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

by Kam McKellar

  By the time they gave up and rolled off, they lay in the grass panting, the edge gone from Ross' anger. But, still, his mood was dark and unsettled. "Stop your moaning and groaning," he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his jaw where one of them had struck him with an elbow.

  "Think you broke my fucking nose," Liam complained, touching the bridge of his nose tenderly.

  "One of you bastards kneed me in the bloody balls," Jamie said, irritably as he sat up, wincing.

  "That'd be the price ye pay," Hamish lectured, standing over them, "for behavin' like a bunch of dobbers."

  "I seem to remember you rolling around on the ground with us a time or two," Devin reminded him as he got up and went to the cooler sitting by the corner of the building.

  Hamish scoffed at the remark, instead focusing his attention on Ross. "So?"

  "So what?" He didn't want to get into it now. He wanted to go home, take a shower, grab a beer, drink it on the back patio, and... Well, he didn't know after that. Work, maybe.

  "Well, I dinna see what's stoppin' ye now."

  Ross frowned deeply and stood, rolling his sore shoulder and then catching the bottle of water that Devin tossed him from the cooler. "Thanks." He opened it and took a long drink. "Harper wants to go home, Hamish. End of story."

  "Or she's going because she thinks she's not wanted," Devin said, leaning against the truck.

  "Have you asked her to stay?" Ian said.

  Ross eyed his cousins, wanting to throttle them again. All three had found love, and, as such, their brains were completely skewed toward happiness, hope, and all things wonderful. "Why don't you all skip back to the bloody castle with your wee wands and fairy tale endings. I have work to do."

  He left to the sounds of their laughter. Like they knew all about it. Like it was so simple. Like they could possibly understand how he felt.

  As Ross slid into the seat of his truck, he tried to put it from his mind. But it was impossible.

  He'd been alone for a long time. He had a routine, a simple life. What if he did ask her to stay, to give them a chance? Would Harper even want this kind of life? What was he thinking? Of course she didn't; she'd packed her bags quickly enough.

  Ross stopped his truck in the road as it curved toward the distillery. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and let out an irritated breath. His pride was hurt, even though it didn't make sense—Harper had had nothing to do with keeping them apart. He hadn't asked her to stay, aye. But he didn't need to. Her answer was there packed and ready to go on the bed.

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Damn you, Harper."

  After pacing her room and being madder than a hornet, Harper finally settled down, first booting her laptop and checking her email and then parking her rear end on the window seat. She'd packed her bags to keep busy, to do something because she hadn't known what else to do. Yet, big bad-attitude Ross seemed to think that was a huge problem. How dare he accuse her of not being able to accept his love back then. They'd never know for sure, now would they?

  What a pompous, presumptuous ass.

  Not to mention a jerk for alluding to her mommy abandonment issues. She never should have confided in him all those years ago—that she was afraid of loving someone, and, most of all, afraid of believing and accepting that anyone could love her in return. Which didn't make a lot of sense seeing as how she knew to the very marrow of her bones that her father had loved her. But that was different; he'd always been there from day one.

  Despite her fears, she'd taken a leap of faith. She had believed in Ross. And then he betrayed her and tossed her away without so much as a glance backward—or so she'd thought. Still, that moment had given immense credibility to her young fears of being unlovable to everyone but her father.

  His words in the hallway echoed in her mind. He'd accused her of rejecting him now.

  Like he'd made any offers.

  Whatever.

  With a huff, she leaned back against the thick stone wall and admired the view of the loch. They hadn't resolved anything. And no wonder he was pissed off. He'd learned the truth—one she should have told him about—and had come to confront her only to find her packing up to leave. If it were the other way around, Harper knew she'd be pissed off and hurt, too.

  And, yeah, rejected.

  Back then, all Ross had known was that she'd turned her back on him and let him go without a word. And she knew exactly how that felt. And here she was not telling him the truth and preparing to leave without closure, without coming to some kind of understanding.

  Ross deserved that much. So did she.

  As Harper got up, her email dinged. She slid into the chair at the table. It was from her uncle. She opened to read what she already knew. In order for them come out on top, the sale of Dean's had to happen now, before it sank even more into decline. The extended family was in agreement. Whether she'd found her father's recipes or not, Dean's had to be sold, absorbed into the massive corporation that could continue its name and serve their customers.

  A sale now meant she'd be set for life. But still it was a bittersweet end, one that made her heart ache as she relayed her agreement and shut down her computer. It made it a little easier to take, knowing that her father hadn't sent her here on some last ditch effort to save the un-saveable, so at least she didn't feel like she had disappointed him in that regard.

  He'd known it was over. He'd only been looking out for her heart, her future. He knew the sale of Dean's would keep her in the black for the rest of her life.

  He just wanted her to be happy. With Ross, apparently. With the one man she'd never been able to get over. Her father had seen what she hadn't been willing to see.

  And maybe it was time to free herself from the past.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Harper pulled her cardigan tighter around her torso and approached the bench. From her vantage point on the hill amid the high grasses and wild flowers, the view of the loch and the ruins of old Castle MacLaren below was breathtaking. A cool summer breeze stirred her hair. She tucked it behind her ears and sat down with a content sigh.

  Following the directions on the brochure she'd found in her room, she'd hiked to the hill, needing the peaceful quiet of the outdoors. And she'd certainly found it. The setting sun cast an array of pinks and purples and oranges on the surface of the water. The ruins were more beautiful than in the pictures, built on the craggy shore of the loch, standing like some old sentinel, its walls fallen, time coating the stones with moss.

  Memories of her previous vacation to Scotland with her father were still rich and clear in her mind. She'd loved the country then, and loved it now. The smell of the air. The rolling green countryside that reminded her of home. Her heart gave a painful squeeze at the thought of home.

  Home wasn't what it used to be.

  Her father was gone. Her job would soon be non-existent. Most of her friends were married with kids and had drifted away...

  A bird circled and then landed on the old ruined tower below. She watched it for a while, deciding she wouldn't sulk, wouldn't think of all the things she didn't have. It'd be better to view her circumstances as a launching pad, as a way to start over. When Dean's sold, she'd have a hell of a lot of money. Not that one could buy happiness, but it sure wouldn't hurt. It'd give her the means to take whatever direction she wanted.

  Though, figuring out what that direction was might prove challenging.

  Maybe she'd buy a place in here in Scotland. Right next to Ross. Wouldn't that just annoy the piss out of him? She couldn't help but smile at the thought.

  "Oh, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt..."

  Harper nearly came off the bench. Her hand flew to her chest, surprise stuck in her throat.

  A woman coasted through the grass on a bike, her foot coming down to stop her momentum, and then her gaze drifting to the incredible view. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? How pretty it is."

  It was, but Harper was still trying to find her voice after being sca
red half to death. Finally, she composed herself. "You're American."

  "So are you," the woman responded with a smile. "Staying at the castle?"

  Harper nodded. "You?"

  "Been renting one of the cottages. Third week."

  "Wow, that's a long time." The idea of having so much vacation time made Harper a little envious. But then, her fate was changing. She could do the same if she wanted. What a novel thought that was.

  "Have six more weeks left. Well, I'll leave you to your solitude. It's a nice place to come and think."

  "You don't have to leave." Harper scooted over to the end of the bench to make room. "If you don't mind me asking, why so long?"

  The woman parked the bike and took a seat. Harper liked the friendly smile and the dark, intelligent eyes behind black-rimmed glasses. Her hair was just as dark as her eyes and was cut in a long shoulder-length bob, one side tucked behind her ears. She wore jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of a sheep wearing the Scottish flag. Below the picture were the words: SHEEP HAPPENS. Harper smiled and introduced herself. "I'm Harper."

  "Abbie. The 'so long' is because I'm on a working retreat. What about you?"

  Such a loaded question. She had no idea where to start, so she settled on dry humor. "Long story. Lost loves, regrets, past coming back to haunt you. That sort of thing."

  Abbie laughed, but her eyes held understanding. "Well, in some case," she said thoughtfully, "regrets aren't so bad. Means you have something to regret. Instead of playing it safe and never doing anything at all," she ended on a wistful note, staring off into the distance.

  Harper supposed she was right. In the end, she didn't regret meeting Ross, or being with him the first time (or the second), or coming here to Scotland. She'd never have those experiences otherwise.

  "Good point," she said.

  Abbie glanced over and shrugged. "Apparently, I'm full of them. Or so my friends say. You probably met them. They're staying in the cottage behind the castle."

  The only group of friends Harper had seen around the castle were the women there for Riley's engagement celebration. "Riley's friends?"

  Abbie nodded. "Mine as well. I came a little earlier than everyone else and decided to stay on after they leave. Riley and I met in a creative writing class in college... She's a travel writer. I write mysteries. Do you know her?"

  "Yes, but not very well."

  "She and James... Beautiful couple." Addie relaxed her back against the bench rail. "This place is full of beautiful things. And people."

  Ross' image rose in Harper's mind. "Tell me about it."

  Abbie let out a soft laugh. After a moment, she said, "Well, good luck with your, uh...long story."

  As Abbie got up and went to the bike, Harper decided to go out on a limb. Not that it was any of her business, but she liked Abbie's eclectic vibe and obvious sense of humor. "Good luck with yours. I'll remember what you said about regrets, if you do the same." She gave Abbie a genuine smile.

  Abbie chuckled at that and kicked the stand. "Single mom here. Taking risks kind of diminishes when you have a kid to consider." She turned the bike and gave Harper a wink. "And I wouldn't change that for the world, so I'm good. Nice meeting you, Harper."

  "You, too."

  Harper watched Abbie hop on the bike and pedal away.

  For a long time she remained on the bench, thinking of Abbie words, and her own life, her future, and, of course, Ross. He stayed stubbornly in her mind, his face and hard body taunting her, his last words winding their way around her heart, making her think of her mother.

  Was he right? If they'd stayed together all those years ago, would her fears have reared up and made her question Ross' love? And, more importantly, her belief that she was worthy to be loved. That was—he'd nailed it on the head—the root of her fear, after all.

  She didn't want to admit it, but deep down, Harper knew exactly what Ross had meant back at the castle, and what he'd been offering.

  Question was, would she take it?

  Gains and losses. Risk and reward. It was a numbers game. And she was a numbers girl...

  Ross walked through the distillery's still house, studying the old equipment.

  Old, aye. But workable.

  He had it all figured out. He always had. He knew exactly how he'd bring back the distillery, how he'd market it—a small batch operation producing whisky the traditional way, using traditional equipment, every step of the process done in-house, from malting their own barely to bottling the product. Not many distilleries could say that these days. Hell, he'd even created the labels...

  And yet he never set things in motion.

  But he could. If he wanted.

  The last batch he and his mother had made was still, eight years later, maturing in oak casks. Years ago, when it had reached legal maturity, all of three years, Ross and Liam had decided against selling it. Maybe now was the time.

  It'd be a start.

  Ross dragged a hand through his hair and let out a heavy breath.

  For so long, he'd coasted by, never challenging himself, never putting his hopes and dreams on the line. A bloody coward if ever there was one. Harper showing up, turning his static life on end, had certainly made him wake up.

  As he glanced around the massive room, envisioning a new path for himself, for his family, he couldn't help but think of Harper and want her to be a part of it, too. A part of everything, if he was honest.

  But she was too damn stubborn to let go of the past. He could see it in her eyes back at the castle. See it in the packed suitcase. He wanted to shake some sense into her, wanted her to love him. She was the most frustrating, stubborn, maddening woman he'd ever known.

  And he didn't know what to do. Or how to get through to her. Well, other than putting his heart on the line once again, which filled him with the coldest kind of fear. He wasn't sure he'd recover a second time if she—

  "I always loved this room."

  Ross turned slowly, his heart tripping, as he came face to face with maddening, prone to criminal activity, sexy as hell Harper Dean—the woman he loved even though he wished he didn't.

  He wasn't sure how long she'd been there, leaning against the door frame, but from her pensive look and tone it had to have been a few minutes at least. "What do you want, Harper? I'm busy."

  Irritation flashed in her eyes, but she bit her lip, holding back a reply.

  Wonders never ceased, he thought, his brow arching as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  "I watched you. Looking at all this," she said with a sweep of her hand. "You want to give it a go, don't you?"

  He shrugged. "Figured you'd have a plane to catch."

  And still, she didn't fire back. His eyes narrowed, wondering what game she was playing this time, wondering how far he could push before her temper got the best of her.

  "I have a business proposition for you." That was the last thing he wanted and went to tell her so, but she held up her hand and cut him off, seeming jittery and nervous, which wasn't like her. "Please, just hear me out."

  Curiosity got the better of him, and he gestured for her to go on. "I think we might want the same thing. I mean, I'm only now figuring it out myself. But you have the equipment. I have the capital. I have a lot of capital, Ross. We could revive the distillery. Me, you, and Liam."

  Her words were having a hard time registering in his brain. Harper was wringing her hands together, her golden eyes wide and big, and her forehead creased with two lines of worry. Bloody hell. She was serious.

  "Oh, and here," she said, pulling the wadded up piece of paper that he'd thrown at her earlier.

  He didn't move. His heart was pounding hard. The air had grown thick and he was finding it hard to breathe.

  "Here." She was standing there, holding it out to him and he hadn't taken it. "Take it."

  A light sensation blew through his gut as he took the paper. He didn't want it, but she looked like she might cry if he didn't.

  "I, uh...replied." She gest
ured to the paper. She was breathing harder and was biting her lip.

  Ross swallowed hard, forcing himself to remain calm and emotionless. He opened the paper. His old writing was faded, the words practically emblazoned on his heart. He knew them by heart, knew he'd ended by telling her he loved her and asking her to meet him...

  And there at the bottom in bold, black marker was Harper's reply.

  I'm meeting you now. If you'll have me.

  His throat went dry and hope burned through his chest as he lifted his gaze to hers. Her eyes were swimming with tears. She was scared, terrified, like him. Terrified of being hurt, left, rejected.

  She drew in a steady breath. "I love you, Ross. I never stopped."

  What she was saying, it hit him so hard, his legs went weak and his stomach erupted into...butterflies. Everything she was saying, came to him in one clear, blinding moment. The life they could have, the future they could build together.

  "Please say something. Look, I know—"

  In one step he had her in his arms. Her lips were wet with tears as he kissed them, pressing hard at first and then going soft, placing tender kisses until she was gripping his shirt tightly and wanting more. He pulled back, gazing down at her, cupping her face in his hands, and feeling all the old hurts slip easily away. "I can only agree to this," he said, his grin coming slow. "If you give up your life of crime."

  Harper rolled her eyes as he moved his hands and linked them behind her back. "Oh please. You're no angel either, you know."

  He kissed her, smiling against her mouth. "True. Let's go back to my place and I'll show you just how bad I can be." He gazed at her, his heart light. He had his woman in his arms, and his future looked anything but boring. "I love you, Harper Dean. Always have, always will."

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