Free The House on the Shore by Victoria Howard

this American friend of yours? And why didn’t you tell me about him the other evening?” Morag smiled benignly, as if dealing with a temperamental child.
    “I woul d hardly call him a friend. I did him a favour, that’s all. He has a problem with the pump for the autopilot and needs a part for it. Besides, I couldn’t very well let him walk the twelve mi les to the phone, now could I?”
    “No, lass, you could not. You’ve been brought up to treat people better than that. So how long will he be staying?”
    “I don’t know. It depends when the part arrives. That might not be until sometime next week, or possibly the week after. H e said it’s unsafe for him to return to the States until he’s made the repair, and even then he might have to take the yacht into the boatyard in Fort William to be checked over.”
    “I see. Where exactly in America did you say he comes from?”
    Anna tucked the top sheet under the mattress. “I didn’t. And since when are you an expert on American geography?”
    “I’m not. It’s just a point of curiosity, that’s all.”
    “My goodness Morag, you woul d make an excellent police interrogator. I only gave him a lift to the hotel. He said Massachusetts, but for all I know that’s next door to Seattle or Coney Island. If you’re that curious, why don’t you swim out to his yacht and ask him yourself?”
    Morag nodded slowly. “I could, but I doubt my Lachlan would sanction the activity. So tell me , what does your errant American look like? Is he young, or old? Is he alone , or does he have a companion, a woman friend perhaps?”
    “He was rude, and I wasn’t paying attention.”
    “ Then your eyesight must be failing.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with my eyes.”
    “Are you sure you don’t need to borrow my glasses? Because I can’t believe you could spend an hour in a man’s company and not remember what he looked like.”
    Anna had seen that look before and knew its meaning well. “All right. He’s tall, dark-haired, greying at the temples, tanned, and if you like mature men, good-looking. His voice is deep, sensual, and positively oozes sex appeal. I’d say he’s about forty, or maybe even a little older. You already know he’s an American.”
    “That’s what Katrina said.”
    “The n why bother asking me if you already have all the answers? Really, Morag, you know I hate gossiping as much as I hate being the subject of curiosity and chitchat.”
    “Aye, lass, I do , a nd in that respect, I should be apologi z ing. Y ou can’t blame an old married woman like me for being curious. I only have your best interest at heart now that your grandmother has gone. If he’s as good-looking as you say, I’m surprised he hasn’t asked a pretty girl like you out.”
    Anna blushed. “What makes you think he hasn’t already done so?”
    “Well if he had, you’d have told me, now wouldn’t you? Anyhow, you don’t want to be jumping into another relationship so soon after Mar k. It will only end in tears.”
    “Credit me with some sense. Luke’s only here for a few days. I’m not the type to leap into bed with the first man who comes along. Besides , he could be married.”
    “I’m sure he’s not. If he were , he wouldn’t be sailing across the Atlantic searching for a past he doesn’t know he has. You need to be watchful of that man.”
    Anna rolled her eyes. “ That’s ridiculous , Morag! He’s just a sailor who has a problem with his yacht. It was pure chance that made him sail into Loch Hourn.”
    Morag’s eyes grew dark and unfathomable. “That’s what you think , lass. I’m telling you different. You should be careful. T here is danger in the glen. I see it around you.”
    Anna shivered. “This isn’t the time or the place for one of your premonitions , Morag . W hat’s more, you know I don’t believe in the ‘ S econd S ight.’ There’s no scientific proof. At best, it’s a matter of coincidence, and at worst it’s a load of