Choosing the Highlander by Jessi Gage Page A

pensive expression. Hugging herself, she stared out over the meadow where the monks let their sheep graze. Her breath fogged in front of her. “I noticed the garden and it seemed like a peaceful spot. I’ve always liked growing things.”  
    He didn’t ken what to make of her tone. Was it sadness he heard in her voice? Why should she be sad when she had been so near to death and had been saved?  
    She had a new beginning. She should be joyful.  
    Careful of the plants, he strode to her. He was about to tell her to go inside and get warm, but a heaviness to her manner stayed his tongue.  
    “Lass?”  
    He held out a hand to her, inviting her into his arms, but she didn’t heed the invitation. Instead, she hugged herself tighter.  
    After the trust she’d shown him yester eve, her rejection stung.  
    “My parents never kept a garden. All our food was prepared by our chef.” She scoffed a bitter laugh. “I had never even been to a grocery store before until I went to college.”  
    “Once I bought my condo, I was finally able to have my own garden. There was a grassy, fenced-in area, and I took a great deal of enjoyment in removing the sod from a sunny corner and planting some annuals.”  
    He didn’t ken what a condo was, but she didn’t give him time to ponder it. “I love salad, so I started about twenty tomato plants from seeds.” She smiled wistfully as she went on, leaving him perplexed as to what a tow-may-tow was. “I planted them in little cardboard cups with such care and wrapped them in cellophane to keep them moist. I set them on a sunny windowsill every morning and made sure they were warm every night. Seeing their tiny little delicate stems sprout up made me so happy. I would come home from work excited to see how much they’d grown. They would twist and lean toward the sun like little reaching hands.”  
    She sighed, a heavy sound.  
    His heart melted for her, though why she was so distraught he couldn’t guess.  
    “When they were about six inches tall, I moved them outside to the little patch I’d cultivated. I planted them one weekend and put a tent of plastic over them to protect them until the weather got warmer.  
    “That Monday, when I got home from work, I went out to check on them, and they were gone. All gone.”  
    He felt her despair, wondering at it. She was speaking about plants. And this story had the feel of an event long past. Why she told him these things, he couldn’t guess, but he sensed truth in her words, a truth that ran as deep as mineral veins in the earth.  
    “There were little footprints all around and ragged tears in the plastic. Mice, an exterminator told me. Apparently, they crave the water in the plants. I hadn’t known. I could have put netting around them to keep rodents out, but I’d never dreamed my plants would get eaten.”  
    She laughed bitterly and finally looked at him. “It was an unforeseen complication, and it ruined my plans to have garden fresh tomatoes that summer. I cried for hours over those plants. All the work I’d put into them, all my excitement, and a bunch of rodents just took them away from me. Every last plant. Gone.”  
    Why was she telling him this?  
    “I’ve been here going on three days now. I might never get home. But I haven’t shed a single tear. Why?” She looked utterly at a loss.  
    Despite her earlier rejection, he still longed to hold her, but her manner gave him pause. She had a look about her like she’d found herself adrift at sea and was searching desperately for land.  
    What or whom had taken her from her home? Clearly, she had not left of her own accord. He would press her for answers once they began their journey.  
    “Why should I cry over tomato plants, but not over this, this—” She made a sweeping motion to indicate the countryside. “Just, all of this? I’m so far from home, from everything I’ve worked so hard for. I’m completely lost. Why aren’t I more upset?”