Any Scot of Mine (The MacLarens of Balmorie, 4)

by Kam McKellar

  "I'm sorry about your father."

  His words were said with sincerity, it made her heart ache. "Thanks. Sorry about your mom."

  Ross nodded. "Maybe they're up there somewhere..."

  "Yeah. Looking down on us wondering why the hell we're acting like idiots."

  A half smile curved his lips. "Aye. Probably."

  Harper drew in a deep breath, placed both elbows on the table. "So, why are we? I mean, logically, in the end, what's the point? It solves nothing."

  "When it comes to you and me, Harper, logic never factored into it very much."

  She couldn't argue with that. With them, it had always been heat and emotion, recklessness and insanity.

  "We were just kids back then. We can be adults about it." She paused, not believing she was about to say this. "You know, leave the past in the past." Ross' dubious look, made her add, "Okay, well, we can at least agree not to go there."

  "Probably wise," he agreed softly.

  "So," she searched for something to fill the silence, "What is it you do anyway?"

  He nodded toward the label she was picking at with her fingernail. "I design those."

  Surprised, Harper stopped picking, held up the bottle and took a good look at the label. It was nice. Eye catching. "Really?"

  "Really."

  "How did you get into that? I had no idea you were into art."

  Ross leaned back in the chair, his shoulders relaxing a little. "Started as a hobby when I was little. Mum would bring me and Liam to her office at the distillery while she worked, would give us some paper and markers... And that's what I'd do, pretend I was creating labels and ads for the business. She'd pin them on the wall and say one day she'd use one. When I came back here from the States, had to figure out what to do with the rest of my life, so I studied design. I do a lot of work for independent breweries." He shrugged. "Pays the bills."

  All the time she'd known him—granted it had only been a short time in the scheme of things—he'd never mentioned his 'hobby'. "I supposed there are a lot of things we don't know about each other."

  "Aye. What about you? I'm going to guess accounting."

  Harper rolled her eyes. "I did mention that when we were..." Oops. Not going there. "Chief financial officer of Dean's if you must know."

  "Impressive. And what else? Married, kids, divorced? What's Harper been doing for the last twelve years?"

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why he cared, but then she was pretty sure he didn't care. He was just making conversation. "No kids. No marriage. You?"

  "Aye."

  The answer hit Harper like a sledge hammer. Her gut twisted and a sour knot formed. He was married?

  "Met her at university. Married second year. She left me by the fourth."

  "Oh. Sorry to hear that."

  "Don't be. My fault."

  She wanted to start digging, and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from questioning him.

  Ross smiled. "Kills you, doesn't it?"

  "What?"

  He leaned forward. "Come on, Harper. You never could keep a straight face about anything. My marriage failed because my heart wasn't in it, even though I told myself it was and wanted it to be. End of story."

  "I was engaged once," she admitted. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that her engagement failed because her heart, too, hadn't been in it. But then that took her to places she'd rather not go. Not with him. And not right now. No, it was better to stay on task. "So, what's it gonna be, Ross? Will you help me find the notebook?"

  A deep sigh fell from his lips and he sat back in his seat once more, dwarfing the chair. "Aye. But Harper... How deeply is Dean's in trouble?"

  "I know what you're thinking. By the time I have product ready to go, Dean's will be lost. And you'd be right." Harper drew in a deep breath and gave voice to the truth. "Dean's is already lost. No," she said before Ross could say anything encouraging. "It is. It's too late. Couldn't tell my father that now could it? Not while he was sick..." She tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. "I'm sure you know what it's like to lose the family business."

  "I do. But I was much younger. Mum tried to revive the business when we got back from Kentucky. But I was mostly away at university, away from the distillery and of little help to her when I was home. At least you were there, Harper. You gave him hope."

  She shrugged at that.

  "So why are you really here then, if not to save Dean's?"

  "Because I promised. You weren't there. With him. He was so adamant. I couldn't say no. Part of me wonders... I mean, he had to know the time needed, the logistics, that it'd be too late. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly," she said softly.

  "Or maybe he was trying to give you something to start over with. An option."

  Harper let out a small laugh and took a drink of her beer. "A brewer I am not. I'd have to hire someone, find a small place to brew... Lost cause."

  "And still you're here."

  "Because I wanted him to rest easy. And because whatever is in that notebook is part of my dad. I want everything there is to have of him. Even if it is just a copy. Like I said, I don't want to take anything from you or Liam. I just want..."

  What the hell did she want?

  She hadn't quite been honest with Ross. Part of her had the same hope as her father had. That somehow, by coming here and getting the notes, she could save Dean's. But when said out loud it seemed impossible.

  "I haven't gone through my mother's things since she died," Ross admitted, fiddling with his bottle. He cleared his throat and looked at her, a hard veneer sliding over his features, hiding his loss. "Guess now is as good a time as any."

  "I hadn't thought of that." Frustration blew from her lips. She hadn't thought of a lot of things.

  "Don't worry about it." He drained his beer, getting up and tossing it in the trash. "There aren't a lot of boxes to go through." He walked to the doorway, paused and turned back at her. "You coming?"

  Harper stood, wondering why he doing this? Probably to get it over with. Probably wanted his life to go back to normal asap, back to a Harper-free existence.

  As Ross led Harper to the attic, he wondered why the hell he was doing this.

  Only forty minutes earlier, he'd stood at the bottom of the attic stairs and vowed Harper Dean would never make him do something he wasn't ready to do.

  And yet here he was, climbing those same stairs.

  As soon as he found the notebook and made Harper a copy, she'd be gone. Out of his life. Things could go back to normal. Though, he had to admit his life had become a quiet one. A lonely one. A dull one, in many ways. Boring, as Liam would say. Harper's appearance had certainly given it more spark than it had in years. Not that that was a good thing.

  He opened the attic door, turned on the light, allowing her to pass him and enter first. As she brushed by, he caught a whiff of the perfume she wore. Subtle and sweet—the very opposite of Harper. But still it scrambled his senses. He never should have kissed the wench. A groan rumbled in his throat as he rolled his eyes.

  Harper turned in question. "What?"

  "Nothing. The boxes are over there against the wall."

  Trying to keep his distance, he stayed back a few feet. Not that it worked. His gaze kept going to her bum as she headed to the wall. Harper in hip-hugging jeans...

  She stopped at the pile of boxes, neatly stack along the wall. The dim light made her hair into a halo. She looked innocent, an angel with a potty mouth and a bad attitude. "Maybe you should..." she said, obviously uncomfortable with digging into his mother's things.

  Ross drew in a deep breath and moved to the boxes, opening the first and gazing into memories he'd long forgotten.

  What he thought would be a gut-wrenching task turned out to be a trip through memory lane.

  Time had dulled the sharper hurts, though the grief was still there. Like flipping through a forgotten photo album, remembering happy times, remembering things he'd long forgotten. An
d somewhere along the journey of going through box after box, he'd began telling his tale, sharing pictures that made up his mother's life, telling the stories associated with them.

  "That's the last one," he said, closing the box and returning it to the pile as Harper lifted her hands over her head and stretched, cracking her spine. He couldn't help but stare, his gaze traveling over her curves.

  Her hands fell and she smiled at him. An airy sensation blew through his stomach and he just stood there like a bloody, lust-crazed fool.

  Ross cleared his throat. Her look went from relaxed to something else... As though she knew what he was feeling, as though she was feeling the same as him. For a moment they seemed frozen. The short space between them snapped with awareness. Her throat worked. He saw everything, the pulse under her skin, the slight parting between her lips...

  All he had to do was take three long steps.

  To have his hands on Harper again. God, just the thought made him ache.

  "It's late." Harper let out a shaky breath and squared her shoulders.

  Don't go.

  Ross blinked as the force of that thought hit him like a damn truck. What the bloody hell was he thinking? He wanted her to go.

  She gazed at the boxes, her eyes going sad and disappointed. They'd failed to find anything resembling the notebook. "There are more boxes," he blurted. Her gaze swung to him, and the small bit of hope in her eyes killed him. He cleared his throat. "At the distillery."

  He dragged a hand through his hair, annoyed with himself for wanting her, and for caring about her feelings. She'd never cared about his. "There's no power out there," he added, "so it'll have to be tomorrow."

  "That'd be great." She worked her lip. "Thank you. For doing this. I know it must be hard to—"

  "No. Don't worry about it." He walked to the attic door. "I'll give you a lift home."

  In the end, Harper refused his offer for a ride, claiming she needed the fresh air. Everything inside of him wanted to let her go, grateful that she refused, grateful not to have to spend another minute with her. "It's dark, Harper."

  "I made it here just fine, remember? It was dark then, too. It's a full moon. Plenty of light."

  "Aye, but I can't knowingly—"

  She held up a hand. "Ross. Just leave it." With that she turned and walked down the front path to the driveway. He watched her for a long minute, then stepped off the front porch, his long stride easily catching up to her at the front gate. He fell in step beside her to the sound of her annoyed sigh.

  They crossed the bridge and went past the abandoned buildings of the distillery in silence, only the sound of their shoes crunching on dirt and gravel filling the space around them.

  Ross kept his hands shoved into his jacket pockets lest he do something daft like try to hold her hand. He wanted to ask her why. Why she had let him go. Why she hadn't met him the night before he left Kentucky like he'd asked her too. He wanted resolution, an answer, an ending. Part of him wanted a confrontation, for her to know how much she had hurt him. But that of course, meant she'd know how much it had.

  He'd turned her into a selfish bitch in his mind. But now, seeing her again, knowing her again, that just didn't fit with the person walking next to him.

  As soon as Balmorie came into view, Harper increased her pace. "Thanks for walking me. I can make it from here."

  "Harper."

  She was already several steps ahead of him, like she couldn't get away fast enough. But at his voice, she stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"

  He had no clue why he said her name. But he covered quickly. "Noon. Meet me at the distillery at noon."

  She nodded and then hurried down the road.

  Ross stayed rooted to the spot, watching her go down the long, gentle curve of the old track and toward the castle. She crossed the lawn, passed under the lights of the front entrance, and disappeared inside.

  He still cared about her.

  "Brilliant," he muttered, rolling his eyes to the moon and then shaking his head as he turned to leave. A car door shutting made him look back to the car park at the castle. Tail lights from Liam's truck came on, followed by head lights.

  "Even more brilliant," Ross said, making his way up the road.

  Wouldn't take long for Liam to pull up beside him. And he wasn't in the mood to deal with his brother right now.

  But he couldn't avoid it as Liam's truck eventually reached him.

  Ross got into the passenger seat and as soon as Liam opened his mouth—no doubt to inquire why he was walking in the middle of the night—Ross told him to shut up and drive. He'd probably encountered Harper as he left. Surprisingly, his brother actually listened and didn't say a word until he turned off the road, crossed the bridge, and pulled down the drive.

  As Ross opened the door, Liam said, "She was crying."

  "What?"

  "Harper. When she passed me in the Great Hall. Her eyes were wet, like she'd been crying."

  "And your point?"

  Liam gave his brother a disgusted look. "My point is that you're a fucking idiot."

  Ross got out without responding and shut the door, ignoring his brother's words as he went inside, shut down the house for the night, and headed upstairs. In bed, he tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the shadowy ceiling. So she'd been crying. Not his problem. She could have very well been thinking about her father. Might not have had a damn thing to do with him, them, or the past.

  And if it did, well... Too bad.

  He let out a heavy sigh and told himself it didn't matter. He might still care about her, but at least this time he knew better than to act on it. He wouldn't open his heart to her again only to be rejected again. Once was enough.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "How did things go with Ross?'

  Harper was halfway across the hall when the question stopped her. She turned to find Lucy coming from the left wing hallway with a large vase of fresh flowers. It was a new day and Harper had very little sleep. She'd spent half the night thinking about Ross, wondering, imagining, dreaming, and admonishing herself for doing so. Last night, spending time with Ross, was...unexpected. Definitely a mistake.

  Lucy shifted the vase, holding it to one side. Her smile was as bright as the flowers she held. "You did find him?"

  "I did, yes." Part of her suddenly wanted to open up and flood Lucy with an accounting of all things Ross. She barely knew the woman, but Lucy had an openness about her, a quirkiness that Harper liked. Or maybe it was the down-to-earth vibe. Who knew. But it made Harper want to blab the entire sordid story.

  "Didn't go as planned?" Lucy surmised.

  "Pretty much. But things seem to be going better now. About to meet him at the old distillery."

  Lucy bit her lip thoughtfully. "It's almost lunch. Why don't you take something with you." She set the vase on a nearby table. "I'll make you guys a basket."

  "Oh no, it's okay."

  "Nope. I insist," Lucy said already walking to the kitchen. "Come on, Harper. It won't take long," she called over her shoulder.

  "But . . . I'll be late," she said lamely following.

  "Nothing wrong with keeping a man waiting a little. Besides, once he sees what you brought, all will be forgiven. Trust me."

  "And if he worries about where you are, well, that's good for him too," Riley said in a surly tone, meeting them in the hallway as she, too, was heading for the kitchen. Riley had fire in her eyes and Harper sensed it had nothing to do with keeping Ross waiting.

  In the kitchen, Lucy directed her to the pantry to get bread while Lucy pulled items from the massive refrigerator. When Lucy had her hands full, she shut the door with her rear and gave Riley a look. "You gonna help or sit there and watch us?"

  "Sit here and watch." Riley parked her hip on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Harper liked the MacLaren women. They were exactly the sort of friends she'd have if she ever allowed herself time to have friends, that is. "Man trouble?" Harper ventured
as she unwrapped the bread and took the knife Lucy handed her.

  Riley snorted. "If you can call him a man. I prefer to call him a dic—"

  "Riley!" Lucy shouted.

  "What?" she asked innocently. "He is. Well, he's acting that way at least. And I'm sure Harper knows all about dic—"

  "Riley!"

  Harper couldn't help it. She started laughing. Lucy followed. Riley, still pissed off, finally gave a begrudging chuckle.

  "It's okay," Harper assured Lucy. "She's right. I've known my share."

  "So what's the deal with you and Ross anyway?" Riley asked.

  "It's..." She searched for where to begin.

  "Complicated? It always is with the good ones," Riley said.

  Harper eyed her for a long second. "You think he's a good one? Ross, I mean."

  "Any man who dotes on Fran and Hamish like Ross does and allows that ole coot to run all over him... Yeah, he's a good one."

  Harper thought about that for a long moment. She felt lost, honestly. And alone. And in need of friendship and support. "He was my first."

  Riley and Lucy's eyes grew wide. Understanding the significance to that statement, they pulled her to the table. Lucy brought over tea and poured as she gestured for Harper to continue. Harper sipped on the hot liquid, wondering if she'd done the right thing by sharing, but wanting desperately for some support. Maybe she just needed a second opinion. Someone on her side. Someone to tell her that her feelings were normal and okay. "I was seventeen. Totally in love."

  "This must've been when Ross and Liam moved to the States. Ian told me about that. That was what ten years ago?"

  "Twelve. They were only there for six months or so. We tried not to like each other because, you know, our parents were together and there was a chance we'd be step siblings. I don't know... maybe that was part of the attraction. The fact that we knew we couldn't and shouldn't be together. Only made me want him more. Anyway, one thing led to another. He was my first, and the next day they were gone. No note, no . . .explanation. Just gone."