A Highlander's Obsession

by Vonnie Davis

  Something about the man fascinated her, excited and made her feel possessed all at the same time. New emotions she wasn’t sure she had the experience to handle without appearing like a bungling woman. She worried her bottom lip, her teeth rasping its corner. Besides, she had Alex to consider.

  Dreams had haunted her throughout the night. Every one of them involved the Scot doing sensual things to her. Her forehead wrinkled. One of the sex-infused dreams even included a bear. Ew. How sick is that? Jet lag, combined with the exhilaration of helping Heather Mist foal during a howling storm, surely caused those heated dreams.

  Of course, Creighton’s remarks after he carried her up the steps early this morning certainly added fuel to her nocturnal fantasies. He had a commanding air about him; he was what romantics and those in the animal-care realm referred to as an alpha. Strong. Self-assured. Aggressive. Protective of those he cared for.

  His dark looks and muscular body were appealing, although she had no business noticing—or desiring him the way she did. Not with a fiancé waiting for her back home, even if their relationship so often billowed in the wind between balmy friendship and frigid exploitation. Alex demanded more and more from her professionally, trying his best to convince her she should cash in on her abilities. The fact that he was her boss only heightened his control over her, something she was coming to resent. Office romances, even when surrounded by caged animals, weren’t conducive to happiness when one of the participants sought to exert control. Whenever she thought to break off the engagement, the stability of her job came into play. How difficult would working with Alex become? Knowing him, unbearable.

  How could she make him understand she hated being in the limelight? She feared taking her gift into the public realm; worried that it would make her a laughing stock, the person people scoffed at. Joke fodder for the late-night TV shows. “Hey, did you hear about the woman who claims she can communicate with animals? Tell me, where do you go to learn to speak skunk or giraffe?” No, she couldn’t bear it. She preferred a more private existence, where potential clients, concerned over their animal’s health or behaviors, contacted her through her website or Alex’s veterinary office.

  No use dwelling. She had a new day to face. Could she convince Gram to spend most of it in bed? She seemed so fatigued last night.

  Paisley stretched under the blankets’ toasty weight. What time was it? She groped for the windup alarm clock. Wrapping her fingers around the metal timepiece was like holding ice cubes. It was 7:10. She’d barely gotten three hours of sleep. Her gaze dropped to the antique wooden planks, thankful for the rug leading to her bathroom. At least the soles of her feet wouldn’t freeze to the floor. She flung the covers off and shivered. Her first order of business would be to get the fire roaring in the sitting room.

  Her hurried footsteps faltered. A small wreath of heather hung on her doorknob. Someone must have entered her bedroom while she slept. Unease lifted the hairs at the back of her neck. She’d locked the door. Lord, she’d been so frightened of Creighton’s sexuality and her reaction to it, she’d checked it three times. Each time she had, she didn’t know whether it was to keep him out or her in. When he backed her against the wall and leaned in, she’d been more turned on than ever before. Her hormones, traitorous devils that they were, cried out for him to kiss her. Wasn’t that why she’d bolted from him? To keep from pulling him toward her and making a complete fool of herself?

  After all, Alex had told her repeatedly she wasn’t the kind of woman to whip a man into the throes of passion. Her geekish, bookworm appearance, in his opinion, made her the best friend type, nothing near the hot status most men preferred.

  Her fingers trailed over the brass key. It was still secure. Chills, not entirely from the frigid room, danced across her skin. How had someone gotten into this room and not wakened her? Had her jet lag been that bad?

  Her gaze shifted to the wreath in her hand. The subtle fragrance of its small, blue, cuplike flowers was woodsy, yet reminiscent of honeysuckle. The entwined stems were tied together by a strip of plaid. How had it gotten into her bedroom? How? Was it there when Creighton carried her upstairs last night? Surely she’d have noticed it. She turned the key and opened the door to the sitting room, then glanced toward Gram’s bedroom. Had she gotten one?

  The sitting room was considerably warmer. Maybe she’d dress in here. She added two more logs to the low-burning embers. “Gram, are you awake?”

  “Half. Come in, sweet pea.”

  Her grandmother snuggled under the covers. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. Her pink curls stood up on one side of her head as if they were raising their tips toward the sun for warmth.

  Paisley sat on the edge of Gram’s bed. “How did you sleep?”

  Gram sat up, stretched, and yawned. “Like a rock. I was so tired of traveling. You’ve no idea how I’ll hate getting back on a plane to go home.” She flopped back against the pillows and winked. “Let’s just stay, shall we? We could open a kilt-making business. You sew. I’ll be in charge of measurements.” She waggled her silver eyebrows.

  “You’ve got a kilt fixation.” Even with exhaustion etched into her features, her grandmother was in good spirits. “Think you could be happy here away from all your friends?” She yawned. “Sorry, I only got three hours sleep last night.”

  Gram’s hand touched her arm. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Is your mattress lumpy?”

  “I was in the stables delivering two foals. A filly and a colt.” And being charmed by a compelling Scotsman.

  “Oh? How did that come about?”

  Paisley replayed last night’s events for her grandmother, from the midnight phone call to Creighton carrying her up the steps. The details of her story were interspersed with Gram’s remarks about how romantic it all was, and how blessed Paisley was to have this gift of talking to animals.

  “Did he kiss you good night?” Gram’s silver eyebrows rose. A wide smile wrinkled her cheeks and she rubbed her hands together. “Do tell.”

  “No. Although he threatened to and part of me wanted it.” The heat of a blush spread and she shifted her shoulders. “How can I be so attracted to someone I just met?”

  Gram’s cool hand covered Paisley’s cheek. “Maybe because you two are meant for each other.” Her eyes twinkled. “Kismet. Serendipity. Just like me and Morris.”

  “When you met Grandpa Morris, you didn’t belong to someone else. My attraction to Creighton is wrong. So unfair to Alex. I feel terrible for the pull I feel for Creighton. Just terrible.” She glanced at the wreath in her hand.

  “What’s that?” Gram reached out and took the heather in her twisted, arthritic fingers.

  “It was hanging on my bedroom door this morning. I came over to see if you’d gotten one.” How had someone gotten into her locked room?

  Gram flashed a sly smile. “Looks like a gift from an admirer.” She fingered the piece of plaid. “A Scottish admirer. Lucky you. You shouldn’t feel guilt for being attracted. Alex isn’t the man for you with his sickly green and black splotched aura, but I do like the looks of the Scot’s. He’s got a great aura.” Gram pursed her lips. “It’s a deep, strong red, which means power and passion. There were also swirls of brown which indicate a strong connection to Mother earth. I like him.”

  “You called him a galoot.”

  Gram waved her hand through the air as if to dismiss the thought. “I was tired. My behavior wasn’t at its best.” She handed the wreath back to Paisley. “Wasn’t our suite locked last night? How did someone get in?”

  “I thought it was. Maybe it wasn’t.” She couldn’t tell her grandmother someone accessed her locked bedroom. As tired as the older woman looked this morning, Paisley didn’t want anything upsetting her. “It’s probably something they do for every guest. No doubt they’ve got dozens of them in a storage room somewhere.”

  “Let’s play a game, shall we? Take the piece of plaid and pin it to your clothes and see which man gets nervous when he sees it.�
�� Gram’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “We might just see a Scotsman blush.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m not doing that.”

  An hour later, when they walked into the dining room, a tiny, red-haired dynamo rushed to greet them. “Hi, I’m Colleen. I … I’m the official cheery greeter here at the lodge. Are ye from America?” She tilted her head. “Where’s yer cowboy hat and six-shooter, then?” She made a gun-drawing motion with her small hand.

  “Ye will have to excuse me daughter. She watches too many auld cowboy movies from the States. We’ve got quite a movie collection here at the lodge.” Bryce scooped his daughter into his arms and set her back in her chair. “Finish yer porridge, ye wee rascal.” He kissed the top of her auburn curls.

  Colleen pointed at Paisley. “Look, Da, she’s got a piece of our tartan on her sweater.”

  Great! Foiled by a kid. “Do you like it? Someone tied it to a wreath of heather and put it on my bedroom door.”

  “Not me.” The little girl shook her head, a spoonful of porridge halfway to her mouth. “I … I got a skirt made out of our tartan. ’Tis for special parties, though.” She filled her mouth with food.

  Gram sat across the table from Colleen. “I bet you look beautiful in it.”

  She nodded, her auburn curls springing in mad abandon. “Da says I look beautiful in everything.” She flashed her father an adoring smile. “Me da is the best in the whole world.”

  “Good mornin’, ladies.” Creighton, dressed in a navy thermal knit shirt, kilt, heavy stockings, and work boots with the laces untied, sauntered into the dining room and sucked out all the oxygen, or so it seemed when Paisley looked at him. Muscular, hairy legs grew from the hem of his dark-green and navy kilt like thick branches on an oak.

  Creighton strode to the large brass coffee urn and filled a mug with the fragrant brew. With the mug in his large hand, he passed behind Coleen’s chair, stopped and leaned down to plant a kiss on his niece’s locks. “How’s me wee sweet bairn this beautiful Scottish mornin’?”

  “I’m not a wee bairn, Uncle Creigh. I’m a big girl.”

  He tapped a large finger on her pert little nose. “Och, and what did I tell ye about that, me little luv?”

  “That in yer heart I’ll always be yer wee sweet bairn, no matter how old I get.” She favored him with a broad smile.

  With a nod he stepped toward the head of the table and sipped from his mug before he set it down. “That’s right, lassie.” He turned toward the antique breakfront behind him and reached for an empty plate. The chrome lid of a chafing dish clattered when he removed it. “Yer uncle Creigh will always be here for ye.” He spooned a pile of scrambled eggs onto his plate along with two chunks of salmon.

  A slow smile bloomed along with the twinkle in Colleen’s eyes. “Even when I need a new dolly? ’Cause I saw one I need really, really bad.”

  Creighton stilled and slowly turned to her, his dark eyebrows furrowed. “Are ye playing yer uncle?”

  Colleen’s smile broadened even more and her eyes sparkled. “Like a fiddle.”

  Gram exploded with laughter. “I think I know who runs this lodge, Mr. Matheson. Oh, she’s a girl after my heart.”

  He finished filling his plate and took his seat. His expression was unguarded and full of warmth, a broad smile relaxing his normally unyielding features. “Please, ma’am, call me Creighton. I’m also inclined to agree with ye about this cheeky charmer here.”

  His large hand took Colleen’s. “Forget the dolls. Uncle Creigh has a surprise fer ye. Actually, it’s our American guest, Paisley, who gave ye this surprise.”

  “What is it?” The child’s face became animated with excitement.

  Creighton sipped his coffee, forked salmon into his mouth and chewed before shaking his fork at her. “Two of the prettiest foals ye’ve ever seen. One colt and one filly.”

  Colleen gasped. “Really? Heather Mist had her babies?”

  “Aye, she did, and Paisley took care of her. She kept her safe.” His warm gaze swept over Paisley, causing all her feminine parts to sit up and take notice. Her nipples noticed him more than necessary, and her toes curled with the effect he had on her.

  “When can I see them, Uncle Creigh?”

  “I’ll take ye out to the stable after breakfast if yer da says ’tis okay.” He forked in more salmon and eggs.

  Bryce pointed to her plate. “Sounds like ye better eat up, luv.”

  “Did Ronan eat already?” Creighton reached for a slice of toast.

  “Aye. Cook has a leaky faucet in the kitchen, so he’s fixing it.” Bryce stood and went to the warmers for seconds. “Paisley, I didna ken ye were knowledgeable with animals.”

  Creighton looked at her again and smiled. “Aye. She’s a veterinary’s assistant. Diploma and everything. Ye should see how she handles animals. ’Tis a wonderment.”

  “Uncle Creigh, do I get to name them?”

  He tilted his dark head. “Aye, the colt, ye may. The filly’s already been named. I filled the registration papers out early this morning after we came in from the stables, shortly before dawn kissed the Scottish Highlands.”

  Colleen crawled from her seat onto Creighton’s lap, her eyes wide with excitement. “What did ye name her?”

  Another kiss was pressed to the child’s curls as Creighton’s gaze locked on Paisley. “I gave her a verra special name … Paisley Dawn.”

  For a few moments they stared at each other. For her, the background noises in the dining room and kitchen faded to a dull buzz. He’d named the filly in her honor. The foal he’d claimed was the color of her blonde hair. Golden, he’d called it. His tender act touched her soul and brought forth both joyful and heartrending emotions. After all, she’d only be here a few days. Her life and her fiancé were back in Virginia.

  Gram’s hand covered hers. “Isn’t that the sweetest thing, sweet pea? Now when we go home, a piece of you will stay here.”

  Creighton’s open expression morphed into a scowl. His dark eyebrows formed a deep V and his full lips tightened into a thin line of displeasure. What had caused the change? Gram’s remark about their going home? Why would their leaving matter?

  “Creighton?” She pushed his name from her lips.

  He shook his head once, sat Colleen back in her seat, and turned his attentions on the other guests.

  “Well, well.” Gram inclined her head and whispered. “Suddenly his aura turned a swirling purple and black. Poor soul must be upset.” Gram pursed her lips and winked like the conniver she was. The truth was she was more than an eccentric old woman for she possessed powers they never talked about, powers Paisley accepted as part of her undisclosed Wiccan nature.

  After breakfast, Gram returned to her room to lie down with a book. Paisley doubted her grandmother read one page before she fell asleep. After Paisley checked her email and posted to her blog, she put on her coat and headed outside for some exercise. She was eager to check on the horse and foals.

  The sun shone brightly and the world seemed calm after the wrath of the storm during the night. She breathed deeply, enjoying the feel of cold, crisp air filling her lungs. Scotland. She was in Scotland, in the Scottish Highlands. How marvelous. She did a slow turn on the gravel driveway to take in her surroundings. There was such beauty here.

  The lodge was described on the Internet as an ancient castle overlooking the cliffs of Mathe Bay. It was situated within a medieval hunting park with many streams and hills. The four-storied stone structure boasted turrets and windows of many sizes and shapes. Memories of years gone by floated over her like a warm breath, and she cursed herself for her fancifulness. Her imagination had always been whimsical, too otherworldly. Every time she thought she had control of her daydreaming nature, something beautiful like this castle stirred it up again.

  Determined to put all that aside, she strode to the stables. After all, wasn’t it bad enough she could talk to animals? Did she also have to believe she could sense the past?

  She
yanked open the barn door Creighton had used last night and came face-to-face with the sexy Scot. “Oh!” She shoved her glasses to the bridge of her nose. He was so darn handsome. Why couldn’t she ignore that fact?

  “I thought ye were Colleen. I heard someone coming.”

  “I wanted to check on Heather Mist and the foals.” Shyness suddenly crept into her soul.

  He stepped back and waved his hand for her to enter. “By all means. They seem well after yer expert care.”

  The mare raised her head. You came back.

  Yes, I wanted to see how you are doing. Are you feeling okay? Are the foals nursing?

  The mare nodded her head and blew from her nose.

  Creighton’s dark eyes watched her, and Paisley tried not to react to his close scrutiny. She examined the animals while the feminine parts of her dwelt on the massive man in the kilt. Colleen and Bryce entered the stable, bringing a different kind of excitement. While Creighton introduced the foals to the exuberant child, Paisley stepped outside to walk to the moat.

  She’d only made it a few steps when her name being called raised goose bumps. Oh, that man’s deep voice.

  She turned and her heart stuttered at the sight of him. “Y … yes?”

  Creighton leaned a broad shoulder against the open doorway. His arms were crossed, emphasizing his large biceps. “I was wondering, do ye ride? I could saddle two horses and show ye some of the countryside.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “Scots are partial to their land.”

  What a sight he made in his kilt. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  Minutes later, they rode through the woods behind the lodge, the coldness of bare trees interspersed with the continual warm protection of various pines. Rabbits hopped out of the horses’ way and squirrels chattered over their intrusion.