Anna didn’t like being called Miss Maitland. It put her mind of their spinster physical education teacher in middle school who tried to teach them sex ed, but couldn’t say the word “nipple.” Anna had convinced most of the girls in her senior level dance classes to call her by her first name, but Gabby had never been comfortable with the familiarity.
“You’ve missed a week of rehearsals right before the festival. I’m worried about you.”
Gabby’s initial pleasure dove into moroseness. “Dad doesn’t want me performing onstage. That leaves marching in the parade, which I don’t need to practice for.”
“Is your dad here? Maybe I can change his mind about letting you compete.”
She cast a furtive look over her shoulder and dropped her voice. “That’s really nice of you, but it won’t do any good. When Dad makes up his mind, that’s that.”
“But you love dancing, don’t you, Gabby?” Even though Anna had interpreted the emotion Gabby infused her dances with as love, maybe it was something else entirely.
“Of course, I love it. Dancing is the only time I can be myself. But I love Dad too.” The firm line of Gabby’s mouth contradicted the tears glimmering in her eyes.
“Gabby! Who’s that out front?” a male voice called from somewhere in the depths of the house. Footsteps creaked the boards, and a man came into view over Gabby’s shoulder.
Mr. Donaldson wasn’t a big man, but he exuded a competency and energy common among men and women who worked the land from dawn until dusk. She imagined he didn’t often sit and relax, and if he did, he would find himself asleep within minutes.
“Hello, Mr. Donaldson. It’s Anna Maitland. How are you doing?” She put on her best “I’m an excellent role model” smile.
“Busy. Harvest is fast approaching.”
“I’ve heard it’ll be a good year.”
He grunted. “Looks that way right now, but anything can happen before we get the crops in.”
She’d put the grooves in his forehead and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and mouth down to being in the sun, but now she could see worry had done its part to carve them. She understood the stress of owning a small business. Farming added extra pressures.
Success or failure depended largely on how hard she worked, but a farmer wasn’t necessarily rewarded for twelve-hour days. They were subject to the tempest of weather, made even more unpredictable because of climate change. The summers were hotter, the storms fiercer, and it would only get more difficult.
“I’ll hope nothing happens before harvest, then.” She cleared her throat. “I’m actually here because I was hoping to talk to you about Gabby competing in the festival.”
Mr. Donaldson never took his steely eyes off Anna when he said, “Get on inside and finish your chores while your teacher and I talk.”
“Yes, sir.” Gabby retreated and Anna was sorry to see her go. Gabby was the oil that kept the conversation running smooth.
Mr. Donaldson stepped outside and let the screen door bang shut behind him. Anna backed up until her butt hit one of the square columns at the edge of the steps. A glance over her shoulder showed Iain’s arm crooked out the window, and Anna took a deep breath, buoyed by his presence.
“I know you want her to dance up on that stage and compete for Lass of the Games,” Mr. Donaldson said.
“Gabby and Keisha are the two most talented dancers in my class. On their best day, they’re better than I ever was. Either one could win Lass of the Games. I’d like to see Gabby have that chance.”
“I don’t want Gabby up in front of all those people flaunting herself.” His voice was sandpaper against her nerves.
“Celtic dancing is about control and grace and elegance.”
“But you teach other classes, don’t you?”
“Of course. Ballet, popular dance, even ballroom for the cotillion kids.”
“Popular dance.” He infused derision into the words. “Our church doesn’t condone such, and Gabby will no longer participate. It sexualizes those young girls.”
Mr. Donaldson attended a small, fundamentalist church on the outskirts of town. While Anna had never stepped inside his church, she’d bet the pew he warmed every Sunday was uncushioned and that the preacher always went long.
But she also couldn’t entirely deny his accusation. Her hip-hop class did involve the occasional booty shake.
“You attend the festival every year, Mr. Donaldson. You know Celtic dancing doesn’t sexualize the dancer.” She could sense no softening of his stance and slipped her phone out of her pocket for a final, last-ditch effort. “I’ll show you the outfits the girls will be wearing. They are demure and very pretty.”
She pulled up the picture and found the one of Keisha modeling the dress. While there were similarities among Irish and Scottish dancing, the costumes marked a stark difference. The short, flouncy Irish skirts and fake bouncing curls weren’t a part of Scottish dancing. A knee-length skirt and white blouse with a plaid worn over one shoulder was more common.
Mr. Donaldson made a throaty noise she couldn’t interpret. “It’s suitable, I suppose.”
“You’ll consider letting Gabby compete? Not only is she talented, but she loves it so much. How can you take dance away from her?”
She said the one thing Iain had warned her not to say, and she regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.
Like a spark striking coal, Mr. Donaldson’s anger flared. “Who are you to come to my house and insinuate I don’t love my daughter?”
It’s not what she’d said or meant, but now was not the time to argue. Now was the time to retreat. She backed down the steps while Mr. Donaldson advanced. Ancient instincts of self-preservation told her not to turn her back on a perceived threat.
“I didn’t mean to imply you don’t love Gabby, sir. Not at all. All I meant was that she loves to dance and she’s good at it. I want her to be happy.” Anna shuffled another step backward and bumped into something big and hard.
She felt behind her and her hand landed on the leather clasps of Iain’s kilt. She hung on and sucked in a deep breath of humid air scented with cows and grass and … Iain. It was as calming as it was heady.
Mr. Donaldson stopped halfway down the steps, leaving him looming over them both. “And I don’t want her to be happy? I’m not sure you’re a good influence on Gabby or on any of the girls in this town for that matter. I could make things mighty difficult for you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She tightened her hold on Iain.
The man didn’t speak again, but turned and disappeared inside his house, leaving her and Iain baking in the sun. A cow by the fence watched them and chewed on grass.
“Come on, lass.” Iain took her by the shoulders and steered her to the driver’s side.
She climbed in and cranked the engine. With the windows down, the cool air barely made a dent in the heat. As soon as Iain crammed himself back inside, she hit the gas and spun out on the loose gravel of the driveway, but eased up immediately. That kind of reckless behavior would not earn her good marks with Mr. Donaldson.
“That went well,” she said with maximum sarcasm.
“I—”
“Don’t say ‘I told you so’ unless you want me to dump you on the side of the road.”
He cleared his throat. “If you’d allow me to continue, I was going to say that I think you handled it as well as could be expected, but he is her da and makes the rules for his family.”
“But he’s wrong.”
“In your opinion, not his. It’s up to Gabby to either change his mind or find the strength to defy him.”
“She won’t defy him.”
“Then she’s not meant to compete this year,” he said simply.
The fact he was right only upset her more. “What you’re saying is I should keep my big fat nose out of their business.”
“I wouldn’t call your nose big or fat. It’s more like a blade.” He cut his hand through the air for emph
asis. “But yes.”
She wasn’t sure if he intended the assessment as an insult or compliment. “A blade will cut you, so watch out, Highlander. Haven’t you seen the movie?”
He looked out the passenger window, but not before she noted the start of a smile. “Ah yes, the movie where they cast the actual Scotsman as a Spaniard. Poor Sean Connery.”
“Is he your favorite James Bond?”
“Are there others? I wouldn’t know.” His voice was deadpan.
She fought a smile and the feeling the man didn’t realize how appealing and sexy she found his dry humor. He was eccentric in a rather wonderful way. The wind whipped her hair around her shoulders. It would be a snarled mess, but she left the windows down, reminded of simpler times driving the backroads in high school with her cheerleader friends, laughing and talking about nothing and everything.
After she’d come home from New York, her old friends had moved on to college or gotten married, and her relationships with them had shifted into the shallowness of acquaintances. While she was happy for their successes, she’d not attempted to rekindle deep friendships. She had changed for better or worse. She’d never been able to decide which.
Her reminiscing reminded her that she owed Izzy a call. She pulled behind the tartan truck on Main Street to let him out. “I’ll see you tonight for our lesson.”
His answering grunt could have been an affirmative or a negative.
“You’re not going to stand me up, are you?” she called as he levered himself up and out, giving her a flash of a well-muscled thigh.
He didn’t afford her with an answer, but he didn’t have to. He would be there.
Chapter Twelve
As soon as Anna stepped into her apartment above the studio after her afternoon classes, she stripped off her clothes on the short walk to the shower. The lukewarm water refreshed her and gave her a jolt of energy to tackle the rest of the day and evening tasks, including teaching Iain to dance.
She toweled off, but before dressing, stood in front of the window AC unit and let the cool air rush over her until goose bumps rose on her arms. While she was literally chilling out, she shot Izzy a text, asking how she was feeling, but it was late in Scotland and Anna didn’t expect an answer until morning.
A ring cut through the hum of the AC, and she fumbled her phone. It was a video call request from Izzy. Surprise kickstarted her heart. Had something happened?
She tapped the button and her voice barked with worry. “What’s wrong?”
Izzy slapped a hand over her eyes. “You crazy woman. You’re naked. Please tell me you didn’t answer in the middle of you know?”
“Hang on.” Anna put the phone facedown on her bed and pulled on panties, shorts, and a tank top. Picking the phone back up, she smiled at her best friend. “Sorry for the peep show. I just got out of the shower. I haven’t had you know in quite some time. Unfortunately. It’s late there. Is everything okay?”
“I’m bloated and miserable, but yes, I’m okay. I had to pee and couldn’t go back to sleep. The timing of your text was perfect.”
Anna curled up against the pillows on the bed and smiled into the phone. “God, it’s good to see you.”
Izzy’s hair was loose and longer than it had been last summer, but glossy and full. Despite her complaints, the fullness of her face suited her. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes snapped with bored, unspent energy in spite of the late hour.
“Even though I saw too much for a hot second, I concur,” Izzy said.
Anna laughed. “My place is an oven, and I’m the foil-wrapped potato baking.”
“It’s cool enough here for a jacket. What a change in circumstances from last year.” Izzy shook her head, but there was a smile on her face. Last summer, Izzy had been planning the festival with her mom. She’d been single and restless and untrusting. Alasdair had come into her life like a bolt of lightning and changed everything.
“Any signs the joyous event is imminent?” Anna asked.
“Check out my cankles.” Izzy aimed the phone at her feet. They were swollen.
“That can’t be good.”
“It’s not. That’s why I’m calling.” Izzy’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m scheduled for a C-section.”
“When?”
“Day after tomorrow. We’re leaving for Glasgow in the morning.” Fear trembled Izzy’s voice.
“Everything is going to be fine.” Anna forced what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but her lips were quivery.
“It’s not what I planned.”
“Girl. You didn’t plan on meeting a hot Scot, being whisked to a remote castle, getting knocked up, or having a shotgun wedding. None of the good stuff is ever planned.”
Izzy choked back a sob, and Anna filled the gap. “Doctors perform thousands of C-sections every day, and if I know Alasdair, he is taking you to the best hospital in Scotland. Plus, you have Gareth and Rose there and me and Iain here to handle things. All you have to do is trust everything will be fine because it will be.”
Izzy nodded and sniffed. It wasn’t often she let her emotions have free rein. “You’re right. You’re always right.”
“Hell yes, I am. I’m going to need for you to make a campaign video telling the residents of Highland.” Anna waggled her eyebrows.
“You did it!” As Anna had hoped, the change in topic staunched the anxiety over the impending birth.
Anna relayed her interactions with Loretta and the filing of her paperwork. “That’s not all. Your boy Iain volunteered to open the festival at the whisky tasting.”
Izzy was treading and no longer drowning in her emotions. “I’ve never seen him dance.”
“Exactly. He thought opening the festival involved cutting a ribbon.”
“What are you going to do?” Izzy covered her mouth, but a smile played there.
Anna infused her words with mock outrage. “I’m the best darn-tooting dance teacher in town. You don’t think I can teach one measly Highlander to dance?”
Izzy’s laugh was lower and sounded more like the old her. “If you can teach me, you can teach anyone. You’re his partner, I assume.”
“Of course.” The decisiveness in Anna’s voice made Izzy perk up.
“I wasn’t sure, considering your not-so-enthusiastic feelings about him being there to help.” Izzy gave Anna an admonishing look that made her squirm. She thought she’d done a better job hiding her ambivalence from Izzy.
“I thought maybe you and Rose didn’t have confidence in me.” On such a small screen, it was difficult to avoid Izzy’s eyes.
“Of course we did—do—but you have a business to run on top of everything else, especially with Gareth pulling the trigger on the animal exhibition.”
“I’ll admit, even with all the legwork Rose and Gareth did before they left for Scotland, it’s a lot. I’m terrified I’m going to forget something important.”
“Portable potties. Ample parking. Food trucks. Music. As long as you have those, you’ll be fine.” Izzy let her head loll against the back of the couch. “This is the first games I’ll miss. I’m sad.”
“I’ll send lots of pictures and videos,” Anna said.
“You’d better.” Izzy yawned. “I should go before Alasdair figures out where I am and drags me back to bed.”
“Take care and tell your mom to text or call when the baby arrives. No matter what time.”
They exchanged goodbyes, and after Anna disconnected, she lay on the bed and stared at the blank white ceiling. Izzy would have more to worry about than the festival in a couple of days, which was as it should be. Anna closed her eyes and said a little prayer even though she wasn’t sure she even believed in a God who took notice.
A knock brought her out of her reverie. She opened the door to find Iain casting a long shadow. He wore one of his more traditional kilts in a plaid pattern of hunting colors like a more organized version of Southern camouflage. His wavy dark hair was slightly damp and finger-combed. His scent was fresh f
rom the shower.
“Sorry, I’m early.” He shifted, the metal staircase creaking under his weight. “I’m a bit nervous.”
The admission surprised her. Iain was big and capable and had seen and survived more hostile environments than a dance floor.
“It’s a dance, not a battle.”
His eyes narrowed on hers, and she wanted to stuff the offhand remark back in her mouth. She swallowed and forced a smile.
His gaze left hers, but her relief was short-lived as it meandered down her body, taking in her tank top and worn-thin cotton shorts. This was her everyday sleep attire—her sexy stuff was moldering in the back of her drawer—but by the hungry, predatory look on his face, he didn’t care.
Her toes curled and she tipped her face up, waiting for … what?
“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked.
Yes. The word reverberated in her head, but when she moved her lips, her mouth felt stuffed with cotton balls. Her first thought hadn’t been about letting him inside her apartment, but dragging him to her bed and allowing him entrance to a much more intimate space.
He tilted his head and looked at her like she was having a relapse of strep throat. She shuffled backward and waved him inside. He had to duck his head to clear the low doorjamb. Once inside, he was like an oversize action figure forced into a dollhouse.
He swept his gaze around the room, and she did the same, seeing things from his perspective. The mini-kitchen, where she cooked the simplest of meals. The bathroom with her wet towel crumpled on the floor. The short red couch and flat-screen TV where she vegged out. Her bedroom, where the queen-size bed and dresser took up almost the entire space. She’d decorated it in an eclectic splash of colors that put her in mind of summer flowers.
“It’s not much, but—”
“It’s cute. Unique. It suits you.” His focus returned to her and left her flustered.
Was that a compliment? She thought it might be. “Thanks.”
He migrated to a group of pictures she’d tacked to a cork board. At one time, she’d planned to frame them, but as the years rolled by, the accomplishments seemed less important.
A Highlander in a Pickup Page 16
