“Classical mostly, although he liked Tom Jones and his ilk. Lots of BBC news reports. Weather alerts if things looked tetchy outside, which was most of the time in winter.”
The picture of a stone cottage with smoke from a fire puffing from the chimney standing on a hill blanketed in snow was picturesque. But. There were so many buts that outweighed her initial impression. He was solid and dependable but possessed the voice of a dreamer. He loved his father and had been loved back, but he understood loneliness. He’d lived it.
When she didn’t say anything, he cocked his head. “I feel like you’re getting ready to pass judgment on me.”
She pasted on a light smile. “No judgment. I’m just surprised local girls weren’t crawling all over Cairndow in pursuit.”
Surprise lightened his face even though he gave no hint of a smile. “First you go and ask me out to dinner, then you insinuate I might not be a total Barney. Be careful or I might think you like me a wee bit.”
Apparently, spontaneous combustion was really a thing. Anna only wished she hadn’t verified the phenomenon in front of Iain. She needed a fan. And more deodorant. “What? I was just trying to be nice and offer some Southern hospitality. I don’t like you. Geez. That’s crazy insane. It’s bonkers. Why would you say that? Why would you even think it?”
His face shuttered like a gale force wind blew through the barn. “I was merely … Never mind. I have work to do.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.
What babbling nonsense had come out of her mouth? Iain was serious and tough, but he had feelings that could be hurt. Worst of all, she’d lied. Unable to make her feet move in his direction, she stood there and went down in flames.
* * *
Did a bigger idiot exist? Based on Iain’s current levels of embarrassment, he assumed not. Why had he tried to flirt with Anna? There wasn’t anything between them beyond the forced connection of the festival. His hopeful, desperate imagination had played a horrible joke on him. Of course, she didn’t like him like that.
Next time he saw her, he’d pretend the conversation hadn’t taken place, and in the meantime, he really did have work to do. Making his way back to the tartan truck, he only looked over his shoulder once to see her walking to the main house to talk to Holt’s da.
He had every confidence she possessed the charm to finagle whatever she needed from Mr. Pierson and pointed the truck back toward Highland, where he had an appointment with a rotted door.
He parked in the back of All Things Bright and Beautiful and knocked on the door, performing a visual assessment of the rot. When there was no answer, he let himself in, dodged around the piles of inventory yet to go out on the floor, and found Loretta sitting behind the counter tending a customer. “You go ahead and get started, Iain. I can’t thank you enough for being so prompt.”
Smiling, he nodded to Loretta. The store was crammed full of crafts and knickknacks, mostly Scottish themed. It was his nightmare of a store, but several people browsed the overcrowded shelves.
Iain didn’t dillydally, but got straight to work prying out the rotten wood from the frame and commenced his measurements. He was methodical to avoid mistakes. His da had been frugal, and whether through heredity or example, Iain was the same. Whatever scraps of wood Iain had left over went toward new projects or toward his whittlings.
His whittlings were sometimes whimsical creatures from his imagination or from books. Sometimes they were instruments like utensils or picture frames that were both useful and decorative. For him, they were better than meditation or yoga or whatever people used these days to relax. The small projects had kept him sane during deployments. Maybe that’s why he’d been so keyed up lately. He hadn’t had time to whittle. His rising frustration had nothing to do with a red-haired lass who tormented his dreams.
The bell over the front door rang often enough that Iain had stopped paying it any mind, but as soon as he heard the familiar, honeyed voice of Anna, he stilled, the measurement he’d tasked himself to remember forgotten.
On soft feet, he made his way to the curtain partitioning the storage area from the store and peeked around the side. The two women faced off, their profiles to Iain.
Anna’s smile was friendly, but tension resided in the set of her jaw. “I’m here to collect your deposit for the festival.”
Loretta’s smile was more genuine in that it was the mere baring of her teeth, yet her voice was sweet enough to give him a toothache. “I’m not quite ready to pay. Given that this is your first year involved in the planning, maybe you don’t understand that Rose has always allowed local businesses extra time.”
“What I understand is that I have deposits to make as well, and if I don’t get them paid on time, then the festival won’t have enough food trucks or portable potties or stage equipment.” Anna squared her shoulders. “Anyway, I’ve given you extra time. I need your deposit if you want to reserve your space.”
“How about you pencil me into my usual spot, and I’ll get you a check by the end of the week.” It was not framed as a question, but a statement. Without giving Anna a chance to agree or disagree, Loretta floated over to help a customer who had waved to get her attention.
Anna let her head drop back and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She looked worn down. All the more reason for him to step in and step up. If only she weren’t determined to go it alone. Iain had avoided the last three calls from Gareth and Alasdair, not sure how to describe the situation.
He’d underestimated how enmeshed Anna was in the complex ecosystem of Highland and how valuable her capabilities were. Still, he had handled smaller events on the grounds of Cairndow and could certainly help beyond mucking out the stables and building fencing.
Anna heaved a sigh and retreated in defeat. He could scarcely believe it if he didn’t see it happen.
It took another two hours to complete the reframing, but he was happy with the results and so was Loretta if her smiles—warm and wide this time—and effusive thanks were to be believed.
“This is top-notch, quality work, young man.” Loretta ran her hand along the nearly invisible joint.
“Thank you.” He loaded the tools in the bed of the truck.
“Have you done any renovation work?”
“A bit.” Besides his stint in Glasgow working for a housing contractor, he’d done plenty of renovation work at Cairndow.
“Do you mind if I pass your name along?”
“I certainly don’t mind, but I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to take on projects with the festival fast approaching.” He wiped his forehead with a work rag he kept tucked into his waistband.
“I understand.” A wistful look passed over her face, softening the harsh lines around her mouth. “My husband passed a decade ago now, and I have several lady friends who are in the same predicament. It would be awfully nice to know someone trustworthy who could help us with various projects around the house.”
“I’ll be glad to help where I can.” When she turned away, he took a chance. “About the festival. Could I collect your deposit? It would save Anna a trip down and make things easier for me.”
She regarded him a moment then jerked her head in a follow-me gesture. He obeyed. From behind the counter in the store, she pulled out a sealed envelope with her name and FESTIVAL DEPOSIT written across the front.
“Here.” She held it out.
He looked from her to the envelope and back again. Why in blazes had the woman not simply given the deposit to Anna earlier? He decided it was best not to question his luck, tucked the envelope into his pocket, and left after thanking her.
He thought about dropping by the studio and giving Anna the deposit, but opted to leave it on the desk at Stonehaven. Would she perceive his success as a help or an intrusion? After their awkward last parting, he wasn’t willing to find out.
Chapter Eight
The next evening after teaching at the studio all day, Anna timed her arrival at Stonehaven with the efficiency of a spy mission.
She softly closed her car door and tiptoed across the pea gravel to the front door. The sound of power tools came from the barn. As expected, Iain was taking advantage of the cooling air.
An envelope sat on top of the closed laptop. Loretta’s name slashed across the white. Anna pushed the corner of the envelope with one finger. Nothing happened. Not that she was expecting a booby trap or anything. She opened the seal and a check dropped out. A check dated three days ago.
Unless Loretta was into breaking and entering, she must have given it to Iain. A power play. She and Loretta were in the first round of a title fight, with the mayoral contest the fifth and final round.
At least Anna had the money. She had other things to worry about at the moment. She opened Izzy’s laptop, but the screen remained dark. The charging cord was on the floor. She picked it up and stared at it as if it had betrayed her before plugging it in. She could have sworn she’d left it charging the day before. Just one more inconvenience. Her head had felt stuffed with cotton all day. Allergies were annoying. Add in her regrets over her last conversation with Iain, and she was officially in a pissy mood.
Finally, the screen flickered on as the computer booted up. She clicked on the festival folder and scanned the file names for the current year’s vendor spreadsheet. She’d put in a couple of hours on calls and notes over the weekend and had highlighted where to pick up today. She resorted the files by save date. The most recent file was twelve months old. She resorted by name and then file type. No sign of her updated file, even though she was sure she had clicked save after making her notes.
Could she recreate the spreadsheet from the prior year’s information and memory? Not with the same level of detail. Who had she called? Could she remember them all? She jotted down a half dozen she could remember, but her brain was as shaky as her hands.
Another thought jolted her up from the chair. Had Iain sabotaged her? Had he unplugged the charger? Her wobbly logic fell into a patch of doubts. Was he really the sort of man who would delete a file out of spite? No, he wasn’t. Iain wasn’t immature and neither was he dishonorable.
But it’s possible he knew what had happened. Maybe he’d been on the laptop and accidentally deleted the file. Anna sidled toward the barn. A nail gun pierced the relative silence with sharp thunks. She stepped inside and shuffled across sawdust toward where Iain worked in the back of the barn.
A portable fan whirred and stirred the air against her bare legs. With the front and back doors open, the cross breeze made it almost pleasant.
As she drew closer, Iain turned toward her and pushed a pair of clear safety glasses to the top of his head, the nail gun pointing to the ground. Not that she was worried he might threaten her with it.
“What?” he asked brusquely.
“I … You…” Sentences refused to knit themselves together. His white T-shirt stuck to him with patches of sweat. His army-green utility kilt was one she’d seen before, but this time tools were tucked into pockets and loops along the hips and hem she hadn’t noticed before. It looked actually useful and not worn merely to jumpstart her libido.
“What do you need, Anna?” No note of welcome colored his flat tone, but his one rebellious eyebrow was quirked up in a way that transmitted mockery.
“How do you do that?” she asked.
He set the nail gun aside without taking his gaze off her. “Do what?”
“Lift one eyebrow. Were you born like that or did you practice in the mirror?”
“Winters at Cairndow could be dull, but not so dull I would stare at myself all day.”
“I wish I could do it.” She tried to raise one eyebrow but could feel both pop up. “It’s like a superpower.”
“And would you use the power for good or evil?” His voice had lost its edge.
“While I would like to say good, I’d probably go with evil. Or like Robin Hood. I would help those less fortunate stand up to the powerful.” How on earth had her panic devolved into such a silly conversation?
“Do you face injustice on a regular basis?” He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest and his feet at the ankles. The position put his biceps and calves on attractive display.
She forced her gaze up his body to his face, and once again, she met his sardonic eyebrow. “You’re doing it again.”
The eyebrow twitched, then toppled to line up with his other, normal eyebrow. “Sorry, can’t help it. I can’t imagine anyone would be brave enough to bully you.”
“I was called carrot-head plenty as a kid, but it never bothered me. I like carrots.”
“Me too.” They shared a smile.
How had he managed to sidetrack her so easily? She cleared her throat and winced. The soreness had dogged her all day even after taking allergy medicine. “Were you on the laptop earlier? Like to check your email or something? It wasn’t charging when I got here.”
“Haven’t touched it. Maybe you forgot to plug it in last time you were here.” He pushed off the wall, not sounding like a man who had accidently deleted a file.
If it wasn’t him, then it was 100 percent her fault. “I’m missing a file. The file that I worked on over the weekend.”
“Why would I would delete your work?” He had every right to sound aggrieved. “Do you think I’m that much of a bastard?”
“No! Of course not.” She gripped the back of her hair. “It may not look like it, but I’m panicking on the inside. This file is critical, and if I can’t find it, then the entire festival might fail and everyone will think I’m incompetent and can’t be trusted with anything important.”
“That’s rather…” What was he going to say? Stupid? Paranoid? “… dramatic. I’m sure the file has been stored on the laptop. Probably in a temp folder.”
“A temp folder?” she parroted dumbly. Computers were not her thing. The basics she could handle, but when things went wrong, she got lost.
“Do you want me to look at it?”
“Why are you being so nice?”
“Would you rather I was a foul git?”
As she had no idea what a “foul git” was, she bumbled out a chuckle. “As long as you aren’t an axe murderer.”
“How did you find out?” he whispered and took a ground-swallowing step toward her, his brows low over his eyes and his mouth tight. He reached for a wooden handle leaning against the wall and swung up the tool, the silver blade glinting in a narrow shaft of sunlight sneaking through the slats. It was a mother-flipping axe.
With her mind wading through molasses and unable to make logical connections, she startled backward, her pained throat ready to release a scream no one except Ozzie and Harriet would hear. Neither were likely to come to her rescue. She bumped her hip against a sawhorse. She lurched to catch her balance, but the layer of sawdust didn’t provide stable footing and she went down on her butt, the fall hard and ignominious.
“God’s blood, are you hurt?” The axe clanked to the floor as Iain squatted next to her.
Her lower arm was numb from a bang her funny bone took, but she was mostly fine. “Except for the near heart attack you gave me.”
“It was a joke. Did you really think I would hurt you?” First, she accused him of sabotaging the laptop and now this. Even though the streak of fear had been quick to dissipate, she couldn’t deny its existence.
She didn’t mean to make a habit of hurting his feelings, and she wanted to make amends, but she was having a hard time focusing on a heartfelt apology when she finally had an answer to the universal question.
She knew what a Scotsman wore under his kilt.
Actually, she didn’t have the definitive answer to what every Scot wore under their kilt, but she knew what Iain wore. Absolutely nothing. Not that she saw nothing. Unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, what was underneath was … substantial.
She should look away. Instead, her eyes felt grainy because they refused to even blink. The noises stumbling out of her were part appreciation and part embarrassment. “You’
re showing.”
“I’m what?”
“I can see your…” She cupped her hand and gestured toward him. “You know, your junk.”
He leapt to his feet and smoothed his kilt down like a debutante of old after giving a peek at her ankles. He mumbled something in Gaelic before asking, “Why were you looking?”
“I couldn’t help it.” Her voice had morphed into a hoarse squeak. Heat rushed through her body. Not the kind that appreciated his ample offering to womanhood, but the mortified kind. “It was in my face. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean.”
Even behind the camouflage of his beard, a blush raged. It was entirely endearing.
“Just so you know, I don’t usually…” He gestured with his hands. “But it was so blasted hot and the breeze felt— Never mind.”
Did she want to know how the breeze felt? Yes, she did, but she wasn’t stupid or brave enough to ask. “I can imagine.”
Why had she offered that? Now she really was imagining. Had it felt like a woman’s breath right before she took him in her mouth? Or maybe right after she’d licked up the length of him. Her brain was careening down a dark path of scenarios she might have to revisit that night in the privacy of her bed.
He offered a hand, and she slipped hers into his. Once again, she felt dwarfed by his size and strength, but no fear colored the moment.
He didn’t release her hand. “Do I truly scare you, Anna?”
The seriousness of his expression stilled the joke ready to spring out of her mouth. The question peeled back a bandage on a wound he’d carried for a long time, if she had to guess. Instead of a trite answer, she offered what was owed—honesty.
“You can be gruff and intimidating, but no, I’m not scared of you.” His mouth lost a measure of its tightness, and she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “Unless you’re coming at me with an axe. Not cool.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ll forgive you if you forgive me for thinking even for a millisecond you did something to the computer. I know you’re not that kind of man.”
A Highlander in a Pickup Page 11
