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"I hugged her. It's called being friendly,mo leannan. Unless you'd rather I growl at the lass."
"Do you want me to start calling you Pig-Bear? I'm sure Piper wouldn't mind if I borrow her nickname for Magnus."
They're teasing each other. Do Avery and I do that? I think so, but we don't use Gaelic words. "Mo leannan" means "my sweetheart." Would Avery like it if I whispered to her in Gaelic? No, that would make me a copycat. I can think of original ways to tell her how much I love her.
Avery leans in and murmurs, "Pig-Bear?"
"I'm not sure what that's about. Magnus is Callum's cousin, but I don't know about Piper."
Callum chuckles. "We can hear you two whispering. Piper is Magnus's fiancée. They met when she became a fugitive, accused of murder, and Magnus the bounty hunter went after her. She was innocent, of course. Pig-Bear is the nickname Piper gave to Magnus because he often grunts and growls like a pig or a bear."
Avery seems confused. I can't blame her. Pig-Bear? That must be the most ridiculous name these people have ever invented. It's even worse than when Derek refers to me as Lord Sticky.
Mum and Derek have just reached the tarmac. My mother throws her arms around Callum and kisses his cheek repeatedly. "I'm so happy you and Hugh have patched things up."
"Patched what up?" Callum says. "We were never torn apart. Just a wee bit frazzled, that's all."
He's being extremely kind in his assessment of what happened the last time I came to Scotland.
I introduce Derek to Callum and Kate, and they hit it off immediately. Well, he can be charming in his "I'd murder you in a heartbeat if you hurt my sister" way. Since I never want to hurt Avery, her brother won't find any excuses for dispatching me. I admire Derek's determination to protect his sister. I admire the way the MacTaggarts stick together too, though they are a bit like a Scottish mafia. Even one of their own, Callum's cousin Iain, describes them that way. But the MacTaggart mafia only intervenes to ensure good people get what they deserve.
We all stroll toward the limo, and the others pile into the car. But Callum ushers me around to the other side where I see a familiar object.
I raise one brow at Callum. "Why are you showing me your Harley? How did you even get your motorcycle here?"
He laughs and pats my shoulder. "How do ye think? I drove it here."
As my American mates would say, "duh." Perhaps I should slap my palm on my forehead when I think that pseudo-word. "You want to ride your Harley all the way back to Loch Fairbairn? It's a three-hour drive."
His smile turns disconcertingly smug. "Aye, but we won't be heading straight for Dùndubhan. You and I need to get reacquainted."
"Your brother the psychologist suggested that, I imagine."
"No, it was Kate's idea." He waves to the driver through the limo's front window, and the vehicle rolls across the tarmac away from us. "She's a clever lass, and she wants us to be best mates again. And before ye complain that we already are, she meant that we need to spend time alone together."
"What sort of humiliating male-bonding ritual do you have in mind? I refuse to dance naked by the light of a bonfire."
"Ye think I want to see ye naked again?" He scoffs. "Once was enough. Get on the bike, Hugh. This is the last phase of your therapy, as ordered by Kate who knows what she's doing."
Because she is both a physical therapist and a psychotherapist. I wouldn't balk at this plan except for one issue. "You expect me to ride on your motorcycle with my arms around you and our bodies…touching."
"That's how you ride a bike, mate."
It seems I need one more round of humiliation before Callum will forgive me for knocking him down during the shinty match. I deserve it. "Fine, give me a helmet."
He reaches into the plastic storage box situated at the rear of the motorcycle and hands me a helmet.
I roll my eyes and raise the thing. "It's pink, Callum."
"Aye, that's Kate's helmet. She lent it to you."
Thank you so much, Kate Wagner.
Callum squints at me in a sarcastic manner. "You better not be cursing at my fiancée in your head."
"No, I was cursing at you. What is that lovely phrase you like to say? Oh, yes. Flying vagina, you are a plague."
"It sounds better in Gaelic." He climbs astride the Harley. "Get on, Hugh."
