Countdown - Iris Johansen [50]
“She’d probably rather have the flower.”
“But it might die.” His expression became shadowed. “I might die. Sometimes things die.”
“You’re young,” she said gently. “Usually, the young don’t die, Jock.” But Mike had died, and he had been as young as this beautiful boy. She said impulsively, “But I could draw your flower now and you could still give the real plant to your mother later.”
His expression lit with eagerness. “Would you? When could you do it?”
She glanced at her watch. “Now. I have time. It won’t take long. Where is it?”
“In my garden.” He stepped aside and gestured inside the stable. “Come on. I’ll show you where—” His smile disappeared. “But I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I promised the laird I wouldn’t go near you.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” She remembered Bartlett’s and Trevor’s words about not letting the boy bother her. They’d evidently gone ahead and talked to MacDuff in spite of her protest that the idea of the kid accosting her didn’t worry her. Now that she’d met him she was definitely feeling defensive. “It’s all right, Jock.”
He shook his head. “I promised him.” He thought about it. “But if I go ahead and you follow me I won’t really be near you, will I?”
She smiled. He might be childlike, but he wasn’t as slow as Bartlett thought. “By all means, keep your distance, Jock.” She crossed the courtyard to the stable. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Why are all the stalls empty?” Jane called ahead as she followed Jock through the stable. “MacDuff has no horses?”
He shook his head. “He sold them. He doesn’t come here very often anymore.” He had reached the door at the back of the stable. “This is my garden.” He threw open the door. “It’s only potted plants, but the laird says I can plant them outside in the earth later.”
She followed him out into the sunlight. Flowers. The tiny cobblestone area resembled a patio, but there was barely room to walk for the vases and pots overflowing with blossoms of every description. A glass roof overhead made it into a perfect greenhouse. “Why not now?”
“He’s not sure where we’ll be. He said it’s important to take care of flowers.” He pointed to a terra-cotta pot. “This is my gardenia.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He nodded. “And it will live when the winter winds blow.”
“That’s beautiful too.” She opened her sketchbook. “Is the gardenia your favorite flower?”
“No, I like all of them.” He frowned. “Except lilacs. I don’t like lilacs.”
“Why not? They’re very lovely and I’d think they’d grow well here.”
He shook his head. “I don’t like them.”
“I do. We have lots of them at home.” She began to sketch. “The blossoms of your gardenia are drooping a little. Could you tie up the branches until I finish?”
He nodded, reached in his pocket, and drew out a leather cord. A moment later the gardenia was upright in the pot. “Is that what you want?”
She nodded absently as her pencil raced over the pad. “That’s fine. . . . You can sit down on that stool at the potting table, if you like. It will be a little while before I finish.”
He shook his head as he moved to the far edge of the patio. “Too near. I promised the laird.” His gaze went to the cord around the gardenia. “But he knows I really don’t have to be near. There are so many ways . . .”
What the hell are you doing here?”
Jane glanced over her shoulder to see MacDuff standing in the doorway. “What does it look like?” She turned back and made the last few strokes on the sketch. She tore it off her pad and held it out to Jock. “Here it is. It’s the best I can do. I told you I did faces better.”
Jock stood still, not moving, his gaze on MacDuff. “I’m not near her. I didn’t break my promise.”
“Yes, you did. You knew what I meant.” He took the sketch from Jane and thrust it at the boy. “I’m not pleased, Jock.”
The boy appeared totally crushed and Jane felt a surge of anger. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. I could hit you. Stop it. I offered to make the sketch. He didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, shit.” MacDuff’s gaze was on Jock’s face. “Shut up and get the hell out of here.”
“I will not.