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

by Kam McKellar

  "Ouch," Riley said softly.

  "Yeah. Never saw him or spoke to him again until the other day. Wasn't sure what I'd find really... And it wasn't to get closure or anything. I mean, it was a long time ago. I'm here for my father, to get something he wanted me to have that Ross' mother also had."

  Lucy let out a romantic sigh, her chin perched on her hand.

  Riley rolled her eyes. "Please. There is nothing romantic about it, Luc. The guy used her and left without a single word. I take back what I said about him."

  "Well, maybe something happened. Like he wanted to and couldn't. You know?" She turned to Harper. "Did he say? When you saw him?"

  She shook her head. "No. He told me to go home."

  Both women gasped. Riley muttered some choice words and even Lucy let out a curse. Oddly, Harper wanted to defend him, a small part of her wondering if maybe Lucy was right. Maybe something had gone wrong. "It was weird, though," she admitted. "He seemed to think I was the one who broke his heart. Not the other way around."

  They frowned. "That is weird," Lucy said. "Maybe you should confront him. Ask him for the truth. Or his version of it anyway."

  Harper nodded. "Maybe." Sounded reasonable, but what if there was some explanation? What then? That possibility made her stomach clench.

  "Doesn't seem like something Ross would do." Lucy got up to finish making the sandwiches. "Then again, at that age... You were both very young."

  Harper pushed away from the table and helped Lucy pack the basket.

  "So why are you so put out with Jamie?" Lucy asked Riley.

  Riley let out a disgusted snort. "He wants to climb mountains."

  "That doesn't sound so bad," Harper said carefully, closing the basket.

  "It does if you're missing a leg."

  "Jamie lost his leg in combat," Lucy explained, then turned her attention to her cousin. "And you're not mad at him, Riley. You're worried. Big difference."

  "Well, it's easier to be mad." A sigh escaped Riley's lips. "I want him to climb mountains. I want him to fulfill every damn dream he has. But there are two of us now, another person to take into consideration. And where does that leave me. Home worried sick, that's where."

  "So go with him," Harper said, immediately cringing at her quick words and hoping she hadn't overstepped.

  The room went quiet. Lucy stopped cleaning up the counter to stare at Riley as Riley looked a little taken aback. Slowly a smile grew on Lucy's face. "She's a freaking genius."

  "I am?" Harper said, confused.

  Lucy nodded and then focused on Riley. "Go with him. It's perfect." She turned to Harper. "You know what Riley does for a living? She's a travel writer."

  Oh. Well, it was the perfect scenario then, wasn't it? Although Riley might hate mountain climbing. She could prefer writing about luxury destinations, high end hotels, spas, and stuff like that. Training and hiking up some mountain might not be her thing at all.

  "I . . . Huh," Riley said, lost in thought. "I could do a whole series of articles... We could train together, plan, see some of the world before having a family..." She looked at Harper thoughtfully. "Thanks for the suggestion."

  "Anytime."

  Lucy pulled the basket off the counter and handed it to Harper. "Let us know how it goes."

  "All I want is what I came for," Harper said. "If I can get that, drinks are on me."

  "Deal," Lucy and Riley said.

  As Harper left the kitchen, she overheard Riley say in a knowing tone, "She's going to get way more than she came for."

  Whatever.

  Harper wasn't interested in clearing the air with Ross. It simply didn't matter. No. They'd go through his mother's office in the distillery, find the notebook, and be done with it. Ross could go back to creating his labels and she could go back to... She paused at the front door. Go back to what? Her father was gone. Dean's was all but gone. Her mother had never been in her life. She had no brothers or sisters.

  Feeling a little sorry for herself, Harper pushed through the front door.

  But she quickly dispelled the woeful feelings. She could look at things with a defeated attitude or she could look at the future as a blank slate. And who knows, maybe she'd learn the art of bourbon-making after all. Follow in her father's footsteps...

  By the time she made it to the abandoned distillery, she was hot and out of breath.

  The picnic basket had grown heavier and her arm was aching. She wished she'd chosen shorts instead of jeans. But then jeans were far better for going through old boxes in an abandoned building.

  Blowing a strand of hair from her face, she headed for the stone building that still had lettering on the wooden door, indicating it had housed the offices of the old Balmorie Distillery. She pushed open the door with her hip, figuring Ross must already be inside, and no doubt irritated by her late arrival.

  "I'm back here," he called, hearing the old door creak. "Come on back."

  The sexy, rough brogue caused a flutter in her stomach. She sighed, acknowledging the effect that potent voice had on her. No point in denying it. She'd just have to deal with it and not let his voice or the man himself get to her.

  She followed the main hallway to an open door and went inside. Ross stood on a large wooden desk, which had been shoved against a tall bookcase in order to reach several file boxes that were stacked along the top. His arms were outstretched as he reached for one, his T-shirt—dusty and sporting a few streaks of dirt—rode up, revealing smooth skin. His shirt sleeves rode up too, giving her a nice view of his arms, biceps flexing under hard muscles.

  She rolled her eyes and set the basket on the corner of a nearby table. The entire office was crammed with stuff. Boxes, papers, files, crates. This was going to be more time consuming than she'd expected.

  "You're late," he said, pulling a box down and then facing her, clearly unhappy with her tardiness as she suspected.

  Harper drummed her fingers on the picnic basket, drawing his gaze. His expression changed completely. "Is that food?"

  Apparently, Riley and Lucy knew what they were talking about. "Yeah. You want to eat first? How long have you been here?"

  "About an hour," he answered, setting the box on the desk and jumping to the floor.

  Her pulse leapt as he moved forward and she tried not to imagine running her hands over those wide shoulders in welcome, feeling the contrast of the soft cotton of his shirt with the hard muscle beneath, or running her fingers through his black hair and making the short waves a rumpled, sexy mess.

  "Harper?" A sharp tone cut through her fantasy.

  She blinked. "What?"

  He towered in front of her. "I said it's fine with me to eat now if you're hungry."

  "Oh. Um." Heat filled her cheeks. Damn it. "Yeah." A little dazed, she opened the basket, grabbed a wrapped sandwich and shoved it at him. "Here." He took it, a flash of confusion crossing his face at her rigid tone as she walked around him and surveyed the office—anything rather than deal with him.

  "Have you gone through this stack here?" she asked, gesturing to a stack of four boxes in the corner.

  "Not yet. The ones against the wall I've done already. You're not hungry?"

  She kept her back to him and bent over the top box, opening the lid. "I'll eat in a little while..."

  After a few seconds, she glanced over her shoulder as Ross bit into the sandwich with unapologetic hunger. Annoyed, she returned to the box and began methodically going through the contents. For God's sake, how could eating a sandwich be sexy? The low hum of approval he gave made her look again to see his cheeks filled and his jaw working, his eyes closed. "Lucy is awesome," he muttered in adoration.

  Whatever. Where was her thanks? She'd helped. Not that he would know that.

  When his thirsty gulps from one of the waters reached her, it was all Harper could do to stay on task.

  "What the hell is this?"

  Ross held up a napkin cut out to resemble a heart. When he pulled it open it made a chain of four.
His brow rose, one black eyebrow going slightly higher than the other as he stared at her as though she'd had something to do with it.

  She was going to murder Lucy. Or Riley. Standing, she blew a strand of hair from her face. "Hell if I know. Lucy made the basket," she said, defensively, not admitting her part in helping. "Maybe she gave me the wrong one or something."

  Looking further, Ross pulled out a familiar wrapper and held it up between two fingers, unable to suppress his grin.

  Oh my God. She was going to die. A condom? A freaking condom?

  "Like I said, wrong basket. Obviously." She was going to more than murder. She'd torture first.

  Ross shoved the condom in the front pocket of his jeans, which only made her face grow hotter. He said nothing, but continued staring with that irritating grin of his.

  Heat crept up her neck and if this damn strand of hair didn't stay out of her face, she was going to yank it out. Irritated, Harper blew at it again with a loud huff.

  "Stop doing that."

  "Stop doing what?"

  He made a wild gesture with his hand. "That...thing with your hair. Tuck it behind your ear." He crumpled the heart napkin and chucked it in a nearby trash can, looking as irritated as she felt. Though why the state of her hair would annoy him, she didn't know. Whatever. She undid her messy twist—because that strand was bothering the crap out of her, not because it bothered Ross—and wound her hair into a tight bun and knotted it. "There. Happy now?"

  His eyes went narrow. "Not really." Then he turned and strode out the door.

  What the hell?

  Harper stood there for a long moment, trying to figure out what had just happened. She was itching for a fight, but not really sure why.

  As much as she wanted to go after him and have it out, she stayed put. Mostly, out of fear. Fear of what would come to light if she did. Lucy's words had wormed their way into her mind. What if Ross leaving twelve years ago wasn't what she always believed it to be?

  What if Lucy was right?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ross stood outside, wanting to hit something.

  How could he care for a woman who'd rejected him so easily?

  But he supposed, if he was being honest with himself, he had always cared. Even when she didn't meet him. Even when he'd returned to Scotland and hated her, he still cared about her. Which explained a lot when it came to his relationships since then.

  Seeing her standing in the office in another pair of x-rated jeans and blowing that damn bit of wavy hair from her eyes—sexy didn't even begin to cover it. He'd wanted to walk right up to her, tuck it behind her ear, and then kiss the daylights out of her, push her against the desk and do all the things he remembered doing and all things he'd learned since the age of eighteen.

  Beyond the road, the green hills spread out like a glossy magazine ad. It gave him pause and he focused on the view until the chaos eased from his body.

  He couldn't believe she was here. In Scotland. In the distillery and—

  A yell and a crash echoed from the building.

  Heart in his throat, Ross ran inside and into the office to find Harper's feet sticking in the air, the rest of her lost in a sea of boxes. She was cursing—a good sign all was well.

  Relief filled him as he moved closer and peered over the pile.

  Harper up glared at him. "Oh, now you show up. Could have used your help five seconds ago." She struggled to free herself and Ross had to admit—now that the scare was over—she looked pretty amusing stuck like that and mad as a hissing cat. "This is all your fault."

  "My fault." He leaned forward and offered a hand, which she smacked away.

  "Yes, your fault." Boxes tumbled as she tried to wiggle her way free, having to turn over, present her amazing, heart-shaped bum to his view in order to push herself to her knees. The calm he'd managed went right out the window, replaced by a quick jolt of lust. His mouth went dry. On her knees, she wiggled again, trying to find a foothold between the boxes and push herself to her feet.

  Jesus.

  Blood rushed to his groin. He scrubbed a hand down his face, trying not to look but unable to do anything else. Finally, in desperation, he leaned over, grabbed her waist, lifted her from the pile, set her on her feet, and then stepped away, heart pounding.

  She stumbled back and tossed her wayward hair from her eyes. "Well that's one way to do it, I guess. Where did you go?"

  "No where. You all right?"

  "Yeah. Just trying to reach those boxes up there." She nodded toward the top of the long book case. "Got one down and stepped off the end of the desk."

  "Lucky you didn't break something." Ross glanced around the room. "We're going to be here all day."

  "I can manage if you need to be somewhere. Really."

  Her hopeful voice only made him more agitated. Was she that eager to get rid of him? He did have things to do. Work, for one. "No. I'm good."

  Ross pulled the rest of the boxes off the bookcase and begin to go through each one. Harper returned to searching as well and they worked together for a long while in silence. They found a few interesting items and Harper quizzed him on a few things, but, for the most part, she gave him a wide berth.

  A few hours later the office was done.

  Harper dug through the picnic basket, unwrapped her sandwich and dove in. Mouth full, she gestured to the basket. "There's an extra sammich in there. You want it?"

  At his nod, she tossed it to him as he sat down in his mother's old chair. Harper leaned her hip against the desk. "I can't believe we didn't find it. Can you think of anywhere else it might be?"

  "She loved the burn that runs behind the still house. She had a small studio attached to the back. We can check there. Other than that, I don't know."

  "The burn is the creek, I take it."

  "Aye. They used to use its water to make the whisky. Not so different than Dean's. Though yours was limestone filtered, ours runs over peat."

  "So you were paying attention back then."

  Ross smiled. "When you weren't distracting me."

  He hadn't meant to go there, but the words came out effortlessly. He was relieved to see Harper take it in stride. She smiled at him and gave a slight shrug. No arguments from her. At least she wasn't denying what they'd had back then.

  They finished eating and after, Ross led Harper across the road to the old stone still house.

  With every step he took, the enormity of what he felt for Harper seemed to increase exponentially. At the same time so did the questions and lingering fears. He shoved his hands in his front pockets, trying to keep his mind focused on what they'd come here to do. But inside he was still wound tight. He wanted to touch her. Kiss her, feel her skin against his, to demand answers...

  A flush of anger spread through him; he didn't want to feel a goddamn thing.

  He shouldered open the thick wooden door. Inside, the still house was damp and cool. The smells of old barley and mash clung to the place. Harper entered behind him, her movement slow as she soaked in the large space, the massive cast iron mash tun, the copper stills, the pipes...

  "Wow. This is amazing. You didn't sell off the equipment."

  It was all still there, waiting.

  Ross cleared his throat, not wanting to think about why he hadn't or what was stopping him from using it himself. "Not yet, no. The studio is this way." He moved past her and headed to the back of the still house.

  Sunlight shone through the windows and the sound of the burn became louder as they went outside. The water rushed quick and clear over the rocks. The patio needed sweeping, the grass bank needed cut, and the worm tubs against the still house wall, which held the copper coils leading inside to the stills, were filled with leaves and debris instead of the cooling water from the burn. To the right of the patio was the small stone addition.

  Ross held the narrow door for Harper, pausing to admire the burn and the landscape beyond it before drawing in a deep breath and following.

  Inside, the long,
rectangular room looked as he remembered. A row of windows facing the burn gave the room its light. Against the opposite wall sat a long table that held art supplies stacked neatly in piles. A few canvases were leaning against the wall or stacked under the table.

  "This is really nice." Harper paused to gaze out the row of windows. The entire wall was windows and provided 'the most wonderful light', his mother would always say.

  Seeing her standing there, the light bathing her profile, making her hair glow, gave Ross heart burn. He winced a little and rubbed his chest.

  "Where should we start?" she asked, turning toward him.

  It took him a moment to gather his wits and answer. "Over there by her desk."

  A frown creased her brow as she regarded him, no doubt wondering what the hell was wrong with him. She moved toward the desk, but paused at the end of the long art table. Her hand smoothed the back of a chair there. Ross didn't need to look to know the back of that chair had his name carved into it and the table itself was marred with faded marker drawings from his youth.

  Her eyes went all sweet and sexy. "This was where you sat."

  He nodded.

  "This is where your love of art and design took shape," she said, leaning back against the edge of the table to face him, her hands resting on either side of her. Her smile was genuine, her eyes soft and golden, and it killed him.

  He didn't want her to see into his past, into the things that had shaped him. He wanted to be in control, not stand there and let her knock him off-balance like this. And he was damn tired of looking at Harper and not touching.

  Her look went sober.

  Aye, she knew where his thoughts had turned. The smile died slowly on her lips and her eyes went wider. The air between them went heavy and electric. Her hands gripped the edge of the table tighter. She licked her lips. It was the last straw.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Harper was pretty sure she was going to go up in flames. Her throat went dry and she seemed to have lost the ability to speak and worse yet, to move. Thank God the table was behind her, holding her up because the way Ross was looking at her made her knees useless.