Scottish Snow & Mistletoe: A Short Story Read online

  SCOTTISH SNOW AND MISTLETOE

  A SHORT STORY

  By L.L. Muir

  AMAZON KDP EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY

  Lesli Muir Lytle

  www.llmuir.com

  Scottish Snow and Mistletoe © 2015 L.Lytle

  All rights reserved

  Amazon KDP Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Handsome, Heroic Aussies Everywhere

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  THE BRIDGE

  THE TEASHOP

  THE GIFT

  THE INSANITY

  MORE BOOKS by L.L. Muir

  About the Author

  THE BRIDGE

  It was Christmas Eve in Edinburgh. Lights along rooftops twinkled beneath a fresh inch of snow. The snow itself sparkled with a fresh coat of freezing rain. And through the windows of the CrossCountry train, it all looked like strings of colored stars.

  Alex didn’t have long to appreciate the magic, though. She got off at Waverley Station and hurried to the steps as quickly as she dared. But even so, the freezing rain meant moving at a snail’s pace.

  Step, shift weight.

  Step, shift weight.

  No time to look up. No time for pretty lights.

  Step, shift weight.

  Gah! She was never going to make it!

  She shuffled carefully to the bridge and cursed under her breath for not taking the time to find an umbrella in her gran’s things. She didn’t care so much about the freezing pellets hitting her head as much as she wished she had a cane to keep her from falling.

  It seemed like everyone was walking away from the Royal Mile, not toward it. The shops would probably be closed, but still she had to try. After all, a dying wish was a dying wish.

  The slope of the bridge looked like a hill for sledding, but if she stayed near the edge of the wide sidewalk and kept the stone wall within reach, she had a chance of not embarrassing herself. Every now and then, however, someone wanted that wall worse than she did and she had to let go and inch carefully around them.

  As she braved the oncoming foot traffic, the path slowly cleared and soon the only thing blocking her straight shot to solid ground was a couple of guys huddled close. One of them was standing on a big rickety-looking box and leaning slightly over the edge. If he wasn’t careful, he would topple over onto the train tracks below. Luckily, his friend had a grip on his coat, though, so whatever they were up to, she guessed it was none of her business.

  She studied the path she would have to take around them. It wasn’t good, but it was no worse than what she’d already been walking on. And since the men didn’t seem like they’d be moving anytime soon, she let go of the wall and spread her arms for balance, just in case. It didn’t matter how silly she looked—she’d look a heck of a lot sillier lying on the ground crying about a broken butt.

  “Come on,” said one of the bundles of winter clothing. “Just tell me your name.”

  Alex stopped mid-way between step and shift weight, her curiosity trumping her safety.

  “Just leave me be,” said the man on the box. “Can’t ye leave me be?”

  The other guy shook his bundled head. “Sorry, mate. I don’t have any place I need to be tonight. How about you?”

  Three things became painfully clear.

  First, the guy on the box had probably intended to jump off the bridge. If he would have waited a few hours, the place would have been deserted.

  Second, the good Samaritan sounded like an Aussie, and if he asked Alex to get down off of a box and onto a deathly dangerous slab of ice, she’d do it if he only promised to keep talking.

  And thirdly, she knew there was no way she was going to make it to the specialty shop now, even if it was part of her grandma’s final request that she make it there before Christmas. She couldn’t very well walk away when a fellow human being was distraught enough to jump off a bridge, no matter what day it was.

  Step, shift weight.

  Step, shift weight.

  “Hey,” she said quietly, though she couldn’t risk looking up or she might step wrong.

  The Aussie leaned back to look around the other man’s legs. “Hiya.”

  She stepped back to the stone wall not far from where she’d let go of it. Holding on with both hands, she moved sideways toward the box. When she felt steady enough, she looked up at the jumper. “Hey.”

  “Oo’s this now? Are ye mad? Oot in this weather? Go on home wi’ ye.” He shooed her away with a gloved hand.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I think I’m stuck here for a while. Too scared the move.”

  The Aussie laughed and tiled his head to look at her. She leaned back only as far as she could without letting go. They exchanged worried smiles, then she straightened again. All she could think was that it was a good thing she’d been holding onto the wall when she’d seen that face.

  She really needed to take a trip to Australia. Russell Crowe and this guy should get a cut of the tourist pie. Seriously.

  She reached up and tried to comb the ice out of her hair—not because she was preening, but because she was pretty sure the heat coming off her now would melt it all and leave her with a really wet head.

  The guy on the box was still frowning at her. “Go away, Yank.”

  The hot guy peeked at her again. “You’re a yank?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded, thinking it would be safer that way. But she couldn’t just keep them closed if she was going to have a conversation, so she opened them and smiled. “And you’re an Aussie?”

  He laughed. “Touché.”

  “Am I interruptin’?” The man wagged his head to be funny and the box wobbled beneath him. He cried out and Alex wrapped her arms around his legs. The Aussie caught the older guy around the waist, and together, they helped him to the ground. The slatted box fell over and broke into a dozen pieces.

  The old guy started to blubber. She couldn’t understand a word, but she patted his shoulder while he got it all out.

  “What’s your name?” the Aussie asked him again. There was such tenderness in his voice and in his eyes, she couldn’t imagine anyone denying him anything. She sure wouldn’t, even though, for all she knew, he was a drug dealer from Down Under.

  “Name’s Padraig.” The man blew his nose on a square of rough orange cloth. “Padraig Carroll.”

  The Aussie nodded. “Well, Mr. Carroll, may I help you get home?”

  “No, no. I canna go home.” He started blubbering again his words a long garbled jumble but with a lovely lilt.

  Alex resumed p
atting. Over the guy’s head, she said, “I can’t understand what he’s saying.”

  The hot guy nodded. “He says he hasn’t got a gift for his wife, that she breaks her back for him all year long and now he hasn’t got her a gift.”

  “If ye must know,” the old man told her, “I wanted to get her something finer than I could afford, so I…I made some poor wagers.” He gave her a stern frown. “But I prayed first, mind.” She nodded like it made perfect sense, and he stopped frowning. Unfortunately, he started crying again. “And now I’ve nothing a’tall.”

  “That’s terrible,” she said. “But I’m sure she’ll understand. Maybe you could write her a long letter and tell you how much you love her. That’s the kind of thing I could appreciate.”

  The man sobered and shook his head like she’d suggested he cut off his finger and wrap it up nice. “Nay, lass. She’d hold such a letter over me head until the day I died. Mark me words.”

  The Aussie fought to keep a straight face. “But you do love her, mate, don’tcha?”

  Padraig wrinkled his nose. “O’course I do. I just canna let her know it, aye?”

  Over the old guy’s head, they exchanged eye rolls. Then Alex had an idea.

  “What’s your wife’s name,” she asked.

  “Carol.” He looked like he was going to cry again, so she patted harder.

  The Aussie turned red from holding his breath and mouthed the name, Carol Carroll.

  She closed her eyes and gave her head a quick shake, both to yank her attention of the hot guy, and to keep from laughing out loud. Then she held out her hand and showed Padraig the ring on her finger. It had a small flower and the petals were made from Mother of Pearl.

  “Do you think Carol would like something like this?”

  The man sniffed, then took her hand and did the trombone thing, trying to focus. “Oh, that’s lovely, lass. Lovely.” Then he patted her fingers and gave her hand back.

  She pulled the ring off and held it out to him. “Why don’t you give this to Carol? I’m sorry I don’t have a box or anything.”

  “Hold on there.” The Aussie reached into his pocket and pulled out a little white square. He dumped out a dark velvet ring box from inside, pulled something out of it, then held it out to her. “Put her in there, eh?”

  She grimaced at the thought of some girl asking why her gift wasn’t in a box, but if the guy was willing to make the sacrifice, Mrs. Carol Carroll was going to get a pretty little gift for Christmas.

  Alex’s grandma’s ring slid easily into the slit. The box closed with a snap, then the Aussie slipped it into the little white box and presented it to Padraig on an open hand.

  “Merry Christmas, mate.”

  The man was speechless, and thankfully, tearless. He looked from the box to each of their faces, then back again. “Well, I never.”

  She exchanged a smile with Hot Guy and he gave her a wink. Then he mouthed the name again, Carol Carroll, and she laughed. Then all three of them were laughing while Padraig slipped the box into his pocket and shook their hands.

  “Not bad for a Yank and an Aussie,” he said. “A Merry Christmas to ye both. I best get home and find an odd bit of ribbon. Thank ye, and God bless.”

  “God bless, mate.”

  Alex tore her eyes off the guy to wave at the old man. “Be careful. It’s pretty slick!”

  The man’s brows bounced up and down a couple of times and he grinned. Then, after a running start, he stopped his feet and slid down the rest of the walkway, a good fifteen feet. Then he did it again and again until he reached Princes Street!

  The Aussie stepped closer. “I can’t help but wonder, after seeing that, if we’ve just been had.”

  She smiled and shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  He chuckled. “Carol Carroll?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I think if he’d been making things up, he’d have thought of something better.”

  He nodded. “Surely.” His smile disappeared, and in a suddenly panic, he dug into his pocket for his phone. “Damn! I’ve got to go.” He looked at her all apologetic and started toward the train station. “I’m sorry. I’ve promised to be somewhere, and I’m already late!”

  She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. Goodbye!”

  When he was twenty feet away, he turned and laughed. “Carol Carroll!”

  She laughed too, and when she stopped, she could still hear him laughing even though he’d turned the corner.

  Alex took a deep breath and released a sigh that turned into an impressive-sized cloud of steam. There was little use trying. It was after six o’clock. But since the little shop wasn’t far, she had to try. She’d come all the way from Aberdeen, and who knew how long it would be before she’d be back again.

  Her heart was light from both the good deed and the hearty laughter. The memory of the guy’s face was fading fast, but it was just as well. He was either engaged or soon to be engaged, judging from the ring box he’d been carrying around with him. But she couldn’t help but look for a star and make a little wish that someone like that would happen to her.

  Unfortunately, the clouds were still thick, even though the snow and hail had stopped.

  She turned right onto the Royal Mile. Thankfully, the combination of snow and ice crystals had created a crunchy surface with plenty of traction while she’d been improving international relations on the bridge. She hadn’t gone far at all when she saw the sign for Cockburn Street just ahead.

  Another turn to the right, and the shop should be down a little and on the left.

  She was tempted to stop and spend some time at the window of a place called Miss Katie Cupcake, but she would have to save that for the next trip. For the moment, she didn’t dare hope that the brightly lit place, a little farther on, was the tea shop she was looking for.

  But it was! And they were open!

  THE TEASHOP

  The Enchanted Teacup was a charming little shop with two large windows to either side of a door painted green. There were hand-painted messages in curly letters on both sides of that door. “Rent a cup. The tea is free.” And on the other side, “Fortunes & Forecasts on offer.”

  Alex pushed the door open before she thought to knock, but it was too late. The tinkling of a little bell gave her away.

  The front half of the store was filled with antiques that looked just like the contents of all those boxes she’d been going through. She’d arrived a week ago for her grandma’s funeral and had been cleaning ever since. And it was during that cleaning spree that she’d come across an envelope that gave her an excuse to take a break.

  “Alexandra,” it said on the front. “On Christmas Eve, you must take this envelope to The Enchanted Teacup on Cockburn Street. They will give you the gift I’ve arranged for you. Don’t fail me. Merry Christmas.”

  So there she was.

  Two identical women, maybe sixty years old, emerged through green curtains from some back room. “Hello,” they said in unison. Their faces were scrunched up in wrinkled smiles.

  “I’m sorry to come so late,” Alex began, but they shook their heads, quickly cutting her off.

  “Just in time,” one said.

  “Yes,” said the other. “Like the perfect cup of tea. Enough time to cool. Not so long it’s cold.”

  Alex nodded like she understood, then pulled the envelope from her pocket. The women seemed to recognize it, because they gave each other a look.

  “You must be Alexandra, then,” said the one on the left. “I’m Lorraine. This is my sister, Loretta.” They sounded American, but it was clear Scotland had rubbed off on them a little.

  “Nice to meet you. The note said to come here, today, but there is nothing inside. Is there a balance owed?” She pulled her bag from where it hung on her back and reached for her wallet. She’d been prepared to pay off her grandma’s debts whatever they were, but she hadn’t found so much as an overdue bill yet.

  “Nothing due,” said Loretta and patted the hand hol
ding the wallet. “Everything’s been arranged.”

  Alex was dying of curiosity. “So, you have something for me?”

  Lorraine nodded, then grabbed her elbow and led her to the curtains. “But first, ye must have a cuppa tea, of course.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The back room was bigger than Alex would have guessed from the outside of the building. There were eight or more tables set up in the center of the dimly lit space, and the walls were made up of little alcoves, each with a teacup and saucer inside. They were lit up like expensive pieces of art.

  “Cool.”

  They led her to the back wall and Lorraine waved a hand. “You choose the cup. We’ll get the tea.”

  “Uh, I’m not much of a tea drinker. Do you have hot chocolate?” She was both freezing and hungry.

  Loretta nodded at her sister. “I told you.”

  Lorraine nodded back. “We have some excellent stuff. Marshmallows?”

  Alex nodded. “Sure.” Marshmallows were food, weren’t they?

  Loretta nodded at the wall. “And the cup?”

  Alex shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter.”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to pick one.”

  “Okay.” She stepped forward, pretended to give a few of them some consideration, then reached for the closest cup. But when her fingers were only inches away, she pulled her hand back. It was silly—she knew that—but it didn’t seem like it was meant for her. She laughed. “They’re all so pretty. Maybe I’d better look around.”

  The sisters smiled patiently, like they had all the time in the world. But they were watching her closely, like a mouse waiting for someone to drop a crumb on the floor.

  Lorraine choked and coughed. Loretta laughed and patted her sister on the back.

  Alex turned completely around and walked to another wall. About three feet off the ground, on the bottom row, far left alcove, was a blue cup that looked like the same color as that Aussie’s eyes. She’d already wished on a star. And if she was looking for a little more luck, that cup would be it.