Tate (Mountain Men 3)

“I see what you mean,” Fran mutters, giving Islan a sympathetic look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“Oh, nothing,” she says airily, and I swear her eyes look a bit unfocused. The doctor’s given her some heavy pain relievers, and it looks as if they've kicked in. “Only your sisters may have mentioned once or twenty times that you boys are all a bit overprotective, and I think she has a point.” For some reason, she finds this outrageously funny, and the next thing I know, her head falls back and she snorts with laughter. Literally snorts, so loudly Islan jumps. She looks at me in alarm.

“What’d he bloody give her?”

I shrug. “Dinnae. Reckon it was something strong?”

Fran’s giggling so hard she’s tipped over to the side, tears streaming down her face. What’s so funny? I don’t bloody well know what to do with her.

“Oh, no,” Islan whispers to me. “Tate, I think she’s high off her nut with the meds the doc gave her, isn’t she?”

I look back at her, and she’s giggling something fierce.

“I think you’re right,” I mutter. “Jesus.”

“The look on your face!” Fran says, as she erupts into peals of laughter again.

“Mine?” I ask.

“Och, aye,” she mutters, deepening her voice and wagging a wobbly finger at the two of us. Her accent’s thick, like a Scottish caricature, as she mocks me. “Are you out of yer bloody moind?”

“What’s she doing?” Islan whispers.

“Doing a right good job of pissin’ me off,” I whisper back.

“Oi’m the head of the fuckin’ mafia!” she howls, wagging her finger in the air. She reminds me of a man I once saw in a pub in the city centre, drunk, running his mouth so loudly in the pub he got a personal escort out. “Or one ‘a the heads of the fuckin’ mafia, whatever and all! And I swear to fuckin’ God, if ye don’t know what’s right for thee, you’d do what yer bloody told or I’ll send you swimmin’ with the bloody fishes!”

Islan snorts and covers her mouth to hide her laughter even as her eyes swing back with concern to me.

“Ought to fuckin’ gag ‘er,” I mutter. “She’s fuckin’ stoned.”

“And oye don’t make mistakes, so don’t even question me! There are two infallible people in the world and one sits in Vatican City, the other right ‘ere in Scotland.”

“Fran!” Islan hisses, doubling over with laughter. “Oh my God, stop!”

“Need to speak with…” But her voice is muffled and I can’t make out what she says. Someone’s name, though?

Islan looks at me in an absolute panic, no more laughing. Her eyes are wide and she’s totally sober.

“Did you hear that?” she asks.

“Hear fuckin what?” I shake my head. “All I hear is her going on and on about bloody nothing.”

“Oh,” Islan says with a laugh. “It’s nothing, nothing at all. She just mentioned… Paisley. Sounded like Paisley?”

What the fuck is she hiding?

I look sharply back to Fran, but she’s passed out. Her hand falls to the side, and she's softly snoring.

“I’ll stay with her,” Islan says. “Poor thing. She might wake up in pain.” She’s adjusting the blankets and pillows around Fran, tucking them all around her to make her comfortable. "We didn't even get a chance to help her change out of her clothes."

I look around the room. There’s no comfortable place for her to stay.

“Islan, you can’t stay here, lass. There’s nowhere for you to sleep, and you’ve got school to go to tomorrow.” I frown at her. “Yet another reason why you can’t go to the bloody bookstore.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, Tate, I wasn’t really going to. Her boss will understand, of course. I was just trying to get her to relax.”

“Alright, then, fine. But you can’t stay down here. You won’t get a wink of sleep, and you’ve got to be prepared for your classes.”

She sighs. “Aye, that’s true, isn’t it?” She worries her lip. “She can’t be alone, though.”

I grunt. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She looks at me sharply. “Don’t even think of any funny stuff with my mate.”

“Funny stuff? Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? You think I’ve got a bloody somno kink?”

She makes a disgusted face. “Oh, ew ew ew, what does that even mean. Do I want to Google?”

“What do you think it means?”

I can’t help but crack a smile at her look of utter disgust. She actually wipes her hands on her clothes as if to physically rid herself of the memory of what I said.

“I’m literally going to go shower now, thanks to you.”

“Good. Stay the bloody hell away and get some sleep already.”

“Aww, love you, too,” she quips, rolling her eyes again. Jesus, that girl better hook up with a man that can handle the likes of her. The door shuts with a bang, and Fran jumps up, startled, and blinks at me.