The Time Traveler's Christmas - Amy Jarecki Page 0,1

or two of washing.

“So where is the rascal?” Lachlan asked, peeking under the new red couch.

“Probably hiding under the Christmas tree—doubt if he’ll show his face until I come back, but you’ll know he’s here because the food will be eaten and he’ll leave a wee gift in the litter box.”

Moving inside, Lachlan examined the tree, decked out with a rainbow of flashing lights, every branch adorned with a figurine of some sort. On closer inspection, the figurines were all historical figures—Mary, Queen of Scots, Henry VIII, Robert the Bruce, William Wallace—that statue gave Lachlan pause. After dropping his bag, he strode straight up to the tree and fingered the piece. Perhaps because he was a Wallace, his heart rate always spiked when faced with an image of Scotland’s hero. Maybe even because Lachlan had always wanted to be a man like his ancestor—decisive, passionate, strong, committed to right, focused and determined, willing to die for his country. A shiver crept down his arms. “Where’d you find all these?”

Walter hobbled beside him. “Here and there. Collected them over the years.”

“But isn’t it a little early to put up your tree?”

“Why not? Besides, I like to look at my figurines.” He shot a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Lachlan followed Walter into the kitchen.

“Do you think you’ll have any trouble with the commute from Glasgow to Linlithgow?” The old man hobbled toward the sink.

“As long as there’s no strike and the trains keep running, I don’t think it’ll be a problem for a couple weeks.”

“That’s what I figured.” Walter looked away and drummed his fingers on the counter. “So, have you decided what you’re going to do?”

Lachlan’s gut turned over. “Just taking it one day at a time at the moment.”

“I suppose that’s for the best. I’m glad I never married. Saved myself a shipload of strife.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t want to talk to anyone about Angela. If only he didn’t have to face divorce crap now that he’d returned to Scotland—but he’d watched mates go through it and it never was pretty—always drew out, ripping them up on the inside. God, if only there was a way to avoid that kind of pain, he’d take his issue in karate kicks every day for the rest of his life.

“Good thing you didn’t have any kids,” Walter said.

“Isn’t that the truth?” Lachlan spotted the cat food feeder beside the refrigerator. It had about two liters of food in a plastic container that fed into a dish below—same with the water beside it. “How often do I need to fill up the food?”

“When it runs out.”

“How long does all that last?”

“A couple weeks or so.”

“So…you needed me here to take care of a phantom cat that won’t need to be fed or watered during the entire time you’re away?”

“I suppose you’ll need to clean the litter box a time or two.” Uncle Walter pointed. “It’s in the guest bathroom, so don’t forget to leave the door open.”

Lachlan snorted. At least he had a quiet place to hang out until he found a flat to let. “Anything else?”

“There’s some milk and Weetabix, otherwise you’re on your own for meals.” Walter meandered back to the living room, toward a suitcase, satchel and an antique-looking cane. “Call my cell if you need anything. I’ll be meeting your parents at Heathrow and then we’ll fly to Malta from there.”

Lachlan hadn’t seen his parents since arriving. Mum had yet another speaking engagement in London, so he’d probably passed their flight somewhere over Northumberland. Ah well, he didn’t want to be mollycoddled, not that his mother was the type who ever babied him. To be perfectly honest, Lachlan just wanted to be alone. He’d arranged for his partner to take his classes at the dojo for the week and the only commitments he had were kinesiology therapy at the hospital in Linlithgow. He’d earned his degree in kinesiology in the US at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. Mum had encouraged him to study in America, especially since Lachlan’s granddad used to be the UK Ambassador to the Unites States. Lachlan had picked Wisconsin because it sounded western and produced fantastic linebackers. His freshman year, he’d hoped to walk on as a linebacker, but a cute blonde had swayed him toward karate. Their romance lasted about a month, but Lachlan found a new love—martial arts, his strength, self-defense and samurai swords—he won nationals and had represented Great Britain in the Olympics