Anna clamped her arms tight against her body. She probably reeked after her classes this morning. Not that her armpits were as accessible as his. Why was she suddenly fixated on armpits?
“It’s a little cramped in here. Have you eaten? We could grab a sandwich over at the pub.” When he didn’t move or respond, she tilted her head back and took in the strong column of his throat, his trimmed beard, and the blade of his nose, before meeting his eyes. What she’d assumed was black was actually a warm, dark brown.
She blinked to clear her thoughts. It’s not like she was asking him out on a date, for goodness sake. She was suggesting a business meeting. So why had nerves dried her mouth? She swallowed and darted her tongue over her lips. His gaze followed.
“Lunch?” she asked again, this time with a waver in her voice that she hated more than overcooked turnip greens.
“At a pub?” The corners of his lips sank into his cheeks as if a smile tried to break free of his restraint.
“The Dancing Jig pub. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s fast and has good food.”
“A man has to eat.”
“Okay, let me grab my purse.” She turned and blew out a slow breath, bending over to retrieve her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk. It was only when she spun around and noticed his gaze had moved farther south than before that the state of her attire registered.
Resisting the urge to check what percentage of her ass cheeks was hanging out of her leotard, she said, “I need to change. Obviously.”
“Yes, obviously.” Red burnished Iain’s skin above his beard, making the white line of his scar more pronounced. He cleared his throat and thumbed over his shoulder. “I’ll wait in the front room, shall I?”
He retreated, and Anna couldn’t help but stare at the way his kilt swung above the cut muscles of his calves. Good Lord, she needed to sanitize her brain before it wallowed any deeper in dirty thoughts.
She’d been happily celibate so long, the spate of tingling feelings besetting her was a shock. An unwelcome one. Small town living meant an equally small pool of available men. Cull out the ones who were longtime friends or gay or unemployed, and she had no desire to go fishing. After her last boyfriend had left Highland for bigger and better opportunities, Anna hadn’t been heartbroken. She’d been relieved. She had her own ambitions to focus on.
Cool professionalism was what would get her through the festival and a run at the mayor’s office. She was doing her best to cultivate a sober, serious persona which was already difficult considering she was known more for her blue-ribbon dancing than political prowess.
She grabbed her phone and tossed a look at the door to the waiting area. It wasn’t late in Scotland.
How’s couch life? Anna typed before putting her phone on the corner of her desk and retrieving black slacks from a hanger in the costume closet.
Boring. I’m fat and emotionally needy and ready to get this alien out of me.
Anna chuffed a laugh. Not long now.
I’m scared. This was supposed to be the easy part.
No words of wisdom materialized. Settling down and having a family had never seemed part of Anna’s future. She was a loner who had lots of acquaintances, but few friends. And right now, she missed her one and only true friend more than she could put into words. Tears stung as she fell back onto a platitude.
Everything is going to be fine. I’m glad Rose and Gareth can be there for you.
Me too. Has Iain arrived?
Yes. Her thumbs hovered over letters. How much—if anything—should she share with Izzy? The last thing she wanted was to worry her friend while she was already in a fragile state, physically and emotionally. Anna kept it simple. We’re having lunch today.
You can count on him. He’s a sticker.
A sticker? Anna smiled and shook her head. The scratch-and-sniff kind?
Heat prickled her face when she thought about leaning in to sniff his armpit. If Izzy had been there, she would have called Anna on it immediately.
Har-har. No, the kind you have no experience with.
Anna’s hackles twitched. What does that mean?
Alasdair is here for my foot massage. TTYL.
Anna tapped her phone in her palm. What had Izzy meant? It had felt like a jab. Or knowing Izzy, more like a shove onto the path to enlightenment. Izzy had mostly kept her opinions of Anna’s past boyfriends to herself, but the occasional sly comment had slipped out. It hadn’t bothered Anna because the guys were temporary.
Loosening the ties of her tutu, she let it puddle around her feet and pulled on black slacks and a blue cotton blouse over her leotard. She checked her hair in a small mirror on the backside of the door, tucking escaped wisps back into her braid. Then, she shoved her feet into black ballet flats and with a moment’s hesitation, sprayed herself with a citrusy body spray.
She slipped through the door into the waiting room, catching Iain unaware. He was fluffing the delicate tulle of a purple tutu and watching it float down.
“I can have one made in your size if you want a break from the kilt.”
“Magairlean.” He spun around, and this time there was no question he was blushing. “You must have cat’s paws for feet.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t hear your approach.” His face remained impassive.
“Not what I meant and you know it. Was that a Gaelic curse?”
His blush spread to the tips of his ears. “Aye, but not a proper one for a lady’s ear.”
“Ah, so you’re a gentleman?” She was going to milk the upper hand as long as she had it.
“I try to be,” he said with such earnestness, she felt almost bad for teasing him.
“If you don’t tell me what that word means, I’m going to start using it with my toddlers. Get your magairlean over here, Tammy.” Her butchered pronunciation brought a twinkle to his eyes.
“Tammy wouldn’t have magairlean. It refers to a man’s…” He gestured toward where a sporran might hang if he was wearing one.
“Fanny pack?”
A laugh sputtered out of him, catching her by surprise. It was deep and chesty and melodic. “Only lasses have fannies in Scotland.”
“Are we speaking the same language?” She couldn’t help but smile in the presence of his laugh.
“I’m not sure.” His laugh petered into an awkward silence. He cleared his throat and turned to the skirt once more. “I was merely admiring the work. Difficult fabric to sew with, I imagine.”
Now it was her turn to blush. It was as if they were lobbing a hot potato of disquiet and nerves back and forth. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”
He shot her a surprised look. “You made these?”
“All the tutus and skirts. I enjoy it. I can buy leotards cheaper wholesale.” She half shrugged. The tutus and skirts were priced at cost, and she’d given away more than she could count. Some of her girls wouldn’t be able to dance in the recitals, march in the parades, or compete otherwise. She didn’t want any girl to feel less than or left out just because her family couldn’t afford fancy costumes.
His callused fingers plying the delicate fabric and satin ties were incongruous. He moved with an assured grace not common among big men, and she was reminded of Izzy’s assessment. If Iain Connors was a wizard with his hands, what magic could he work on her bare skin?
No. She halted her thoughts and stamped them out before they could erupt into a wildfire not even the entire Highland volunteer fire department could contain. Redirecting her thoughts, she asked, “Do you sew?”
“Aye. Burlap, canvas, and leather these days, but I had to learn how to let the hems out of my trouser legs and mend shirts when I was a lad. That’s crude work compared to this.”
“Did your mother sew?” she asked.
“I … don’t know. She was a village lass not made for the isolated life at Cairndow. She pulled a runner when I was a wee thing and never looked back. I don�
��t remember her, but it’s fine.”
Damn, damn, and more damn. It wasn’t fine, and Anna knew it wasn’t fine, because her dad had done the same thing. She’d been old enough to remember him and the epic fights between him and her mom. Did that make the situation better or worse?
She opened her mouth, then pressed her lips back together and forced her gaze away from him. Talking about her dad was off-limits. It had been since she was ten and her mom told her never to mention his name again under her roof.
Chapter Four
The sudden change in Anna’s demeanor left Iain flummoxed. A door had slammed shut—a reinforced metal one with a dozen locks—and he wandered the silence with no clue how to reestablish the tentative connection.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. Refreshments were neutral ground.
“I’m always hungry. Come on.” She led the way out the door, and her defensiveness dissipated.
Or had her defenses been incinerated by the oven-like and oppressive heat? “Is it always this blasted hot in the summer?”
She tossed a smile over her shoulder. Although not as carefree and joyous as her earlier smile, it still struck him like a punch to the chest. “Usually hotter. This is a cool spell.”
He prayed she was teasing him. They strolled down the sidewalk under an overhang that provided a scant amount of shade. Loretta swept out of All Things Bright and Beautiful and blocked their path like a witch demanding a sacrifice to pass.
“Anna, how lovely to see you.” The woman’s voice was nearly a purr, but it lacked any warmth.
“Lovely to see you as well, Loretta.” All of a sudden the uber confident, intimidating Anna regressed a decade. Her shoulders hunched as she gestured toward him. “This is—”
“Iain. How nice to see you again so soon.” Loretta offered Iain a hand as if he were meant to kiss it.
As he wasn’t one to swear fealty, he took her hand in a brisk shake and merely nodded.
“I’m glad Anna has someone to help her with the festival. I fear it will prove to be too much on top of everything else. No one wants to see the festival suffer.” Except Loretta’s tone led Iain to believe she did want Anna to stumble and fall.
“I can assure you the festival was in excellent hands before I ever arrived. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” He put a hand on Anna’s lower back, which was as stiff as a plywood board and guided her around Loretta, who hadn’t moved as if unwilling to cede the field after a skirmish.
“You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate you having my back,” Anna whispered as soon as they were out of earshot.
Before he could answer, she hopped down the curb and skittered across the street. He got held up by passing cars, but bounded across to join her in front of the Dancing Jig pub. Her black trousers and demure blouse seemed like a costume versus the rainbow tutu and leotard. She held the door open and gestured him inside. He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t protest.
A puff of air-con welcomed him inside, and the dark wood interior made him feel right at home. The bar was a square in the middle and surrounded by tables. The semicircle of a stage was set up in the far corner with amps and microphone stands and other musical paraphernalia.
A majority of the tables were occupied, and the hum of conversation filled the room. The encounter with Loretta seemed to have nudged them out of their awkward posturing about who was in charge, at least for now.
“Y’all grab a seat. I’ll be over in a jiffy to take your orders.” A young girl aimed a frazzled, but chipper smile in their direction.
Anna led them to a table toward the back, where the natural light from the windows had been absorbed by the dark wood, leaving them in premature shadows that felt strangely intimate. Iain did a shuffling dance between the chair next to her and the one across the table. Considering a serrated steak knife stuck out of the flimsy-looking napkin, he chose the seat farthest away.
Anna glanced up as if surprised to see him sitting across from her. “Why does Loretta make me feel like a misbehaving five-year-old in church?”
Iain folded his arms on the table. He wasn’t sure whether she was asking rhetorically or not, but he gave her question due consideration. “You grew up in Highland, yes?”
“Born down at the community hospital.” She propped her elbow on the table, hunched over, and rested her chin in her palm.
“And have you known Loretta for most of your life?”
“She and Mom were good friends. I don’t think she approves of the changes I’ve made to the studio. Like it was a betrayal of my mom.”
“You see yourself through her eyes and act accordingly,” he said simply.
“What does that mean?”
“The woman who stood before Loretta today is not the same one I’ve come to know. You’re not five years old anymore.” It was easy for him to say, but one step into Mrs. Mac’s kitchen at Cairndow and he regressed to childhood. For him, though, he welcomed the simplicity of being mothered by the only mother he’d ever known.
“My head agrees with you, but reasoning with the five-year-old kid who lives in here”—she tapped her chest—“is impossible.”
“It must be difficult dealing with people who you’ve known since you were young.”
“I do fine with most everyone else. It’s her. Loretta Edgerton.”
“What sort of offensive changes have you made to the studio? Did you add a stripper pole class?”
As hoped, he coaxed a tiny smile out of her. “I can only imagine how many sermons Preacher Hopkins would aim in my direction if I did something like that. Nothing so scandalous. I updated and redecorated. Added a hip-hop class. Honestly, I think her disapproval has more to do with my personality. I’m not demure or quiet or particularly ladylike.”
A chuckle snuck out of him before he could worry it might offend her, but she cast him a half smile through her lashes. “Demure, you are not,” he said.
“Maybe Loretta fears I’ll corrupt the young girls of Highland.”
“If the young girls of Highland turn out to be anything like you, I wager you’d be doing them a favor.”
She tilted her face so their gazes clashed head-on. What did she see? Most women saw a taciturn loner who qualified as a decent bed warmer for a night, never as a man with depths to plumb and appreciate. He had let himself be used in order to beat back his loneliness. Did that mean, in reality, he had used them? It was a thought he would need to examine later, preferably over a dram of whisky.
A waitress appeared and plunked down two waters. Anna ordered a club sandwich and fries, and Iain held up two fingers when the waitress raised her eyebrows at him.
“I’ll have it out in a few, y’all.” The woman retreated and left a trough of silence behind.
Strangely, it didn’t make Iain squirm in his seat or break out into a sweat. Perhaps it was the unorthodox manner in which they’d met, but any polite barriers had been bulldozed.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you yesterday. It was the surprise of having to deal with the animals.” Her shudder was exaggerated. “And also what you represent.”
“What’s that? An outsider?” A hint of bitterness snuck into his voice. He’d been cast as the outsider the first time he’d stepped into the village school at aged five. Cairndow had been the only place he’d ever truly fit in, but his life there had shrunk like a wool jumper in the dryer.
“No. Doubt that I can be a success on my own.” Her gaze was on the table, where she traced a scar in the wood top with her finger.
He touched the scar on his face as if her touch could transmute to him. “Rose and Isabel sent me to help you.”
“Because they think I can’t handle planning the festival.”
Underlying the general air of hurt feelings was something else. Panic? Desperation? “Isabel didn’t plan the festival alone. She had her mother. Going it alone is a fool’s errand.”
“So I’m a fool?” Anna barked a self-depreciating laugh. “Maybe you’re right.”
“You�
��re far from being a fool, but at a guess, you’re stretched thin.”
“I’m fine. The festival is fine. Everything is fine and under control, and I don’t need your help. Except with the animals.”
Their sandwiches arrived, and Iain was glad of the American portions. He was famished. The pantry and fridge at Stonehaven were bare of perishables. He took huge bites that made conversation impossible for long minutes and mulled over her adamant declaration. She was fine, was she? “Fine” was a word one used to plaster over all the nicks life doled out. It was rarely reality.
Many capable women had crossed his path over the years and earned his admiration, but he hadn’t fared so well with them. He’d hung bookshelves, changed the hinges of janky doors, and leveled the legs of a kitchen table because comely lasses had asked him to. His attentions had never led to their hearts, only their appreciation.
Neither friendly nor professional, the give-and-take with Anna failed categorization. He was fascinated and wished he weren’t. It would lead nowhere because they didn’t share any common ground. They didn’t even share the same country.
After decimating half his sandwich and making a dent in his hunger, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned toward her. “I can’t not help you. I was given a task and won’t return to Cairndow as a failure.”
Their gazes held for a long moment until she gave an unladylike snort. “Good lord, are all Scots as stubborn as you are?”
“I’m my own man.”
Her gaze flitted over him, and his biceps clenched.
“No doubt.” She picked up her sandwich but before taking a bite, said, “I’ll come up with something for you to do. Are you happy?”
He wasn’t sure if he was happy, but he was having bloody good fun for the first time since he could remember. They ate in silence, but their gazes kept meeting, holding, then bouncing away. After cleaning his plate, he wiped his hands on the napkin, sat back, and looked around him.
The pub had a vibe of youth and energy he hadn’t expected. In fact, Highland itself buzzed with a vitality starkly opposite the tiny village outside of Cairndow. Glasgow and Edinburgh had drawn most of the young people away. It was too hard to make a living on the hardscrabble cliffs.
A Highlander in a Pickup Page 5
