The Charm Stone by Donna Kauffman Page A

better than to hope for wet
and
cold. Nothing in the United Kingdom was ever served cold, it seemed. She tried not to gulp it down, but it tasted so wonderful, she was afraid she did anyway.
    Maeve was beaming at her when she finished and Josie smiled ruefully. “Blister-building makes me thirsty.”
    “It's the thirst of youth I enjoy.” Maeve refilled her glass. “We don't observe near enough of that anymore.”
    She said it matter-of-factly enough, but Josie was reminded of a comment she'd made the day before about missing the sounds of children on the island. “I guess there aren't many young families on the island, then?”
    “None these days, excepting for company coming to visit. Farming isn't exactly a fascinatin’ career path for the youngers, and fishing even less. The last of them have gone off to the mainland to university and it's a rare few that ever come back except to visit.” She topped off Josie's glass again, then began boxing up the cans on the counter. “But that's the way of things, I suppose.”
    “Glenmuir is lovely,” Josie offered, not sure what to say. She helped Maeve finish boxing her things. “I know it's remote, but I'm surprised you don't domore of a tourist trade. The north beach is truly beautiful.”
    “Aye, we like to think so, but to be honest, we've never courted the travel industry much. Set in our ways here, I suppose. We prefer the peace and serenity of our day-to-day lives.” She smiled as she jotted down the price of everything on a pad of paper. Technology in the way of cash registers hadn't apparently come to Glenmuir as yet. Or perhaps they simply enjoyed doing things the old way.
    Josie found herself charmed by it. In fact, if it weren't for a certain Scot, she'd be interested in staying on a while. She liked the peaceful feel of the place, the way the villagers seemed to look out for one another, even outsiders like her. She'd always felt tucked away in Parker's Inlet, but it was a beach town, a tourist town, and therefore had a definite vibe to it that was entirely different from this remote place. There was a wild yet somewhat civilized feel to the island, different entirely from the Pacific islands, probably because it wasn't tropical here. It wasn't like Australia either, which had a raw, frontier feel to it.
    She wondered what it would be like to work here and was surprised to realize she'd like to find out. A few ideas for new board designs had already started floating about in her mind. How wonderful it would be to sit on that lovely stretch of beach and flesh them out.
    Or it would have been, if not for the damn tower and its three-hundred-year-old watchman looming over her.
    “Storm's coming up tomorrow,” she heard Maeve say.
    “The sky is such a gorgeous blue today,” Josie said. “But I know how fast that can change.”
    “I suppose as a surfer you live near the water back in the States.”
    “Atlantic Ocean. I know all about storms.”
    Maeve nodded. “Well, this one looks to be rather fierce. You'll not want to be out in it. I'm sure Gregor has some wood put by. It'll get cold come tomorrow night, so make sure you bank the fire before you go to sleep.”
    Bank the fire? Josie might have traveled extensively, but she'd always had a roof over her head and a good night breeze when central air wasn't a possibility. Heat was rarely if ever an issue. She forced a smile. “Sure will, thanks.” So she'd never been a Girl Scout. How hard could it be to keep a fire going?
    She paid for her supplies and broached the subject that had brought her here. “The castle ruins are amazing.”
    “Aye, they are that.” Maeve settled her hip against the counter, apparently more than willing to chat.
    Josie was more than willing to let her. “It was the MacNeil stronghold once, right?”
    Maeve's brow furrowed and her mouth turned down at the corners. “Oh, ye've got the right of it. This whole island was once MacNeil land, but no more. Stubborn fool of a man