My Heart's in the Highlands by Angeline Fortin (ebook reader screen TXT) 📕

Only once in her life could Mikah rememberbeing so hot. She’d been about six years old and sick with the flu,feverish. She’d been burning up with a fever and been kept homefrom school. While she was napping on the couch with her head inher father’s lap, she had woken, dazed and delirious, and becomeaware of the movie that her dad was watching on the TV through thehaze that surrounded her. Nothing of the city-set scenes hadinterested her and she’d been just about to drift off to sleep oncemore when the scene changed to a rocky landscape that caughtMikah’s attention. She didn’t listen to what the characters weresaying, but focused on the backdrop. Even when the men broke intobattle, their swords ringing against one another, their shouts loudand awful, her gaze remained on the lone mountain in thebackground.

“I know that place, Daddy,” she whispereddrowsily.

“Mikes, I thought you were sleeping!” herfather scolded, using the remote to pause the movie.

“I know that mountain,” Mikah slurred, stillstaring at the television. “I’ve been there.”

Mikah’s father looked back at the still frameof a dramatic pyramid-shaped mountain that backdropped the initialbattle scene between Connor MacLeod and Victor Kruger in the movieHighlander. He couldn’t recall seeing another like it, and this wasthe first time they had rented the movie since its release onVHS.

“I’m sure it’s just your imagination,” hesaid, standing and scooping his daughter into his arms. “Come on,Princess, let’s put you to bed.”

Mikah wrapped her arms around her father’sbroad shoulders and laid her head against his chest. “BuachailleEtive Beag.”

Sean Bauer frowned as the strange wordsemerged from his daughter’s mouth. “What’s that?”

“That’s the name of the mountain.” Mikah hadnever wondered how she knew that, whether she was feverish ordelusional.

“You, sweet princess, have a wonderfulimagination.”

“I want to go there someday.”

“Then someday you will, but right now youneed to go to bed.”

“Okay, Daddy. Maybe I’ll dream of it somemore.”

“Maybe you will,” he said, thinking nothingmore of it.

She’d been miserably hot and in love at thesame time. Just as she was now. She’d fallen in love with Scotlandthat day, and over the years that fascination had never faded.She’d had posters as a teen and read travel guides through college.She avidly collected movies set in Scotland and sometimes shecaught sight of familiar places in films that weren’t even setthere.

For years, Mikah had been saving up for atrip to Scotland. It was the culmination of years of longing tovisit this place now and she’d hadn’t even had to dip into hersavings to do it because her job had sent her here! In her positionas a collections curator with the Milwaukee Art Museum, Mikah hadin recent years taken trips to other museums across America,gathering works from those museums for special exhibits, but thiswas her first major trip abroad. When her boss had recentlyannounced that they would be putting together an anthology of theearly Pop Art movement, Mikah had lobbied fiercely to be the one totake lead on the project.

While Americans like Warhol and Lichtensteindidn’t get started until the 1960s, the Pop Art movement had itsbirth in Britain in the 1950s with artists like Peter Blake,Eduardo Paolozzi, and Richard Hamilton. She’d been all acrossBritain in the past week, collecting works from some of Britain’sbest modern art museums.

Though it was technically a business trip anddespite the unusual temperatures, Mikah had felt an odd sense ofcontentment upon landing first in England and now in Scotland. Theviews, the sights, the people; everything seemed so familiar.Comfortable. Like a long-lost friend.

The first lift of her hair by the summerbreeze had caressed her skin familiarly. The smell of the Highlandair had roused vague images of people and places she’d never known.Though Mikah was single and considered herself happily so, therugged romance of the Scottish highlands surrounding her made herthink that it would be nice to have someone to share it with. Shefound herself longing to walk hand in hand with a man she lovedwith the scent of heather surrounding them.

Oddly enough, she felt as if she had comehome.

This was a home where she had never lived,much less visited. But the feeling was heartwarming,nonetheless.

Though not so warming as the weather, Mikahwas reminded as the cab too quickly arrived at their destination,stilling even the feeble draft its movement had generated. Mikahpaid the man for his services, levering herself back out onto theradiant concrete of the street. Shading her eyes against the brightsunlight, she stared up at her destination. GoMA, or for those notin the know, the Gallery of Modern Art.

It, like everything else she’d seen in thepast three days, was easily recognizable to Mikah. She knew theneoclassic building with its marble columns and tall cupola on theroof as if she’d walked through its doors a dozen times before.Shaking her head at what she considered a burgeoning bit ofinsanity—most likely brought on by the stifling heat wave—Mikahshook her head with a self-derisive chuckle. Of course, she hadseen the building before, just like everything else she’d seen sofar. After all, she’d been scouring the web for weeks in planningthis trip.

And if that wasn’t a reasonable excuse forthe déjà vu moments that had been flying every which way since herarrival, her lifelong fascination with Scotland and, indeed, all ofBritain could easily explain it. She’d read books, postedcalendars, and searched websites on the topic for enough years tomake it all achingly familiar.

Certainly that was all it was.

Pushing her scattered thoughts away, Mikahconsidered the building that had housed the Glasgow Exchange acentury before. Historic Scotland, the historic preservationorganization that was a driving force behind much of the culturallife in Scotland, must have had a bit of a laugh placing a modernart museum in a building that was reminiscent of a Greek temple …or the Lincoln Memorial. It was an interesting juxtaposition.

Rushing past a bronze statue of a militaryman on his horse—both oddly wearing orange construction cones ontop of their heads—Mikah made it through the doors of the museum ina record time for four-inch heels and into the blessed chill of thewell air-conditioned building. She drew a deep breath ofrelief.

Thank God! she sighed