A seductive grin curved his lips. “I thank ye, lady,” he said, casting a longing look at the hot water steaming up the bathroom. He deliberately wet his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, giving her a look that rivaled the temperature of the water. “That’s a lot of water for just one man,” he said in a deep, sexy purr.
“I’ll just leave the fresh clothes outside the door,” she gulped, backpedaling out when he began tugging at the lacings on his pants with slow movements calculated to draw her eyes right to his… She yanked the door closed with a solid thunk, snorting at the definite male chuckle on the other side. After a moment, it cracked opened just wide enough for a large hand to drop the dirty clothes as she had directed.
A gorgeous but exceedingly strange man appeared out of nowhere and was now naked in her shower, rubbing her soap all over a very impressive collection of muscles. She shivered and paused for a moment to catch her breath then began going through the dresser drawers in her bedroom. She rummaged through her winter drawer, looking for the sweats she knew were in there. He was definitely going to put one-size-fits-all to the test. She found the old gray pair of XL drawstring sweatpants she lounged around in and an oversized Universal Studios t-shirt. She draped the clean pants and shirt over the handle then hesitated. After a moment she put her ear to the bathroom door and smiled, hearing her new guest humming happily in a rich baritone while he splashed around in the shower.
Colleen picked up the pile of clothes and headed for the small laundry room just off the kitchen, grabbing the large muddy boots on the way. Upon further inspection, the ripped and bloodied shirt was set aside as a lost cause. She searched inside the odd pants for laundering instructions for several minutes before she caught herself and laughed. “Of course there aren’t any. They were made what, six hundred years ago?” Her laughter sounded strained even to her own ears. She checked the worn leather bag for ID but found nothing inside but a few bits of dried, broken leaves. The boots, she was happy to discover, weren’t as filthy as she originally thought. A bit of hot water from the laundry room sink to wash off the fresh mud and loosen the dried, and she was able to towel them off and pronounce them clean in relatively quick order.
Where was she going to put him? Colleen fretted, nibbling her lower lip. Guest room! With a heavy boot in each hand, she darted to her spare bedroom, still piled high with the boxes she hadn’t gotten around to unpacking after the divorce. Some days she kicked herself for not keeping the large house she and Marc had purchased right before his infidelity became front page news, but overall, the condo they once shared was much more affordable on her less than stellar salary.
Turning on the light, she peered in and for the hundredth time regretted the just moved in motif the room bore. Too late to worry about that now, she sighed. Dropping the cleaned boots next to a tall stack of taped liquor boxes, she rushed back to the kitchen to worry about dinner. Colleen took a fast inventory of her groceries to see what she could whip up for him to eat. She came to the conclusion that if TV dinners were good enough for her, they were good enough for him, considering he dropped in–literally–unannounced. She chuckled at the thought and set the table for her guest. She needed to keep moving and busy or else she’d likely start screaming. She giggled again, clapping her hand over her mouth to catch the nervous sound.
After the kitchen table was set to her satisfaction, Colleen tackled the shredded remnants of her coffee table. Grabbing two large garbage bags from under the sink, she placed one inside the other before shoving the larger pieces of the coffee table into it. Tying it as best she could, she dragged it over to the door to be taken out to the dumpster the next morning. Her mind was wandering in far left field when a bizarre thought occurred to her. Mentally she heard the voice of Rod Serling. “Submitted for your approval–the curious case of Colleen O’Brien and the gorgeous time traveling Scot who landed in her living room. Clapping a hand over her face, she took a deep breath. “My head is going to explode,” she muttered.
When enough time had passed that she began worrying about what he was getting up to in there, Faolan emerged from the steaming bathroom with a little boy at Christmas smile. “By Christ, ‘twas truly a wonderful thing.” He laughed. “I think this is the cleanest I’ve ever been.” He ran his hand over his freshly shaven jaw. “I found the razor to be most effective. Much better than a knife blade, but Jesú it is sharp.”
She smiled at his obvious enjoyment. “I think you’re going to need some new clothes, though.” The gray sweats fit his lean hips, but were lacking in length, catching him about mid calf. The cotton t-shirt stretched taut over his broad chest. His wet hair had been combed away from his face and hung well below the middle of his back. Colleen quickly averted her eyes, lest he catch her staring at him. Easily six and a half feet tall, two hundred fifty pounds and even better looking clean shaven, he filled the doorway with his muscular body. Colleen felt positively tiny next to this man.
Rod continued his monologue inside her head. Watch as we follow Colleen on her descent into madness, he urged the audience. She gave a start at the internal intrusion and cleared her throat. “Let’s get you something to eat, Mr. MacIntyre,” she said.
“Faolan, please,” he said. He followed her to the kitchen, taking the seat she directed him to.
Opening the freezer and peering inside Colleen said, “All I’ve got are TV dinners. Anything special you’re in the mood for?”
She turned to find he had slipped up behind her and was staring into the freezer, mouth agape. “It’s so cold,” he marveled, touching a fingertip to one of the frozen shelves. With an indulgent smile, she gave him a quick tour of the kitchen appliances then returned to the freezer. “Which do you want?” she asked again, gesturing to the stack of frozen entrees.
With a bleak smile, Colleen watched the spoils of her grocery trip the day before disappear into the bottomless pit of Faolan MacIntyre. Bite by ravenous bite, he polished off every single one of the frozen dinners, all but one of the desserts–“Food shouldn’t be that shade of green, lass,” he had remarked about the key lime pie–half a loaf of bread with most of a jar of peanut butter, two of the apples, and all of the milk. When at last he sighed contentedly and leaned back in his chair, Colleen relaxed. “You’re going to need to get a job if you always eat like that,” she pointed out. “I can’t afford to feed you.”
Faolan threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I’m naught but a growing lad,” he said, “but I am able to pay for my lodgings, Princess.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Where are my clothes, lady? I had a small bag with me.”
She went to the laundry room and returned with the worn and battered sporran. “If this is what you’re referring to, it was empty,” she informed him, handing over the soft leather pouch.
“Ah, but things aren’t always as they appear to be,” he teased, his deep blue eyes dancing with delight. “Were ye to look as my gaolers did, ye’d think it empty and worthless.” He held it open, turned the pouch upside down and shook it with a theatrical flourish. When nothing fell out, he smiled and closed it again. “But if I were to say I need coin to pay this kind lady for bed and board–”
“And clothing.” Colleen giggled, anticipating a magic trick.
“And clothing,” he amended, lifting the flap and sticking his hand inside, “I would reach inside the bag and pull out…” His hand emerged from the bag with a fistful of shiny gold coins, spreading them out before her on the