Part 29 (2/2)

The cozy pub-restaurant loomed as empty as when she'd claimed a quiet corner behind the bar.

Jil y s.h.i.+vered.

Maybe the Colquhoun Arms was haunted? Yet she'd been traveling around Scotland for two weeks and hadn't seen a single ghost.

She had heard stories though.

Scotland was ful of such tales.

Her heart began to pound and she lifted a hand to her neck, fingering the antique silver locket that rested against her throat. If a Scottish ghost wanted a piece of her, Luss on Loch Lomond would be the place any such spook would come after her.

Or so she was wil ing to consider until she caught a movement near the door. A crusty-looking Scotsman in a kilt stood there, a walking stick in his hand. He was looking right at her, his blue eyes twinkling.

The dog was there, too.

Little, as she'd guessed. The cheeky creature appeared to be a brown and white Jack Russel terrier. He struck a jaunty pose beside the Scotsman, the same mischievous air about him as his master.

The haggis, la.s.s.

You'll no' regret it.

The words came as before, this time without an accompanying bark. Yap or not, the dog did wag his tail.

He also appeared to smile, displaying crooked teeth.

But what real y caught her eye was that, for a moment, she would've sworn she could see through the dog's wig- wagging tail.

Jil y blinked. The old man grinned and winked at her.

Then he turned on his heel to stride out the door, his little dog trotting after him.

Until both seemed to vanish into thin air.

”Huh?” Jil y's eyes widened. She leaned forward, trying to see out the windows if they'd nipped around the corner to the inn's car-park. But the parking lot looked as empty as the restaurant and nothing moved across the way except a flock of wooly sheep ambling about a large, tree-edged field.

The road down to the loch-Luss's only real thoroughfare-proved equal y deserted. Quaint stone cottages hugged the road al the way to the sh.o.r.e, but an air of stil ness prevailed there, too.

Jil y swal owed. A chil swept over her. An old man with a walking stick couldn't move that fast. His dog hadn't looked sprightly either. She hadn't missed the tel tale white on the Jack's muzzle and brows.

”Have you decided?” The soft voice startled her.

Jil y glanced up at the inn's proprietress. She hadn't even noticed the woman approach her table.

”Do you need more time?” The innkeeper's gaze flicked to the menu.

”No, I know what I want. I'l have haggis.” Jil y blurted her choice before she realized what she'd said.

”Haggis?” The woman's brows arched. ”Are you sure?”

Jil y nodded, certain her face had run beet red.

Of course, she wasn't sure. Everyone knew haggis tasted like moist, ground shoe leather and made hair grow in places it shouldn't.

But the order had slipped off her tongue and she wasn't taking it back. If only to prove that she was one American who did eat haggis.

So she bit back a shudder and flashed her best haggis- loving smile. ”I eat haggis al the time,” she lied. ”I heard yours is real y good.”

That, at least, was true.

Not that she was about to admit who'd said so.

”Wel , then.” The innkeeper's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. ”Deep-fried haggis with whisky sauce or traditional?”

”Traditional?”

”Haggis served with neeps and tatties.” The woman's tone said she knew Jil y had never tasted haggis in her life.

”Neeps are mashed rutabagas and tatties are mashed potatoes.”

”Oh.” Jil y didn't bother to try a bluff. ”I'l have traditional haggis.”

If only because she was certain most American tourists ordered the deep-fried variety.

But as soon as a server set down her steaming, traditional-looking haggis, Jil y decided it didn't matter if she appeared ignorant.

She'd never seen such an unappetizing pile of goo.

But she'd be d.a.m.ned before she wouldn't scarf down every bite.

She was spared the misery when a fast-moving blur of black and white fur made a flying leap for her table, the dog's loud-slurping tongue lapping the haggis from her plate.

”Gah!” She leaned back against the booth.

The dog-a border col ie-was al over her.

Her eyes rounded as one of the beast's muddy paws slid across her thigh, his busy tongue making short work of the neeps and tatties.

The deed done, he kept his paw hard against her leg and simply stared at her.

He also looked incredibly pleased.

”Haggis!” A deep voice, richly-burred and suitably horrified, fil ed the restaurant. ”Have done, laddie. Leave be!”

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