The trees shiver with the wind, as I make my way toward the freshly-dug grave, the flowers clutched in my hand.
“Going somewhere?”
I scream and drop the flowers on the ground. I spin around and see Lachlan a few paces away. I try to open my mouth but can’t speak.
He wears a t-shirt, oblivious to the biting wind that whips through the trees, rustling fallen leaves on the ground beneath my feet. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and his head’s tipped to the side.
I will speak to him. I must. It’s foolish for me to clam up in front of him every single time he’s near.
“Just to the—to the gr-graveyard,” I stutter. I suppose stuttering your way through a sentence is better than stone silence, but not by much.
He walks over to me, and my heart skips a crazy beat in my chest. What’s he going to do? Why’s he so close? Doesn’t he know I’m infatuated with him? Or does he know just that, and it pleases him somehow?
“I’m sorry,” he says, dropping to one knee. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Let me get them.”
But I’m gathering the flowers with clumsy fingers. He puts a hand out to stop me, and his voice lowers. “Leave them, lass. ‘Tis my fault, let me get them.”
I freeze at the tone of authority in his voice. I never met a boy like him.
But he’s no boy.
I don’t know much about the McCarthy clan except that they are criminals. I’m intrigued, though. I do know he commands men older than he is. I don’t know if he does it with authority or just because it’s in his nature, but I’ve heard him do it.
Why does that make my heart beat so?
Why does being near him make my belly swoop and a tingle shiver straight down my spine?
I let him gather the flowers and hand them to me.
“I’ll take you to the graveyard,” he says, the tone of his voice brooking no argument, as usual. It’s his way.
I am alone with Lachlan McCarthy! I sing it in my head, a thrill of excitement racing through me at his nearness.
“I’m sorry to see your family move out,” he says. “Though I’m happy you’ve a nice home now.”
I don’t reply at first. I wish he said he was sorry to see me move out, but he hasn’t. I’m not that special to him. And the mention of a “nice home now” is a stark reminder of the squalor I left behind.
“Thanks.”
He walks toward the grave, and I follow.
“It’s to the left, isn’t it?” he asks. It’s a full moon tonight. Clouds shift, and a beam of moonlight hits the side of his face. His hair is rugged and dark, and the shadows of a scruffy beard lines his jaw. My heart beats faster.
“I don’t know,” I admit with a shrug. “Haven’t been here.”
His eyes widen, but if he’s shocked by this admission, he doesn’t say anything.
“Aye,” he says. “I can see the freshest grave right there.”
“I’m glad I ran into you. It’s a bit spooky here at night, isn’t it?”
“You mean the ancient headstones, chilly air, full moon, and the thought of decaying bodies beneath our feet?” he says with a roguish grin. “Not spooky at all.”
“My God, Lachlan,” I say with a grimace. “Don’t!”
He chuckles, and I swear I feel that chuckle zing straight down my spine. My God is he handsome.
“Go on, then, Fiona,” he says gently. “You came to put the flowers on the grave, and it’s getting late.” He hands me the rescued flowers. I hold my breath as I wrap my fingers around the stems. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to him.
Again, bossing me around. But he’s right, so I nod, and take a step toward the grave. I look at the paltry bouquet and start bending toward the grave, but as I look at her name, a sudden fury swells in my chest.
I’ve always been crap at holding back my temper. This time, I don’t even try.
“No,” I say, my voice wavering and my hand trembling as I stare at the grave. “You don’t deserve flowers. You hardly fucking deserve this grave.” I rip the flowers in my hands into bits and throw them at the grave beneath me. “You were a crap mother. You were mean and cruel and selfish. Someday I hope to forgive you, but not…” I stomp my foot on the bruised flowers. “Today.”
I swipe angrily at the tears on my cheeks and stomp harder, grinding the stems and petals into the ground until they’re pulverized beneath my heel.
“Good girl,” Lachlan says softly behind me. I start. I damn near forgot he was there.
I turn to look at him. I must look a sight, with tears streaming down my cheeks and rage written on my features, but he isn’t shocked or surprised by my outburst. He gives me an understanding smile. I think I begin to feel a seed of love in my heart right then. He doesn’t judge, or scold. He stands by me when I’m hurting, and I will love him for that.