Page 3 of First Light
“I think I’m okay now.”
“Remember,” Laura said, “you’re not insane. You know Lachlan, and something happened to him. He would not have left without talking to you.”
The road curved again, a sinuousSthat rose over a hill, then dropped down into a picturesque valley blanketed by bare trees and green hills. On the slope of the hill in the distance, Carys could just make out something that looked like a stone circle.
It was a real-life version of one of her mother’s fantasy watercolors, and Carys wished more than anything that she was visiting Scotland for the first time with Lachlan. They could take their time, explore his childhood haunts, and she could see in person some of the mythology she’d spent her life studying in books.
And Lachlan could do the driving.
A car horn dragged her attention from the stone circle in the distance and back to the road where a small delivery truck—a lorry—was pulling out into the lane and right into Carys’s way.
She swerved to the left and raised a hand in apology, but as soon as she passed the truck, she realized where the truck was coming from.
Murray Smithworks.
The sign was in faded paint on a large stone barn behind the wall where the truck had come from.
Carys found a place to turn around, then slowly drove back to the business that the Murray family owned. She turned left into the yard surrounded by a carved grey stone, then directed her small rental car toward a low building that appeared to be an office.
She parked and took a deep breath before sending a quick text to Laura and Kiersten.
Found it. Wish me luck.
Good luck.
Don’t let him brush you off.
Carys opened her car door and stepped out into the cool Scottish morning. The sky was overcast, but it didn’t look like it was going to rain, and the temperature was a chilly forty degrees, fairly close to what Baywood had been when she left home.
Experiencing the weather in Lachlan’s childhood home made Carys realize why he’d taken the weather on the North Coast in stride. It wasn’t as foggy as Baywood, but the climate was remarkably similar.
She walked to an old wooden door with peeling paint and a small plaque that readOffice. She knocked, then cracked the door open. “Hello?”
“Just a moment, dear!” a friendly voice called from the back. “Just a wee moment.”
A “wee moment” later, a round woman with curly hair and a rosy face walked from the hall at the back of the office. “These boys.” She sighed. “Can’t fill out a sales order to save their life.” She settled at a large desk with a computer and two different phones. “How can I help you, dear? If you’re looking for the garden store, it’s just down the lane and all the metalworks are there. We don’t sell any directly here at the smithworks; this area is for restoration projects, construction, and the like.”
Carys raised a hand. “Oh, I’m not here for garden… things. I’m looking for Duncan Murray.”
The woman cocked her head. “American? And you’re looking for Duncan, are you?”
“Yes, Duncan Murray. He’s the owner here, right?”
“He surely is, but he doesn’t receive guests at work most days.” She smiled and rose, and then her smile fell. “You’re not a reporter or anything like that, are you?”
“No.” She found herself reluctant to volunteer information. “Just a friend of a friend.”
“Of course, dear.” The woman’s smile returned. “And your name?”
Oh shit. She supposed she had to give the woman something. “Carys.”
“Lovely name.” The woman beamed. “I’ll see if I can find the man.”
Moments after the woman walked back into what Carys assumed was the workshop, a burly man came storming down the hallway. He froze for a moment, staring at Carys, and his mouth dropped open.
So did hers. “Lachlan?”
He wasn’t Lachlan. She knew he wasn’t, but this man was her boyfriend’s mirror image. He was rougher around the edges, his hair was shorter, and he had a beard you couldn’t grow in less than a month. His hair was the same reddish brown as Lachlan’s and his eyes were just as green, but his shoulders were thick with muscle and his arms were massive.