Two Kinds Of Truth(72)

He draws a long breath. “I cannae say I’m surprised. He was ne’er the right man for ye, in my opinion. He’s always been too self-centred.”

I blink several times, unable to digest what Alasdair has just said. “Granda! Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because it’s the truth, hen.”

“Then I may as well tell you he’s moving in with Ally.”

“The vet?” He shakes his head and tuts. “That dinnae take long.”

“I didn’t want to say anything, not with you being so ill.”

He shakes his head again and his veined blue fingers reach out to pat my hand. “I don’t need sheltering from his seedy escapades, and besides, I had a hunch he was up to no guid long before today.”

I stare into his watery grey eyes. “You were not to know he’s been seeing someone else.”

He pulls his lips into a grimace. “Although it saddens me to say it: best let him go, lass.”

“How do you know it’s the right thing to do?”

His fingers tighten around mine. “Because my màthair always told me: ne’er settle for second best. If ye do, you’ll ne’er find yir true soulmate.”

Footsteps come from behind me and I glance over my shoulder to see a staff nurse approaching.

“It’s time Mr McKinley got some rest,” she says. “I’m afraid visiting time is over.”

I automatically let go of Alasdair’s hand, stand up and go to plant a kiss on his cheek. His arms reach out and he wraps them around me, pulling me close.

“Just be happy,” he says in my ear, and when I pull away, he grabs my hand. “Ye only have one wee life, lassie, so live it to the full.”

***

I arrive back at the farm as darkness is descending, get out of the car and head towards the farmhouse. The downstairs lights are on and there’s a golden glow illuminating the frost covered windows.

I pause outside the front door, aware there’s a man inside who truly loves me. I smile to myself, happy and contented for the first time in a long time. Jamie is all the man I need. I think about that gleam in his eye and the way his arm curls around my waist and pulls me close, his warm breath on my cheek.

I loved Callum, truly I did. We had such hopes and dreams together; the flower shop, his great job, the hope of a better life for our children. But I chose to ignore the warning signs, to overlook his mood swings and his nights away, believing I simply wasn’t enough for him. Never for one second did I think it was something in his past.

My fingers tighten around the handle and I push the door wide. As I step inside, I breathe in deeply, inhaling the delicious aroma of pie, and my lips spread into a grin. Hetty’s clearly been here while I was away and brought the weekly supplies.

I take off my coat and hang it on the hook next to Jamie’s, and my fingers touch one of the sleeves. It’s the same coat he wore when he came to my rescue. I take off my boots and drop them noisily to the floor.

“What took ye so long?” Jamie calls out, and I follow his voice towards the kitchen. Pushing the door ajar, I see there are candles on the table, along with a small vase of red and white roses adorning its centre.

“What’s all this?” I ask in surprise.

Jamie’s standing by the stove, a pair of tatty old mitts in his hands.

“I thought I’d cook for ye,” and he opens the oven door and pulls out a brown pot covered with shortcrust pastry.

“What? You’ve made it yourself?” and I try to mask my amazement.

He hurries over to the table, placing the pie on a large serving mat.

“Aye, and dinnae look astounded. Hetty’s not the only one who can produce a meal from scratch.” He dashes back to the stove and takes out two more dishes, this time filled with roast potatoes, broccoli and buttered carrots.

“Best wash yir hands quickly, so this lot doesnae get cold,” he urges.

I hurry over to the stone sink and wash and dry my hands on a small threadbare towel. Placing it back on the rail, I turn to see that Jamie’s already seated at the table, pouring white wine.

I walk over and take a seat.

“The food looks scrumptious,” I say, placing a napkin across my knee. Jamie’s sitting next to me, and he picks up his wine glass and makes a toast.

“To new beginnings,” he says, and I lift my glass to his.

“To new beginnings, and to us,” I rejoin, and our glasses chink together. I take a sip then place my glass down onto the table. Jamie offers up a piece of venison pie.

“Help yourself to the vegetables,” he says, and pushes the dishes towards me.

I smile. Being with Jamie feels so natural. Any shyness I may have felt vanished long ago. I’m relaxed for the first time in years and stare at him, as though seeing him for the first time. Twisting flames from the fire send flickers of bright orange light to dance upon his skin, his angular jaw now less prominent in the candlelight. He looks devilishly handsome sitting there in his open neck shirt. I stare at his throat and then towards his plump moist lips, at which I start to tingle all over. I lick my own lips, no longer tempted by the food.

“Jamie…”

His eyes catch mine and they widen as he reads the message written there. He leans forward, takes my hand and presses butterfly kisses to the tips of my fingers.