Free The Highlander Next Door by Janet Chapman Page B

pistol, jacked a shell into the chamber and checked the safety, then returned the weapon to the holster tucked inside his belt at the small of his back. He may have reached the advanced age of thirty-three without needing a gun, but then, he’d never really had to worry about anyone shooting at him nine hundred years ago, either.
    “You go first,” he said, nudging Shep with his knee. “Try to look pathetic and lost,” he added, only to sigh when the dog bolted for the house.
    Figuring Shep’s nose had told him everything they needed to know, Niall sprinted across the clearing and followed the dog along the side of the house and up onto the porch. He opened the screen door but hesitated, looking around the yard as he slowly twisted the knob, fully aware he needed a warrant to enter a person’s house uninvited. But if that person had left in a hurry without tightly closing the door, he decided when Shep gave an impatient growl, and the wind blew it open and a man’s dog ran inside . . . well, going in to retrieve his dog was the neighborly thing to do. Especially since Shep appeared certain there wasn’t anyone waiting inside with a gun.
    Aye, Vaughn should be more mindful about locking up behind himself, because the door suddenly swung back on its hinges and his four-legged first officer charged inside. Giving up all pretense of being neighborly, Niall stepped into a sparse and obscenely neat kitchen all but humming with that same oppressive silence.
    Well, it was silent but for the sound of Shep scratching at another door. Niall spotted the thick wooden bar being held in place by two metal brackets and grinned in relief, since he couldn’t see any reason to lock a door unless whoever was on the other side was perfectly fine and likely spitting mad. He lifted the bar and cracked open the door, half expecting Birch to come charging toward him armed with her bear spray, only to find nothing but dark, musty air on the other side. “Stay,” he told Shep as he slowly opened the door to reveal a stairway leading down to a cellar.
    But still no spitfire.
    Forget driving him crazy; the woman was determined to kill him with worry.
    Niall bit back a curse when Shep bolted past him and all but tripped down the stairs in his eagerness to get to the bottom. “We’re going to have to work on that
stay
command,” he muttered, following more slowly as the old steps bowed and creaked under his weight, stopping when he reached the bottom to let his eyes adjust to the stingy sunlight streaming through a small window in the fieldstone foundation.
    Following the sound of claws scratching against wood again, Niall found Shep trying to tear his way through another door, this one apparently locked from the inside. Aye, Sam may have a point about policemen needing opposable thumbs, Niall decided as he gave the door a sharp tug—only to find himself scrambling to catch Birch when she exploded toward him.
    “Sweet God, woman, it’s me,” he said, folding her into a fierce hug as he closed his eyes in relief and merely weathered her ineffectual blows. “You’re okay now, Birch. No one’s going to hurt you.”
    Either he finally got through to her or she finally wore herself out, because she suddenly went as still as a stone. “Oh
mon Dieu
, I thought you were Ike Vaughn. Ah . . . you can let me down now.”
    Not that she felt ready to be let down, since she was hugging him back just as fiercely. “Would ye mind much if I held you a bit longer?” he said, slowly turning to look for something to sit on. “Just until
I
stop shaking?” Sweeping his arm under her knees when she leaned away, Niall sat on an old wooden trunk with her in his lap. “I’m serious,” he said, cutting off her protest. “Ye gave me quite a scare.”
    Her face flushing, Birch looked down when Shep nudged her hand, and Niall couldn’t help but notice she let the dog lick her fingers. “I’m sorry I attacked you,” she whispered, darting him a