her? She couldn’t defend herself from a gnat.
And so, against his better judgment, he’d gotten on his bike and headed back over, not quite knowing what he’d do when he got there. He got off the motorcycle and looked around. Spying a boulder about fifty feet from the house, he sat down in front of it and decided to stay the night.
Watching. Just in case.
That way, if she needed anyone, if she needed him, he’d be there.
Another night spent watching over a skeptical lass who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
More the fool, me.
* * * *
Someone was pounding on her brain. Knock. Knock. Bloody knock.
Maggie started out of bed, not knowing what time it was. Damn jet lag. She looked over at her gran’s cluttered bedside table. The three Mickey Mouse alarm clocks there all seemed to agree it was close to 8:00 a.m.
Knock. Knock.
Who on earth was at the door at this hour?
She dragged
“ Is he bothering you, this Calan Kirk? ” demanded Phyllis, frowning. “ I can send my nephews around to talk some sense into him, if you’d like. ”
“ No! It’s quite all right, ” Maggie was quick to respond. That was all she needed. Brawling men on the front yard. “ But I do have a question for you. Did Gran ever mention … any special keepsakes? You know, interesting heirlooms? ” She hoped that if the women knew of the selkie pelt they would tell her, but she knew if she asked about it there was a fair chance she’d sound bonkers.
Liz asked, “ What kind of keepsakes, dear? ”
“ Oh, you know, anything of a … zoological nature? ”
They stared at her.
“ Never mind. ” Maggie grabbed a fifth oatcake. “ These things are delish! ”
After a couple of hours of meandering chatter, in which they mostly discussed nothing, Liz and Phyllis took their leave. Maggie offered once more to drive them to their homes, but they declined, as Liz had driven. As the octogenarians took off at a breakneck speed in a car that resembled a Model T on steroids, Maggie smiled and locked the door.
Her thoughts automatically flew to Calan.
She stomped back through the house and into the kitchen to clear away the remains of the tea. “ Stop it, Collins. Stop thinking of him! ”
She put the plates in the sink, and within a nanosecond, was remembering the cocky line of his eyebrow when it arched at her. Not to mention his flirty grin, which looked
more suited to a devil than to a man. And to say nothing of the look in his eye when he’d admitted to staying the night with her. A look that seemed guarded, but distinctly protective.
“ Oh, pooh, ” she muttered. She couldn’t stop thinking of him at all. Resigned, she decided to call it a night, hoping she’d forget him as she slept.
In a cruel trick of fate, Maggie tossed the night away, her dreams perforated by hazy, tantalizing images of him. She dreamed of the seal on the beach. She dreamed of Calan rising nude out of the water, of him touching her in a way no man ever had. And, as she lay there moaning in the darkness, she realized each dream just left her wanting more of him.
The crazy bastard.
* * * *
Around midnight, Calan pulled up to Maggie’s house. He turned off the ignition on his bike and stared toward her temporary residence.
Damn that woman.
He’d gone home and done nothing but obsess over Maggie all night long. Over her particular shade of hair. Over the way she wrinkled her nose when she was frustrated. And he couldn’t get the sound of her soft voice out of his head, the ginger temptress.
And then he began to worry, not that he should. But something just felt off. It had bothered him to see the prowler in her house. And it alarmed him to think the would-be thief might want the skin. He’d known folk to do strange things to obtain a selkie skin. The idea of Maggie all alone in that place put a bee in his bonnet. She was just a wee thing, and fairly attractive. What if the eejit came back and decided to try it on with her? She couldn’t defend herself from a gnat.
And so, against his better judgment, he’d gotten on his bike and headed back over, not quite knowing what he’d do when he got there. He got off the motorcycle and looked around. Spying a boulder about fifty feet from the house, he sat down in front of it and decided to stay the night.
Watching. Just in case.
That way, if she needed anyone, if she needed him, he’d be there.
Another night spent watching over a skeptical lass who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
More the fool, me.
* * * *
Someone was pounding on her brain. Knock. Knock. Bloody knock.
Maggie started out of bed, not knowing what time it was. Damn jet lag. She looked over at her gran’s cluttered bedside table. The three Mickey Mouse alarm clocks there all seemed to agree it was close to 8:00 a.m.
Knock. Knock.
Who on earth was at the door at this hour?
She dragged
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