She took her thoughts off her latest cruel twist of fate and stated, “I don’t understand.”
“You’re no’ unknown around here,” Prentice said by way of explanation.
She was not unknown everywhere thanks to Laurent and her father and, well, freaking Laurent (the jerk).
“I’m used to that,” Isabella explained softly.
“Aye, I’m sure you are. Perhaps I should have said you’re no’ liked around here.”
Silently, Isabella pulled in breath. She hadn’t expected that.
She should have, especially after what Debs said the day before, not to mention what Prentice had said, both of these instances scoring at her heart.
Luckily, her heart had been lacerated beyond feeling much of anything anymore so she didn’t feel like tossing herself off the nearest cliff, of which there were a fair few around here.
But still, she hadn’t anticipated that.
Once upon a time (in other words, twenty years ago), Prentice’s village was the only safe haven Isabella had known in her life.
Now, it was a place where she was reviled.
She tightened her fists further and looked out the window, murmuring, “I won’t make the calls.”
“Aye, smart,” he muttered and she got the impression he was barely listening to her.
Which he probably wasn’t.
She stayed silent until he stopped in front of Fergus’s house. She didn’t look at him when she expressed her gratitude for the ride and put her hand to the door.
“Isabella,” he called, she stopped and turned to him.
He was holding up a key.
“To the house,” he said, dropping it in her palm when she lifted her hand for the key.
His eyes started to move away but all of a sudden they jerked back, slightly narrowed and focused on her palm.
Instantly, her hand closed over the key.
“I’ve decided I’ll make dinner and then I’ll explain to the children that I have a raging headache,” she blurted, wanting to divert his attention as his still narrowed gaze followed her closed hand.
His eyes shot to hers, his mouth was tight and he looked very angry.
“Why in the fuck would you do that?” he bit out, his voice proving she was so, very correct about him being so, very angry.
“Um –” Isabella’s mind went blank at his anger.
She remembered a great deal about him (in fact, pretty much everything) but she’d never seen him angry (well, not this angry). She didn’t know what to say, she didn’t even know if she could speak.
Then she remembered what to say.
“So I can leave you to dinner and get to my rooms.”
His head gave a small jerk and he looked over her shoulder, probably, she decided, to gain control.
Then his eyes met hers.
“Their mother died of a brain tumor,” he told her and it sounded like those words were dredged straight out of the depth of some hole inside of him that was too deep to measure.
“I know,” Isabella whispered. “Annie told me.”
“It started with headaches.”
Isabella automatically made a noise as if someone very strong had pressed the breath right out of her lungs.
She was going to cry.
She was going to cry.
Oh no.
No, no, no no, no!
She couldn’t cry!
Her hands fisted, the key bit into her palm, the pain shot through her and she didn’t cry.
Instead, she said, “I’m an idiot.”
He turned away, putting one of his hands back to the steering wheel, the other to the clutch.
“I’ll come up with something else, I promise,” she blathered on.
Only his head turned so he could look at her.
“Food poisoning!” she cried, sounding both stupid and desperate.
“I’m not sure food poisoning is good, Isabella, considering you’ll be cooking.”
Yes, stupid.
Yes, an idiot.
Yes, desperate.
Triple threat!
“Oh, right,” Isabella muttered but he’d already turned back away.
Isabella opened her door, promising again (under her breath this time), “Well, I’ll think of something.”
She barely got the door closed when he drove away.
She stood in the drive watching his SUV thinking she hated pretty much everything about her life, but the thing she hated most at that particular moment was hearing Prentice address her as “Isabella”.
Then she turned and walked up to Fergus’s house.
Fiona
“Flapjacks!” Annie shouted from down the grocery aisle, she was holding up a box of flapjacks in each hand and waving them around. “Kids love flapjacks!”
“I’m not stocking their larder, Annie, I’m making them dinner,” Isabella called back.
“Nothing wrong with stocking that hot guy’s larder, you hear what I’m saying?” Mikey muttered, staring with curiosity at the jam selection.
“Don’t go there,” Isabella warned softly.
“Time heals all wounds,” Mikey was still muttering and his eyes had gone narrow.
Fiona watched closely as Isabella allowed herself an open reaction, considering Mikey was staring at the jams and Annie was tossing flapjacks into the cart Isabella was pushing.
Sorrow.
Unadulterated.
Then she masked it.
No, Fiona thought, time did not heal all wounds.
“Where’s the grape jelly?” Mikey asked the jam selection.
“They don’t have grape jelly here,” Annie explained.
“That’s un-American!” Mikey shrieked, his head turning to Isabella and Annie.
“Well, yeah, considering we aren’t in America,” Annie drawled.
“Kids love grape jelly,” Mikey said with authority.
“American kids like grape jelly, Scottish kids like, I don’t know, marmite,” Annie replied as Isabella pushed the cart forward.
“Marmite?” Mikey asked then pulled an exaggerated horrified face.
Lime marmalade! Fiona shouted her children’s preference.
“Lime marmalade,” Isabella said instantly and Fiona was so shocked she accidentally floated straight through Mikey causing him to shiver.
She hated floating through people and avoided it at all costs, she didn’t feel anything physically, just emotionally, but it made her sadder than her normal sad at being dead when the only thing she could make people feel was cold.
“Cat walked over my grave,” he whispered, doing another shiver just for effect as Isabella grabbed a jar of lime marmalade. Then she grabbed another one.
“I hate lime marmalade, too sweet,” Annie mumbled.
“It’s fruit and sugar and fruit is sugar so there’s no way for it not to be sweet,” Mikey hilariously explained.
No matter how funny he was being, and Fiona had decided she liked Mikey, Fiona wasn’t listening.
She floated close to Isabella and asked, Can you hear me?
“So, I’m thinking chicken strips, fries and some kind of vegetable,” Isabella, clearly not hearing Fiona’s voice from beyond the grave, stated. “What kind of vegetable?”
Peas, Fiona told her.
“Broccoli?” Annie asked.
“I don’t think so. Forget the veggies, kids hate veggies,” Mikey advised and Fiona forgot she liked him and gave him a dirty look.