Page 3 of The Scald Crow
“The sheep scared ye off the road, did they?” His voice danced with my heart while my mind searched for answers I couldn’t find.
I wouldn’t recognize a solution if it smacked me in the nose. Let’s be honest. My life was a fucked-up mess I was running from.Keep your mouth shut, Calla Sweet—my mantra from now on.I’d learned my lesson well, to coin the phrase.
“You could say. This is a rental, huh? Are you visiting Ireland?” I twined my fingers together, reminding myself again. I could look. I couldn’t touch.
“Aye, for another week. A wee vacation, visiting the family.” The deep tenor of his voice held my attention.
“You live in Canada, I take it?” I presumed from his comments and his immediate recognition of my smiling face. I shifted in my seat, sending whiffs of bog stench throughout the vehicle.
“Nova Scotia for the past seven years.” One lustrous curl fell onto his brow. Copper highlights, auburn lowlights. Just wow.
“Hmm.” I removed my ball cap, unleashing the Kraken. Untamed and wild. Some would say unruly. My hair always had and always would live a life of its own.
“Well, let’s get on then. Where are you staying?” He gunned the motor, his eyes shimmering.
Who has eyes so blue? I shook off the enchantment. The sooner I arrived at my destination, the better.
“The Black Horse Pub. Do you know it?” My destination rolled off my tongue. Since when had I become one of those friendly people?
“Aye.” He rested his left hand on the stick shift—no jewelry. “My family lives close by. My brother owns the bakery in Ardara. You’ll have to try the sticky buns. Tell him I sent you.” He dropped the gearshift into overdrive, rocketing the little car to the moon.
“Your family?” My stomach fluttered and then groaned. When had I last eaten? When was the last time I sat that close to a man?
He smelled so good. Clean laundry and spearmint. Every time he smiled, his teeth sparkled. The insanity of my situation dawned on me. Twenty-nine years old and still a virgin. How pathetic.
“A big Irish family. Seven boys, Hugh Jr. and Tadgh are identical twins, and the rest are Irish twins. All of us were born within five years of each other.” The crooked grin on his face told a happy tale.
“Must have been wild.” I gathered my hair behind my head, twisting the black mass over one shoulder. “Having such a big family? Especially on the holidays.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and opened the passenger window, inviting the swirling wind.
“Aye. I don’t often get back.” His rough tone caught me off guard. His eyes changed from soft blue to icy glaciers, signaling the end of the conversation.
In an instant, I realized how unapproachable he had become. There was something dark and almost terrifying in the set of his jaw. I shifted to the edge of my seat, distancing myself from him. What kind of fool would get into a car with a stranger?
“Do you have a family of your own?” I dug deeper despite the shiver running down my spine.
“No, lass. Love has never found me.” The dark force lifted, and light returned to his eyes, the demon releasing him from its grip. “Have ye been to my wee country before?” His facial muscles relaxed, and he smiled, oblivious to my horror.
“No, I’m holding the V-card on that one.” I looked out the window at waves upon waves of wildflowers, at undulating hills and rocky outcrops, the wind buffeting my face. My stomach flipped sideways, and a familiar warmth surrounded me, raising my heartbeat into a pounding echo only I could hear.
The sun moved, and the world dimmed. The haar crept over the fields, the sea fog coming for me alone. My mind had left my body, the connection to the other side absolute, opaque, and somewhat obscured. A crow, all-seeing and all-knowing, flew through the half-light over mountain and sea, following its path. I had closed my eyes and focused on the one part remaining the same—my pounding heart.
My therapist called it disassociation, a disconnect between my mind and the world around me, a needed escape from reality. Nope, not what that was—that was a full-on, out-of-body experience, and the most profound sense of foreboding came with it. I had learned not to fight the sensations. Clenching my hands into fists didn’t help. The scourge swallowed me every time.
The fog lifted, leaving behind dew-laden blades of grass dusted with diamond jewels. I pinned my lips together, breathed through my nose, and let the tide wash away. That was the way of it—waking up to a brand-new day with a sad, sad secret. Those otherworldly sensations had been mine forever. What they meant or why they happened remained a mystery.
He hummed a melodic tune, unaware of my absence. Whatever ghosts he lived with were his alone. I had my problems to deal with. I glanced at his watch—thirty minutes left of the joy ride to paradise. I calmed my racing heart and reminded myself to be friendly. What could it hurt?
“What do you do for yourself, Colm? Tinker? Tailor? Soldier? Spy? Sheep farmer?” I gave him the biggest smile in the whole fucking world.
“I have a tree farm in Nova Scotia.” Shadows flickered in those baby blues.
Something didn’t sit right. The way he dressed, for one. I pressed for more.
“You don’t look like a tree farmer.” I raised my eyebrows, staring him down. His smirk raised another red flag, one of many I had ignored on this journey. “What kind of tree farmer wears combat boots?”
“I was once with theSciathán Fianóglach an Airm.” He spoke the Irish language with a smooth lilt. His charming demeanor would captivate any other woman. “It means the Army Ranger Wing, a special unit within the Irish Army.” He veered right, missing a pothole in the road.
“You said ‘once.’ Why did you leave?” I regretted my question. Expressing interest could only lead to complications I was unprepared for.
