Hot for the Scot

by Janice Maynard

  “I’m so sorry.” I felt her shoulders rise and fall.

  “It’s history, lass. Almost six decades have passed since then. I honored their memory by living.”

  She moved away, and I let her go. I was no psychologist, but suddenly the cluttered house made sense. Annis had lost the two people she loved most in the world. Since then, she had surrounded herself with memories. Magazines and newspapers and bits and pieces of other people’s lives. Anything she could hoard and keep with her.

  Now, even those things were being threatened. I redoubled my efforts, determined to do whatever I could.

  The hours slowed to a crawl.

  For dinner, Annis prepared chipped beef on toast. In exchange for my keep, I insisted on cleaning up the kitchen afterward. Annis went into the other room to catch the news and weather report on the telly.

  When I had things spotless, I went in search of her. The television station had dispatched crews all over the Highlands. In Inverness, the River Ness had breached its banks in places and had already flooded low-lying areas.

  Travel across northern Scotland was in shambles. All ferry service to the Orkneys and the Western Isles had been suspended indefinitely. The rain was forecast to continue for another thirty-six hours.

  Being trapped inside was an odd phenomenon. If we had been free to leave the house but chose not to, I’m sure we’d have found a dozen things to keep our attention. Knowing we were stuck, however, produced the beginning stages of cabin fever.

  At eight, Annis dragged out an antique version of Scrabble. We played halfheartedly for an hour. My hostess was surprisingly sharp. I drew nothing but vowels. Annis made good use of the Q, the J, and the Z.

  Though I worried about Willow and Skye, I had no messages when I momentarily powered up my phone at nine. I was tempted to check in anyway, but I resisted the impulse.

  Finally, it was late enough to go to bed. In the early morning when I had clutched my pillow and drowsily listened, the rain had been a comforting friend. Tonight, I turned out the light with a feeling of anxiety. I fell asleep immediately, but tossed and turned, struggling time after time with unseen foes in disturbing dreams.

  What would daylight bring?

  Chapter 14

  Annis woke me at 4 A.M.. “Get up lass,” she said, tugging my foot. “I need yer help.”

  In my bare feet and pajamas, groggy and disoriented, I followed her to the back of the house. In the mudroom, the lowest spot of the structure, water was seeping beneath the door.

  She thrust a stack of towels in my hands. “Start shoving these all around the baseboards.”

  I was no professional when it came to water intrusion, but I was fairly certain we were Sisyphus pushing a huge boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down again. “Annis,” I said as I watched every towel I positioned darken when it immediately became soaked. “Do you have an evacuation plan?”

  She shot me a glare over her shoulder. “I’m not leaving, girlie. This house is all I’ve got.”

  Perseverance and loyalty were all well and good, but I began to worry in earnest. Surely there were shelters somewhere. But neither Annis nor I had a vehicle. Even if we did, who knew if the roads were still passable?

  We had just exhausted the contents of Annis’s linen cabinet when a furious pounding at the front door demanded our attention. Or at least mine. Annis crouched on the faded linoleum, jaw tight, trying to stem the flood.

  I hurried down the hallway, expecting to greet someone from local law enforcement. But instead, I opened the door to find a large, wet, blazing-eyed Angus on the stoop. “I’m taking you both to my house,” he said. He raised his voice to be heard over the rain. “Grab what you need and get Mrs. Pottinger.”

  But Annis was on my heels. “I’m not leaving,” she said. Her face was white. In her panicked eyes I saw recognition of the truth.

  Angus huddled in the doorway, his heavy oilcloth coat shedding water like a faucet. His expression softened. “It’s mandatory, ma’am. I’ve got my mum already. The three of you can stay with me as long as necessary.”

  He turned his attention to me. “Five minutes. No more. Much longer than that and we won’t be able to get out at all.”

  The next little bit was a blur. At least my things were easy to gather. Poor Annis fluttered like bird with a broken wing, agonizing over what to take and what to leave. I helped her grab up some clothing and toiletries. Into a large canvas tote we dropped the photo of her husband and little daughter. Then we added a few other treasured picture frames.

  But Angus hustled us along. “We have to go,” he said. “Now.”

  The urgency and authority in his voice finally convinced Annis it was time. The trip from the door of the house to the car was half a dozen steps at most. But even with jackets and hoods we were at the mercy of the wind and the rain. The water we were forced to splash through was ankle deep.

  Angus had driven over in a large SUV, high off the ground. He scooped up Annis as if she were a child and deposited her in the back seat. I jumped in beside her, taking Angus’s proffered hand only long enough to feel a jolt of heat when his big fingers curled around mine.

  When he slammed the door, I took a deep breath. Ordinarily, I was not a fan of gas-guzzlers, but today our rescue chariot was a welcome sight. I peered out the window as the engine started with a muted roar. The road I had traveled on foot time and again had disappeared, swallowed by a menacing lake.

  A woman in the front seat murmured a greeting as we entered, but the situation was too fraught for polite conversation. Angus drove with both hands on the wheel, his gaze trained on the scene ahead. Had he not known the area so well, I’m convinced we would have ended up in the ditch somewhere. Many of the usual landmarks were already underwater.

  Even though we should have seen traces of dawn by then, the sullen skies kept the landscape dark. Occasionally an official vehicle passed us, going slowly. But for the most part, the roads—or what used to be the roads—were empty.

  It occurred to me that I had no idea where Angus lived. According to Annis, the crofter’s cottage where I spent time with him when we first met was not his real home. And I was certain he didn’t live with his mother.

  I don’t know how far we travelled…likely no more than a couple of miles, if that. But our painstaking progress could be measured in feet and yards, so slow was our speed. We did in fact head toward the place where Angus and I had first met. But we passed it and continued upward on a narrow gravel track.

  Bumping and lurching, we made our way toward the top of the hill. On a clear day, the view of the loch from up here would be incredible. At the moment, however, we might as well have been in a tunnel.

  It was hard to tell what the house would look like in daylight. I could see that it was made largely of stone and nestled close to the ground. Its presence would not be an eyesore to anyone scanning the hills. A sheltered portico allowed us to tumble out with no further drenching.

  Angus hustled us all through the front door, and we shed our outer garments. The mystery woman was younger than I had expected, surely far too young to be Angus’s mother. But apparently she was.

  After a round of quick introductions, I studied Màiri Munro. She seemed shy and subdued, but that could be attributed to her ordeal. Her hair was a darker shade than Angus’s, but she had the same brown eyes.

  Angus leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Help me get them settled. Then I’ll fix some breakfast for you and me.”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  The house was built as a backward E, the spine of the letter facing the view. The left wing was allotted to guest rooms. The center portion appeared to be the kitchen and living rooms. My guess was that the final hallway contained Angus’s private quarters.

  It was quite a house for a single man. I wondered if he entertained often.

  While Angus opened doors and turned on lights, I moved the two older ladies along the hallway.
I feared they were in shock, and I knew they could think of nothing else but what was happening to their homes in the village.

  Angus followed us to kiss his mother on the cheek and squeeze Annis’s hand. “You ladies rest for a bit. You’ve had a terrible night, and you must be exhausted. When you feel like it, we’ll have some lunch. But sleep as long as you like.”

  When our two charges were safely in their beds, Angus scrubbed his hand through his hair, mussing the wavy locks. His face was lined with worry. Dark circles beneath his eyes told me he hadn’t slept at all.

  “Why don’t I cook for you?” I said impulsively. “Bacon and eggs and toast? I can manage that.”

  He nodded. “That sounds verra appealing.”

  I followed him to the beautiful kitchen and after a few instructions from my host felt comfortable enough to take charge. Angus sat at the wooden table and rested his head in his hands.

  Though we didn’t speak, it wasn’t silent, because the rain continued to buffet the windows.

  The kitchen was a dream, akin to a spread I had once seen in Architectural Digest. Copper pots hung overhead, interspersed with strands of dried spices and flowers. A huge island in the center of the room provided enough workspace for a professional chef. As I moved quietly from fridge to stove and back again, I felt both in my element and far from home. It was an odd dichotomy.

  I liked to cook. In fact, my mother and grandmother had allowed me to help in the kitchen at a young age. Living alone and with the demands of my teaching job, though, I rarely bothered to prepare anything exciting. I ate out a lot with friends and snacked when I was too tired to come up with anything better.

  Angus might have been asleep. I couldn’t tell. On my own and in a foreign land, I wasn’t sure that I would have managed to coax Annis to safety on my own. Like Jamie Fraser, my fictional crush, Angus had swooped in and taken charge. Some would say it was easy to play the hero when money was no object and for a man who possessed great physical strength.

  But I knew it was more than that. I had a hunch that even if Angus’s mother hadn’t been in danger, he would have lent a hand to Annis and anyone else he felt needed his assistance.

  Warily, I approached the table, a plate of steaming food in each hand. When I set them down gently, Angus didn’t move. What should I do? The man needed his sleep. But then again, with his powerful frame, he needed calories, too.

  I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Angus,” I whispered. Beneath my fingers, his arm muscle flexed.

  “I’m not asleep,” he said.

  I smothered a grin. His gentle snoring had kept me company as I scrambled eggs and fried bacon. “The food’s ready,” I said.

  “Pull up a chair.”

  I joined him, and we dug into the meal, not speaking. The weariness that overtook me was more than an interrupted night’s rest. I was worried about Annis’s house. She was a widow on a pension. I couldn’t imagine that she had much tucked away for a disaster. And did she even have insurance?

  Angus sat back at last and groaned. “Damn, that was good. Ye’re a dab hand with breakfast, Hayley from Georgia.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I suppose you and I should get some sleep, too.”

  His head came up and his whisky eyes darkened. “Is that an invitation?”

  My mouth gaped. “Um…”

  He laughed, rubbing a hand over his stubbly jaw. “You look like a scared rabbit,” he said. “A babe in the woods.”

  The affection in those descriptive words kept them from being an insult. “You think I’m naïve and clueless.”

  Leaning his chair back on two legs, he tucked his hands behind his head. The posture drew attention to his trim waist and flat belly, not to mention more interesting parts south. “I think ye’re a charming, beautiful, fascinating woman. I’d like to get to know you better, and I might as well tell you right up front, I’m interested in taking you to bed. How’s that for plain speaking?”

  My mouth dropped open and my throat closed up. I couldn’t have answered if I tried.

  He grinned, white teeth flashing in a smile that made a woman want to strip down and take him right there on the kitchen table. “Well, who knew?” he said. “I managed to make the teacher mute.” His chair plopped down hard. He leaned forward and cupped my chin in one big palm, gently closing my mouth. “Thank you for breakfast.”

  I swallowed. He was so close to me we shared the same breath. “It was your food,” I croaked.

  “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  I was wearing wet pajamas that were no doubt muddy at the hem. Because I was braless, he could surely see the shape of my breasts. My hair was wet—again—and I hadn’t a shred of makeup on to brighten my complexion or to darken my pale eyelashes.

  Yet the crazy man was putting the moves on me.

  His mouth settled over mine like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. His lips were firm and dry, the pressure just right. When the tip of his tongue teased mine, I sighed and opened for him, tasting the strawberry jam he’d had minutes before.

  The kiss deepened. His harsh breathing echoed in my ears. One moment we were sitting at the corner of the table on adjacent sides, then, somehow, we were both standing and his big strong arms were around me, binding me to him, ignoring our damp clothing in favor of the heat we were generating.

  My hands clutched his shoulders. Something big pressed against my belly. I was dead sure it wasn’t his dirk. “I think this is why I came to Scotland,” I panted. “To meet you.”

  “Works for me.” He grunted as he lifted me and wrapped my legs around his waist. Backing me up against the beautiful stainless steel refrigerator, he kissed me deeper and harder, his mouth and his teeth bruising mine.

  I was on fire, caught up in something I had only dreamed about. Secretly, I’d believed this kind of passion was the stuff of fiction. Now I knew it was real. As real as the man who held me like he would never let me go.

  Nothing was going to happen. We were both fully clothed. And it was now the middle of the morning, at least.

  Nevertheless, when a small feminine voice broke the silence, we both jerked away from one another guiltily. Angus dropped me so fast it was a wonder I didn’t land on my butt.

  “Mother,” he said. “I thought you were asleep.”

  I had never seen a man turn so red so fast.

  Màiri smiled at her son. “And miss all the excitement in the kitchen? Why would I want to do that?”

  Apparently Angus had inherited his sly sense of humor from his mother.

  I wrapped my arms around my chest, painfully aware that my nipples were poking through my top. “I should go change clothes,” I said, mortified to be caught playing tonsil hockey with this lovely Scottish matron’s son.

  Màiri shook her head. “Don’t be embarrassed, my dear. I’m used to seeing my boy with beautiful women.”

  “Mother!” Angus’s expression was horrified.

  She patted his arm. “Oh, go away with ye. The little lass knows I’m teasing.”

  Angus gave me a pleading look as if begging for an escape route. But I was too busy worrying about my own skin. The Munros could play dueling words without me.

  I fled to the guest wing with my heart pounding. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, erasing any inclination to sleep. I did, however, want desperately to change clothes and to do something about my hair. It was naturally curly, and in weather like this, took on a life of its own.

  Angus’s guest rooms were stocked with every possible amenity. I used the hair dryer and my own large-tooth comb to make myself presentable. Unfortunately, I needed to do some laundry, but I did have a few clean undies left. I put on my favorite pair of jeans and a soft button-up top in a shade of teal that would hopefully bring some color to this dreary day.

  All the while I was getting ready, I thought about Angus. The man I had seemingly conjured up out of my Scottish Highland fantasies was not only real, but there was
absolutely no chance he was going to disappear back into the eighteenth century. I considered that a win-win.

  Fortunately for me, we had two very good chaperones in Annis and Màiri. Despite my fascination with Angus, I was not an impulsive person. I was a planner. A list maker. A debater of pros and cons. If I decided to move forward with a fling, it would be with the full knowledge that I had considered the ramifications from every angle.

  Chapter 15

  The rain slowed to a drizzle as the hours crept by and finally stopped at four in the afternoon. A pale but determined sun broke through the clouds as the weakening front at last rolled away.

  Annis badgered Angus to take her back down the mountain. “I want to see what’s left of my house,” she said.

  Angus stood firm. “As soon as it’s safe, we’ll go.”

  He had been on the phone repeatedly throughout the morning and early afternoon, talking to one of his friends who worked with a rescue crew. Until the water began to recede, the roads were still impassable.

  It was possible that Angus’s SUV could negotiate the dangerous route, but I knew he wouldn’t want to get in the way of emergency responders.

  At noon Màiri had prepared four plain cheese sandwiches, though none of us ate together. Annis, not surprisingly considering her age, slept for several hours. Angus swallowed his meal on the fly, heading out to check on his horse. I wouldn’t have minded sitting down with Angus’s mother if she hadn’t earlier caught me in the kitchen making out with her son, but I took my lunch to my bedroom because I was still embarrassed.

  At five, Angus tracked me down. “How about helping me fix dinner?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Do you have enough food in the house?”

  “I’ve got things in the freezer. I thought we could do something simple like spaghetti.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Do the Scots even eat Italian food?”