As she exited the music tent, a chorus of sound erupted from the tug-of-war competition. She’d gotten the idea to organize one after looking at Mr. MacDougall’s scrapbooks. Though other American Highland games had adopted the concept, she really wanted to make it into an event, a true competition with the prize of some pretty serious Scotch.
She’d pounded the pavement to recruit local businesses to field tugging teams, and when the response had been less than expected, she’d appealed to the rugby teams who would be competing in the tournament tomorrow. Another level of competition seemed to entice the baser instincts of the bruiser males who liked to shove each other around a field, and they’d jumped at the chance.
From what she heard, her idea was delivering.
An enthusiastic crowd had gathered in a long line down the rope. They cheered their friends or husbands or coworkers. Jen didn’t care, as long as they were cheering. As she drew closer she could glimpse the teams through spaces in the crowd. They synchronized their grips and tugs, planted their boots hard into the dirt, and leaned back, almost horizontal to the ground. Their timed shouts and grunts rose and rose as one team made their move, giving the rope all they had, making their opponents fight for it. Finally the judge’s whistle blew, and one half of the crowd whooped. The victors of this round, wearing purple rugby jerseys, jumped up, red-faced and beaming, clapping each other on their backs.
Jen gave herself an inward nod of approval and moved on.
On the other side of the heritage tent, where the historical society had set up information about Scottish genealogy and displayed a fine assortment of tartans, spread the heavy athletic field. Leith was over there with Duncan, looking things over for tomorrow’s competition.
Leith had told everyone in Gleann that he’d decided to stay for the games as his final good-bye. But privately, he’d told her: “I’m staying for Da. And for you.”
He wasn’t throwing but he was acting as the announcer, describing each event as it came up, highlighting each competitor, and calling scores and placement. The crowd was going to love him.
“Aunt Jen!”
The little voice made Jen smile before she even turned. Ainsley was weaving through the dispersing tug-of-war watchers. “Hey, Tartan McGee.” Jen went to touch Ainsley’s plaid headband, but the girl ducked away and fluffed her hair. “Whose clan is that?”
Jen remembered that you didn’t just choose a random tartan to wear when living in Gleann. Oh no. You may as well declare war for a side when you picked what colors and pattern to wear.
“T’s family. Melissa is a Campbell.”
“Oh.” Jen struggled not to cringe, choosing to smile instead. “Where’s your mom?”
“She said to come stand by you until I ran into T and Lacey. They said they’d watch the next round of tug-of-war with me, but I can’t find them.”
Of course they did. Teenage girls made all sorts of promises to tweens, who would hold their word as that of God and then be devastated when those words proved false. And what the hell was Aimee doing that she couldn’t be with Ainsley tonight of all nights, when she’d been the one to beg Jen to come in the first place?
“You want to come and watch me order around a bunch of men?” Jen asked Ainsley. “Maybe you’ll run into the older girls later.”
Ainsley’s nose crinkled, then she caught herself. “But I want to sit with T.”
“Okay.” Jen laughed. “Can’t help feeling a bit rejected, but okay.”
Suddenly Ainsley’s whole face brightened and she thrust out a finger. “There they are!”
Jen turned. The two girls were ambling toward the tug-of-war field. The younger one, Lacey, was chewing gum and thumbing away on a phone. T had put blue streaks in her hair. Ainsley was touching her own hair, as though contemplating the color herself.
Ainsley called out to the girls just as a piper blasted a warm-up chord near the music tent. Ainsley called again. The girls didn’t hear. Or didn’t want to hear.
Jen turned to Ainsley. Oh, boy. Here comes the disappointment, the disillusionment. She prepared for the distraction, ready to sweep Ainsley off toward the tug-of-war. Damn Aimee for—
T swiveled then, seeing Ainsley. She swatted her sister, who slid the phone into a pocket. Shit, they were actually going to look right at Ainsley then walk the other way . . . no. Wait. They started to come over.
“Hey, squirt,” T said to Ainsley with a genuine grin.
Lacey reached out to ruffle Ainsley’s hair—with Ainsley actually letting her—then caught sight of the tartan wrapped around it. “Nice, kiddo.” Lacey flashed a shiny set of braces, then wrapped her lips around them again.
Both girls were tall, taking after their dad, and Jen wanted to knuckle their backs to get them to stand up straighter. With a secret smile, she remembered that at one point, when she and Leith had been eleven, she’d been an inch taller than him.
“How’s it going?” T said to Jen, knocking her out of her memories. “I mean, I can tell this was a lot of work. Seems like a pretty cool party so far.”
Jen blinked at her. “Thanks.”
Ainsley’s big eyes danced between the two older girls like they wore halos. “Are we still going to watch the tug-of-war?”
“Absolutely, squirt.” T patted the backpack dangling over one shoulder. “Got the blanket and everything.”
Ainsley peered around Jen and called, “Hey, Mom, can I have some money?”
The piper chose that moment to start his set, marching around the grounds to heighten the atmosphere, as she’d hired him to do, so when Jen turned around to find Aimee, the piper blocked the person walking with her sister. A moment of panic set Jen’s heart pounding. Yeah, the girls were being cool to Ainsley, but what if Aimee was walking arm in arm with Owen out where everyone could see? Right in front of their children? She’d witnessed enough sidelong looks and heard enough whispers to know it wasn’t something the town wanted to see. What if this was the start to the scene Jen feared from her own childhood? On tonight of all nights?
Jen glanced fearfully at T and Lacey, imprinting her and Aimee’s faces onto theirs, remembering the day they’d had to intercept their mom in the grocery store when she’d clawed after some woman she’d caught sleeping with Frank.
The girls wore no similar look of disgust.
Even odder, when the piper moved on, his absence revealed that Aimee wasn’t actually walking with Owen, but Melissa. They walked close enough to touch, their heads bent together, Melissa saying something with very fervent hand gestures. And they were smiling.
Aimee saw Jen and steered Melissa over to make introductions. Melissa had a strong, confident handshake and a raspy voice. “Great to finally meet you, Jen.”
And it was Jen, for once, who had to struggle to find equilibrium in this strangest of strange situations, when usually she could fake it pretty well.
Then Melissa did the most surprising thing. She reached for Ainsley, giving her arm a quick, affectionate squeeze paired with a brilliant smile. It couldn’t possibly mean anything other than I like you, kid.
“Mom,” Ainsley said, eyes bright, “T just told me there’s a whole ’nother town under the lake. That when they made the dam, they covered the first Gleann with water. Is that true?”
T and Lacey were giggling as Melissa rolled her eyes. “Stop telling people that, Tamara Jean. Especially the younger kids. You’ll get one of them drowned when they go to swim for it. Your dad made that story up ages ago to get you to go to sleep.”
“I’m not a kid. Lacey’s only three years older than me,” Ainsley protested to deaf ears.
“Oh, look, there’s George,” Melissa said, “getting ready for the tug-of-war. Team Highway Repair and Roadkill Pickup. Wouldn’t want to miss them pulling against those massive rugby guys you had bussed in, Jen.” With a wink, she turned back to Aimee. “So, we’re meeting with Sue on Monday at ten? At the Kafe?”
“Yep.” Aimee smiled. “Have you seen Owen?”
> Melissa squinted at the whiskey tent. “In there. Trying to relive his youth. Don’t let him drive home if that’s the case. Girls, Ainsley is yours for the night. You understand?”
Solemn nods all around.
Jen watched Melissa approach a telephone pole of a man dressed in jeans and a plaid T-shirt—no discerning tartan—with New Hampshire Department of Transportation stamped on the back. Melissa melted into his arms, having to stand on her tippiest of toes as he gave her a deep, closed-mouth kiss.
T and Lacey made faces appropriate to seeing their mom kissing, and then turned away, but otherwise showed no disapproval. A small group of men and women nudged each other in speculation, but Melissa and George didn’t care.
“Here’s a twenty.” Aimee passed the wrinkled bill to T. “Keep any change.”
“The sign-up for tomorrow morning’s foot races is over at the heritage tent,” Jen said to Ainsley. “Didn’t you say you wanted to do the Kid Sprint around the grounds?”
Lacey slapped her sister’s arm. “Oh, let’s do that. First prize is fifty bucks.”
The girls wandered off, and Jen resisted jumping up and down over their enthusiasm and participation.
She and Aimee looked at each other, the pall of their tense, honest conversation back in the Thistle still hanging over them.
“Melissa and I are opening a B&B,” Aimee said abruptly. “Together.”
Jen boggled, her mouth hanging open.
“That’s what the Monday meeting is about, because I know you’re wondering. We’ve already approached one of the old Hemmertex families with a huge empty house up for sale about going in with us, joining as a part owner, letting us run it from here. Melissa’s got the start-up money—her family is the oldest in the valley—and I’ve got the skills in running an inn. It’s going to be the first of many, Jen. I thought you should be one of the first to know.”
“Wow, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
The piper had trailed back by the beer tent, bleating out an up-tempo song.
Aimee stepped closer. “Say you’re proud of me.”
“God, Aim. I am. I really am.”
There was no I told you so. No I don’t need you. Just absolute proof, exactly as Aimee said she’d give. The world suddenly felt a little bit lighter.
Aimee’s gaze flicked over Jen’s shoulder. She said, all casual, “Oh, I see Owen. Better go tend to the whiskey consumption. It’s already a great night, Jen. Tomorrow’s going to be even better. I know it will.” She started to walk off, then stopped. “I also thought you’d like to know that Owen filed for divorce this morning. Melissa says the papers will be signed in record time.”
Aimee had put a good twenty feet between them before Jen finally processed it all, gathered herself, and called after her sister, “You know what would be good?”
Aimee turned around. “What?”
“Starting an association of inn owners in the valley. There are some in Westbury, you know. Maybe you could band together, use each other to help market the area. Just a thought.”
Aimee beamed. “And it’s a great one. Thank you.” She took a long, happy look around the grounds and came back to meet Jen’s eyes. “For everything.”
* * *
At last the sun dipped behind the hills in a perfect New Hampshire sunset, the kind she remembered, the kind she occasionally, futilely wished for while in the city. The fairy lights kicked on, and all the tents became outlined in strings of white. The murmurs of approval made her glow.
Big pockets of people milled around the beer tent, and the whiskey tent was so full Shea had tied back the flaps to accommodate everyone. Drinkers spilled out onto the grass slope leading down to the parking lot. Chris’s band was finally ready to go on, and it seemed like the tension that had cut through their earlier sound check had been smoothed over. Or at least shoved onto the back burner, which was all that Jen cared about at this point. In the meantime, the Scottish Highland dance exhibition was concluding, the last notes of the sole accompanying piper floating across the grounds.
The party would go on as long as it was successful and fun . . . or until eleven, according to Sue McCurdy. Whichever came first. For now, Jen stood in the shadows just outside the music tent, surveying her success, feeling proud but not remotely smug.
There was a silent tug on her awareness, something pulling at her from the side. It was a warm feeling in her heart, a little dance in her belly, and she knew its source before she turned.
Leith was crossing the grass beneath the strings of fairy lights connecting the tents. She hadn’t seen him all evening, word being that Duncan had asked him to run back to Westbury for some needed equipment. The sight of him now, here at the games where she’d wanted him from the beginning, more than made up for his absence.
He smiled with only his eyes, but it was a potent look, enhanced by the glitter from the overhead lights. His chin was set in hard determination, and she realized, with a great shiver, that she was his focus. His goal.
He wore a black T-shirt with a beer logo. It clung to his chest and waist, and fit snugly around his great arms. And then there was the kilt.
Holy mother of God.
No photo could have done him justice, no memory strong enough. She let herself enjoy watching him approach, noting with pleasure the way his mighty thighs kicked out the kilt, the way his big boots struck the ground. Each step brought him closer. Each step got her a little hotter.
“Hi,” he said when he reached her, and she loved how even if her eyes were closed, she would have been able to tell he was smiling.
“Hi, yourself. How’s it going over there? Everything set and all right? Do I need to talk to Duncan?”
He shook his head at the ground, sweat-dampened shag drifting over his ears and eyes, but he was grinning. “Always work with you first, isn’t it? I can’t even get in a flirt edgewise.”
She let out a huff of exasperation. “Leith, I—”
“I’m kidding.” He slid both hands around the nape of her neck, thumbs resting gently on her throat. “Everything’s great. Although Duncan’s canceling the hammer. Not quite enough room, unless you want to chance a broken window in the Hemmertex building or a hammer landing in the middle of the rugby field.”
“No, I trust you guys. Whatever you say will work.” She exhaled. “Good, good.”
“Dougall!” came some drunken bellow from outside the beer tent. “Just throw, damn it!” Sporadic laughter, followed by cheers.
Leith’s hands slid from Jen’s neck. He raised an arm toward the tent and gave the drunk a tight-lipped smile. When his head swiveled back to her, the heat had left his eyes, but not the easy joy she’d noticed in him since that evening a few days ago when he’d called her out of the blue to say he’d stay through the weekend. They stared at each other for who knows how long, their primal connection eviscerating the shadows between them.
“I just have to tell you,” she finally said, “you look so hot I can’t even stand it.”
“Funny”—he dragged a long, slow appraisal over her white tank top, jeans, and riding boots—“was going to say the same about you.” Then he gave her a confused look. “You’ve seen me in a kilt before.”
A nervous laugh escaped and she held up a hand. “Yeah, teenage Leith. Not the same thing. Not by a long shot.”
Hands coming to his hips, he turned solemn and said, “It was Da’s.”
She’d recognized the red MacDougall tartan of course, but she hadn’t noticed the slightly ratty hems and dulled fabric until he mentioned it. Deep lines crossed his forehead, and his chin dipped low. She finally understood what he didn’t say, and gasped. “You went inside.”
He nodded. “Duncan and Chris helped me clear it out. I’m going to put it on the market when things get a little better around here. Mayor Sue says they will, and if you’ve had a hand in turning this place around, I’ll believe it.”
She reached up to brush a piece of hair off his temple. “If you’d ca
lled me, I would’ve gone in with you. I would’ve helped, too.”
“I know. And I did call. Only after.”
She touched her lips, comprehending. “So that’s what changed your mind about staying.”
He took a few huge gulps of air and still didn’t meet her eyes. “Da is everywhere in the valley, in Gleann. He and I are . . . everywhere. I never let him go; I never let myself grieve. Always too much to do, always a million other ways to push aside what I didn’t want to accept.” His great shoulders hunched for his ears, stayed there. “It’s why I need to leave, Jen. It’s why I won’t throw. Because the games—any games, not just these—have always been about him. I can’t do it and not have him there where I can see him.” Those shoulders fell. “I realized, as I was taking out his stuff, the things he really, truly loved, that I needed to say good-bye to him. And I needed to stay this weekend to do it. So I called Rory in Connecticut and told her I wouldn’t make it back until next week.”
Though it seemed there was something else he wasn’t telling her—about the house or his dad or work, she couldn’t be sure—he wasn’t dwelling on it, and neither would she. This was a huge step, and an overwhelming sense of pride overtook her. That energy swept through her again, starting in her toes, climbing its way up her legs and making them tingle. It sent her body surging forward, her fingers grasping that beer T-shirt and balling it in tight fists. She yanked him down to her level, and if he was thrown off guard it was only for a moment, because she was distinctly aware of his lips parting before their mouths met in an unrelenting kiss that had her feet rising off the ground. No, it was him lifting her up, his arms wrapped tightly around her back in one of those grips that wordlessly said he owned her.
Because he did.
The thought, for once, didn’t deter her. Didn’t send her mind spinning away in panic. Didn’t make her think she was losing ground—because now, she was most definitely gaining.
She’d also gone dizzy, her toes dragging in the dirt, her body swaying out of her control. Something hit her back, then there was faint laughter and a stranger said, “Hey, what’s going on out there?” She opened her eyes to find Leith had backed her up against one of the tent poles, making the corner shake. The drunk, laughing man had peeked his head around the opening to watch them.
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