A Highlander in a Pickup

by Laura Trentham

  A throat cleared awkwardly next to him. A barrel-chested man in a kilt, sporran, and black jacket with brass buttons stood at his elbow. With thinning hair and glasses perched on the bulbous end of his nose, the man reminded Iain of Mole from The Wind in the Willows.

  “Hello there. I’m David Timmerman.”

  “How do you do?” Iain said, half rising and offering a hand. “Iain Connors.”

  “Please, sit. I’m terribly sorry to interrupt.” Mr. Timmerman took his hand in a shake and patted his shoulder with his other hand as if Iain were a beloved old friend.

  “You’re interrupting nothing but wandering thoughts. Please join me.”

  Mr. Timmerman took the seat Anna had vacated and primly sat on the edge as if loath to wrinkle his pleats. “I own the Dapper Highlander down the street.”

  “That explains why you’re so well kitted out.” Iain made a gesture toward his kilt and sporran.

  Mr. Timmerman smoothed a hand over the lapel of his jacket. “Indeed. The jacket is a bit much in our summer heat, but I do find it drives sales if I maintain the full regalia during festival season. We get so much more foot traffic in the store these few weeks. The rest of the year, internet orders make up the bulk of my income.”

  Mr. Timmerman spoke with the formal cadence of a strict schoolteacher, and Iain found his spine straightening. Lessons from Mrs. Mac about elbows on tables flashed from his memories. He shifted his hands to his lap.

  “I’m amazed so many people find the Scottish ways appealing,” Iain said.

  “I suppose the seeds of rebellion the Scots brought when they settled this area appeals to Americans, especially Southerners.” Mr. Timmerman’s slight eye roll didn’t go unnoticed. “Not to mention the romance of the Celts.”

  “And the kilts.”

  “Indeed, the allure and romance of the kilt has provided me a good living. When I opened my shop, I sold men’s suits, shirts, and ties. My business was drying up and flowing to the malls on the edge of Atlanta when the idea of the festival took root and Highland began to transform into what you see today.” When Mr. Timmerman smiled, his eyes twinkled with a puckish charm that put Iain at ease. “I transformed with it and dug into my Scottish roots.”

  “I grew up wearing kilts. Except in winter, of course. Nothing appealing about a cold sea wind blowing straight up your nethers.” Iain rumbled out a laugh.

  “I can certainly understand that.” Mr. Timmerman’s broad smile turned uncertain. “Actually, I wanted to discuss kilts with you. Didn’t I see you in one yesterday?”

  “Aye, you did.”

  “Do you wear it doing chores?”

  “Quite often, yes.”

  “I was wondering if I could get a closer look at it.” Mr. Timmerman rubbed his hands together with undisguised enthusiasm. “My specialty is dress kilts. I’ve tried to expand into the athletic kilt market, but had little success. The men around here prefer their jeans.”

  “I brought several with me if you want one to pick apart and study.”

  They exchanged mobile numbers and arranged a meeting for the next afternoon at the Dapper Highlander. With Anna’s lost page tucked into his pocket, Iain stepped lightly to the old tartan truck. If he wasn’t rubbish at dancing, he might even do a little jig.

  Anna might not have welcomed him with open arms, but Highland seemed to have embraced him. He wasn’t sure if he had the skill to win her over, but he was determined to try.

  Chapter Six

  Anna stomped up the rickety metal stairs to her apartment above the dance studio, slipped inside, and threw the double bolt behind her as if she had anything to worry about in Highland. The door was narrow, short, and like Goldilocks, exactly right for her. The apartment itself wasn’t as great a fit. A realtor would call it cozy; cramped was more accurate.

  Her mom’s sudden decision to sell her childhood home and move to Florida had left Anna floundering for a place to live. While she could have rented an apartment in one of the new developments outside of town, she didn’t want to waste the money. Most of the time, she didn’t regret her choice.

  Most of the time. Now was not that time. She flipped on the inadequate window AC unit. It would freeze up before it got the apartment cooled, but roasting at eighty was better than roasting at a hundred.

  Anna stripped off her shorts and T-shirt and went to the fridge in her bra and panties for a glass of ice water. She needed to cool down in more ways than one after her confrontation with Iain.

  He’d actually asked her if she’d been disappointed he wasn’t wearing a kilt so she could get a peek. Of all the outrageous suggestions. Of course, she’d said no. Hopefully, emphatically enough to drown out the yes her body had chanted like a pagan. What was wrong with her? Her first reaction had been to pout at the sight of his legs encased in well-worn denim.

  She threw herself back on her couch and tried not to move until the room had cooled enough so that lifting her cell phone to her ear didn’t cause a sweat to break out. Fifteen minutes passed.

  Fifteen minutes she should have been using to mentally tick through her checklist of items to get done. Instead, she used the time to imagine Iain in progressively less pieces of clothing.

  Anna rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes as if that would grind the inappropriate fantasies to dust. What did he wear under his kilt? The question was becoming her obsession.

  Her phone dinged with an incoming text. She read it and groaned. The Bluegrass Jacobites, a local Celtic band, were putting on an exhibition at the Dancing Jig pub during the week leading up to the festival and had asked her to dance to a handful of songs. Practice was scheduled for that evening at the studio.

  She would never have agreed if Robert wasn’t the de facto leader. In school, he’d been the unpopular, but brilliant nerd. She’d been the cheerleader who was failing math. He’d tutored her to a B, and if it had been a typical teen movie, they would have fallen in love and lived happily ever after. Instead, she’d been the first person he’d confessed his homosexuality to, and she had made sure none of the jocks or jerks had bullied him when he finally came out to the world their senior year.

  Normally, she would enjoy dancing with the band. Even though she spent her days in the dance studio, teaching wasn’t the same as doing, and she missed the high of performing in front of a crowd. At the moment, though, it was just another commitment to add to her overflowing bucket.

  It was more important than ever that she get some items ticked off her to-do list. She riffled through the papers in her folder for the list of vendors to contact. Nothing. She went through each paper more carefully, but the most important sheet hadn’t miraculously appeared.

  Had she even had it to begin with? Yes, she remembered staring at the phone numbers as Iain had walked over with his tea. She’d been in such a hurry to escape Iain’s magnetic presence, she’d probably dropped it.

  Best case scenario, some Good Samaritan had turned it in and she could trot down to the Brown Cow and collect it. Worst case scenario, she would be forced to venture to Stonehaven to print another copy.

  A lukewarm shower restored her. Unable to face the thought of using a hairdryer, she twisted her damp hair and clipped it into a messy updo and dressed in a fresh cotton skirt and T-shirt. She left the window unit on low and walked back to the Brown Cow, entering as if an ambush waited, but the table she’d shared with Iain was empty of both man and paper. Neither Millie nor the teenager manning the ice-cream station had the document either.

  Moving slowly so as not to work up a sweat, she made her way back to the studio and her car. Izzy and Rose had wanted her to make any changes to the copy that was on their computer at Stonehaven, and Anna understood why. It was too easy to mistakenly consolidate or overwrite the original.

  There was nothing to be done except return to Stonehaven and pray that Iain was still out and about making new friends. She crept along the lane leading to the big house as if she could sneak up in her car. No sign of Izzy’s ol
d truck, but it could be lurking on the other side of the barn like earlier. No matter, she would be in and out like a ninja.

  She stopped outside the office door. The air conditioning chugged out refreshing air, but a warm breeze fluttered her skirt around her legs. Had Iain gone off and left a door open? Making her way toward the back, a whistled tune halted her at the corner into the living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows and French doors leading to the back. One of the doors was open, and Iain was standing in the breech working on the hinge with a screwdriver.

  He was back in a kilt and black boots, socks shrugging toward the tops. This one was made of a lightweight fabric of green and tan, the pleats fluttering with the breeze. No doubt it was cooler than a pair of jeans and infinitely sexier. His green T-shirt was branded with the Highland logo—THE HEART OF THE HIGHLANDS IN THE BLUE RIDGE. He was looking more and more like a native.

  The whistling turned into words sung a cappella in a soul-quivering baritone. Like a transfusion, his voice entered her bloodstream, inspiring an aching melancholy in her chest. She closed her eyes and was transported to a high cliff in Scotland with the wind blowing and facing an endless, empty sea.

  “Had we never loved so kindly,

  Had we never loved so blindly,

  Never met-or never parted-

  We would ne’er been broken-hearted.”

  Maybe it was the fact she hadn’t been sleeping well. Or the fact she was frazzled at the length of her to-do list. But tears burned her eyes and she swallowed to contain them. She had to remain cool and collected if she was going to succeed.

  The air stirred around her and the silence registered. She popped her eyes open and met Iain’s gaze. He stood at the corner, his brows and mouth drawn into a serious, pensive expression.

  “Are you all right there, Anna, my lass?”

  She blinked rapidly and forced a smile to her face, but she could feel her cheeks folding like a house of cards. “What were you were singing?”

  “‘Ae Fond Kiss.’ Another classic by Burns,” he said.

  “Wow. You are a serious Burns groupie.”

  The farthest corners of his lips twitched. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to settle her emotions back where they belonged—hiding under her outward facade of cool sarcasm and lighthearted tease. Not even Izzy knew about the deep still waters where her insecurities lived like the Loch Ness Monster. Sightings were rare, but devastating.

  “Burns was an amazing storyteller and translator of the human heart,” he said.

  She gaped at his pronouncement. On first meeting, Iain hadn’t struck her as being philosophical. He seemed to be a practical man concerned only with the tangible. Did he too have deep waters to explore? While she was intensely curious, she didn’t have time to mount an expedition.

  “Why are all his songs so dang depressing?” She forced a tease into her voice, and only realized she’d hit a nerve when his face shuttered. She bit her lip to keep from apologizing.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “I misplaced something.”

  Without answering, he stalked to a side table in the entry and held a familiar piece of paper in her direction. She took it and stared down at the names and numbers until they blurred like a Rorschach drawing. “Thanks and…”

  Her words stalled and before she could recover, he said, “Use the office. I won’t interfere. I’ve got my own work outside. Ta-ta.”

  She waited until the back door closed before moving into the office like a sleepwalker and dropping into Izzy’s chair behind the desk. She had successfully pushed Iain away. Why didn’t she feel more elated?

  Her phone dinged an incoming text. It was Izzy. How’s the partnership going? Not shockingly, Alasdair isn’t getting info from Iain.

  How the baby-growing business is going is the more important question, Anna fired back.

  Good news is the baby is welcome to make an arrival any time now. She is officially baked.

  That’s great! I’m actually sitting at your desk right now to make calls to vendors.

  Did Loretta pay yet?

  What do you think?

  Ugh.

  I’m going to shake her down this week. We might end up on TV. I’ll send you the video if I’m not in prison.

  Har-har. Has Iain been a big help?

  Anna’s stomach squirmed. Izzy’s questions felt like a pop quiz. He’s working with the animals. Not a lie, but no way could Anna keep zigging around Izzy’s questions. She’d just have to zag then. Picked out any names?

  I put my foot down on Mathilda. Alasdair nixed Briony. What do you think of Annie? She was a kickass Blackmoor ancestor.

  I’m all about kickass names with a backstory. Plus I can pretend I inspired her name.

  Izzy sent a smiley face. Make sure Iain isn’t eating every meal by himself, would you? He’s too much of a loner.

  You’re worrying like he’s at summer camp. He’s a grown man. Was he ever. Prying questions scrolled. Did he have a girlfriend? What was he like when his guard was down? How did he get his scar? Anna’s thumbs hovered over the letters. Any one of the questions would put Izzy on the scent. Instead, she typed. Gotta go and rustle up some deposits.

  Good luck and thank U!

  Anna sent a thumbs-up and dove into the calls. Handling teenaged girls had taught her how hard she could push and prod to get the desired results in the dance studio. The same principle applied. She was alternately sweet and tough with the vendors until they had all promised to get their deposit in. Loretta was the last one on the list and the one Anna dreaded the most. It felt like a skirmish in the larger war.

  Izzy’s earlier request irritated her like she sat on chair made of sweetgum balls. Iain was all alone and had no friends in Highland. Loner or not, he was sure to get lonely rattling around Stonehaven all by himself. Especially if he didn’t know how to work the TV. She smiled thinking of him fumbling with the numerous remotes and hitting random buttons.

  The least she could do was offer to keep him company at dinner for a night. The decision alleviated a portion of the guilt she carried. She stepped onto the back patio, but there was no sign of him. She spent a few minutes watering the flowers and listening.

  A crow called mournfully in the distance, probably complaining about the heat. A hammering sound punched through the humid air and made her jump. It emanated from the barn. She turned the water off, nerves jangling in her chest for no reason whatsoever, considering asking him to dinner was not a date but a mission of mercy.

  The tartan truck had been backed halfway into the barn, the bed laden with another load of wood. With the slight breeze ruffling his kilt, Iain measured a long piece and pulled a pencil from behind his ear to make a mark. Sweat dampened his hair, and it looked like he’d run his hands through it as he worked, leaving it charmingly disheveled.

  “Hi,” she said dumbly.

  He shot her the briefest of glances before returning his focus to his project. After slipping on a pair of clear safety glasses, he hefted the wood to a buzz saw, stepped on a pedal to start the jagged blade, and guided the wood. Shavings burst like confetti from the cut, and the noise precluded conversation.

  Anna supposed she deserved his silence. To cover the tension, she picked her way to where Ozzie the sheep was shut into a stall, happily munching on hay. She rubbed the soft wool between her ears. An ominous rumble barked from her chest. Anna snatched her hand away and stepped out of reach of any errant teeth.

  Ignoring her, Iain rubbed his thumb over the cut he’d made as if checking the smoothness.

  She attempted another overture. “I finished my calls.”

  He gave her a nod, but didn’t reply.

  “It’s almost dinnertime.”

  He checked the chunky manly watch on his wrist and made a grunting sound which Anna counted as an improvement.

  “Are you hungry, big guy?” Was that a softening around his jaw?

  “I can always eat.” His full attention was on the length
of wood in his hands.

  “Are you interested in eating now?” When he said nothing, heat flared across her chest and up the back of her neck. Maybe he hadn’t understood. “With me, I mean.”

  Finally, he looked up at her and stared for a long, embarrassing moment as if tallying up her good and bad points. She knew which column was longer. Then, he pulled out his tape measure and pulled another length of wood closer. “Can’t. I have plans.”

  “Plans? With who?” Had that sounded as shrill and accusatory to him as it had to her? “I mean, it’s great you’ve made a friend in Highland.”

  Her brain searched for possibilities like a robber tossing a room. Who was he having dinner with? Millie? She was cute and obviously enamored of him. A dozen other women scrolled through her mind. A single, good-looking man was chum in the water in a small town. Or maybe it was a nonromantic date. Did Dr. Jameson want to grill Iain on all things Scotland?

  When Iain didn’t throw her the merest scrap of a bone, Anna said, “As it happens, I’ve got plans too.”

  Iain cut her a look through his lashes before making a pencil mark on the wood. “Why did you ask me out if you already had plans?”

  “Ask you out? Don’t be ridiculous.” A huff of disbelief popped out. “You make it sound like I was asking you out on a date. Which I wasn’t.”

  “Did you want to discuss the festival, then?” He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “What can I help you with?”

  She swayed a little on her feet, worn down but with a packed evening of dance practice. Why not offload some tasks to him? He gave the impression of being capable and reliable, but she’d been burned too many times by putting her trust in someone else. Even her mom had turned flighty and left Anna basically homeless.

  “Nothing.” She added a shake of her head, not sure which one of them she was trying to convince. “I’ve got everything under control.”

  Again his attention shifted back to his work. “All right then, I’ll see you around.”