Joanna's Highlander

by Greyson, Maeve

  Lore, what a beauty she is when she laughs. “Have I e’er told ye that when ye laugh, it reaches clear to yer eyes? Makes them spark wi’ fire. Even in this darkness.”

  Joanna cleared her throat and looked down at her feet. All mirth left her just as quickly as it had appeared. “Uhm…no. I’m pretty sure I’d remember it if you had said something like that.”

  Hell’s demons. I shouldna have said that either. Grant squared off behind the bus, grabbed the handle of the hatch, then looked back at Joanna. “Be a good lass and hit the button t’unlock this beast and I’ll have the bags carried into Mistress Martha’s lobby in no time at all.”

  Three of Joanna’s elderly charges came toddling around the street side of the bus and one of them tapped Grant on the shoulder. “I’m Hazel, president of the Alverest Knitting Chicks and Textiles Club, and my bags have the red, white, and blue ribbons tied to the handles. If you’d be so good as to pull them out of there, I’m quite able to carry them myself, thank you.”

  Grant had no doubt the woman was quite capable of totin’ her own bags. If not for the skirt and blouse she wore, he’d have mistaken her for a good-sized man. Grant straightened, politely nodded at each of the ladies, and said, “I’m Grant MacDara, and ’tis my pleasure t’help ye all with yer bags.”

  Grant silently thanked the old hens for showing up at such an opportune moment. He knew verra well how t’speak to his elders. That mannerly behavior had been ingrained in all the MacDara lads at a young age. He glanced back at Joanna and wiggled the handle of the hatch. “The button, if ye please?”

  Joanna rolled her eyes, then pointed her key fob at the back of the bus. The lock on the hatch chirped and the bus’s lights flashed in response. “You’re not gonna leave until I let you help, are you?”

  “Aye. Ye’ll find I’m a verra stubborn man.” He ducked his chin to hide the grin he couldn’t quite seem to control. Without looking up, he motioned toward the inn. “Ye’ll find Mistress Martha keeps a cart on the side porch. If ye’ll run and fetch it, I’ll load up the bags.” Perhaps if he entrusted the hardheaded woman with a task, she’d look a bit kindlier toward him. Even in the half-light of the streetlamp, he could tell the lass’s strained patience with the events of the entire evening was near its end.

  “Run and fetch it?” Joanna stared at him as though he’d just told her to jump off a cliff. “Seriously?”

  “Aye.” Grant pointed again at the side of the old Victorian house that Martha Higgins had restored and turned into the town’s only bed-and-breakfast. “Over there. On the side porch. See it?”

  “I know where it is.”

  Again, it sounded as though she spoke through clenched teeth. Joanna took a hard-stomping step off the curbed sidewalk and stood so close the heat of her body washed across him, and she further hypnotized him when he took in an intoxicatingly deep breath of her scent. Sweet and fresh woman’s musk. Sultry. Lore, woman. Yer killin’ me.

  She pointed a finger at him. “Just to be clear, I’ll go get the cart, but I don’t ‘run and fetch’ anything.” She glared at him, eyes narrowing when he didn’t respond.

  One of the old ladies standing behind him poked the small of his back.

  Grant blinked. Ahh…I’ve insulted the lass. Need ta explain m’self. She’d ne’er seemed this sensitive before. Of course, he reckoned her pride had been stung a bit back at the café. Pride he understood. He scooped up one of Joanna’s hands and pressed a quick kiss to the silky back of it. “Forgive me. ’Twas just a figure of speech, ye ken?” Still holding tight to her hand caught up against his chest, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I’d ne’er mean to imply anythin’ ill about ye. Ye ken I think yer a fine woman, Joanna, a fine woman indeed.”

  Her warm breath tickled his knuckles as he held their hands between them. This close, he could see her pulse ticking rapidly in the pale skin of her throat. He was either succeeding at fanning her temper even more or he was warming her another way. He sincerely hoped it was the latter. Since he’d been forced to abandon his tactic of careful planning and waiting to woo the lass until the perfect moment, he fully intended to do his damnedest to win her. It was time.

  A high-pitched squealing sound, something like a cross between the cawing of a crow and the screeching of an owl, peeled out behind them. “See? I told you. I just knew he wanted her!”

  Grant turned in time to see the one called Hazel lightly thump the shoulder of the much smaller woman hopping up and down beside her. “Zip it, Frances! Can’t you see they’re having a moment?”

  “Oh! Sorry.” Frances leaned forward and made shooing movements with both hands. “Go ahead. Kiss her.” Then she bobbed her head with excited up-and-down jerking movements like one of those infernal jiggly-headed dolls that Esme insisted they sell in the theme-park gift shop.

  Joanna jerked her hand free of Grant’s and spun away. “I’ll get the trolley for the bags.” She cleared her throat and paused, then turned and fixed a narrow-eyed glare at the trio of senior citizens still standing behind Grant. “Why don’t you ladies go to the desk and start checking in? And be sure and help Violet so she doesn’t get confused.”

  Mesmerized by the sway of Joanna’s hips as she stomped away and headed up the sidewalk to Miss Martha’s porch, Grant nearly forgot the three ladies still beside him until the one with the strange orange and jet-black spiked hair poked him between the shoulder blades.

  “When she gets back, follow our lead. Got it?”

  The one who had introduced herself as Hazel agreed with a superior nod and shook a finger at him as though reminding him that he’d best not forget to do his chores. “Georgetta’s right. You listen to her.” She turned to the small, animated matron beside her and aimed the stern finger at her. “And you try not to spill the beans again and scare her off. Understand, Frances?”

  Frances smiled, her round beaming face reminding Grant of the cherubs he’d seen in one of his little sister Esme’s art books. The small elderly woman bounced in place with the energy of a Highland goat. “I’ll do my best to curb my enthusiasm, but you know how much I love a good matchmaking.”

  Matchmaking? Oh, holy hell. That’s all he needed. A group of old women keepin’ Joanna so vexed she’d ward off his advances for certain. Must get this under control. He gave the ladies his politest smile. “I really think ye’d best leave her alone. Let me do this m’self, aye?”

  The uneven rattling of the rickety trolley traveling down the rough surface of the B&B’s flagstone sidewalk grew louder. Joanna would be within earshot any second—if she could hear anything over the noisy din of the cart.

  A jarring metallic thud interrupted the rhythmic clacking of the trolley’s wheels “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Joanna’s irritated profanity echoed through the darkness. Apparently, the cart had jumped the path and landed in the grass.

  “D’ye need help, lass?” Grant called out.

  “I’ve got this!” Joanna’s tone left no doubt that if Grant valued his life, he’d stay at the bus and wait.

  “You’d better leave her alone and follow our lead,” Frances advised in a singsong whisper.

  “Yep,” Georgetta agreed. “She’s pissed. You’d better listen to us or you’ll just make it worse.”

  Grant verra much doubted that it could get much worse than it was at this particular moment. He wasna all that experienced when it came to women, but he had managed to survive a mother, a sister, and a bossy housekeeper—so far.

  Joanna came up even with the end of the bus, jerked the luggage cart over a crumbling crack in the sidewalk, then flipped down the wheel brakes and locked the trolley in place. She frowned at Hazel, Frances, and Georgetta. “I thought you ladies were going to get the rest of the group off the bus and go check in?”

  “We never said that,” Georgetta said with a nonchalant shake of her flamboyant head of spiked hair.

&nb
sp; Joanna glared at the woman, her jaws clenched and nostrils flaring as if the need to speak her mind were about to blow the top off her head.

  Grant opened the back hatch of the bus and took refuge in unloading the bags and stacking them on the trolley. He had no idea what the old ladies were about to pull, but his gut told him something was going to happen and it probably wouldn’t be good. Best stay out of the line of fire. I’d surely take an arrow in me arse.

  “Actually,” Hazel interjected as she stepped forward and rested a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “This nice young man has agreed to help you with our tour. He’s going to personally see to it that we don’t miss a thing that Highland Life and Legends has to offer. He’s even promised to have breakfast with us in the morning, then help you show us all the sights. Isn’t that nice?”

  Joanna’s murderous look shifted to Grant and sharpened as if homing in for the kill. Her hands flexed, then tightened into slightly trembling fists at her sides. “It is very nice. But totally not necessary. Thank. You.”

  Sons a bitches. The woman looks as if she could bite through the blade of a dagger. Grant raised both hands and held them up at surrender level. “I didna—”

  “Don’t give me that ‘didna’ crap.” Joanna’s eyes flared wide and she clamped her mouth shut. Ducking her head, she turned away and white-knuckled the trolley. Before Grant could respond, she wrestled the overloaded cart up the sidewalk, not missing a step as she shouted back at him over the din of the squeaking wheels, “Breakfast at seven. At the dining room here. I’ll tell Miss Martha to add you to our group.”

  Grant held his breath to keep from laughing out loud. Such fire. Aye and for certain. ’Tis definitely time t’make this woman mine.

  Chapter 3

  And there he was. Already seated at the dining table with his seven geriatric angels…or demons, depending on your perspective, surrounding him. The only empty place at the large, round table was to his left, the chair snugged up so close to him that it was almost in his armpit. But knowing Grant, and she felt like she did know him pretty well after a year and a half of teasing duck and weave, the poor man probably had no idea what the devious mob of grannies was up to.

  “Mornin’.” Joanna pulled out the chair and shifted it farther to the left so she wouldn’t be in Grant’s lap—again. “Did everyone sleep well? Ready for a big day?” Thank goodness for the ingrained tour-guide chatter that came so easily to her she could chant it in her sleep. Grant was quite the distraction. Always had been. Always would be. Damn, I wish…

  Grant jumped up from his seat, gently brushed her hands away from the back of her chair, then pulled it out a bit farther from the table and waited for her to sit. “M’lady.”

  “Oh my,” Frances said in a breathless tone that greatly resembled the purring of a well-fed cat. “Such a gentleman.”

  “Frances.” Hazel thumped the table with the handle of her butter knife.

  “What?” Frances looked at her in wide-eyed innocence.

  Hazel didn’t answer, just glared at Frances over the tops of her glasses.

  “Ye think ’tis best we try to ignore them?” Grant whispered next to Joanna’s cheek as she lowered herself into the chair and allowed him to scoot her up to the table.

  “Definitely,” she murmured under her breath while trying not to shiver and lean a little closer to Grant so his lips could brush her skin. She slid aside the empty place setting in front of her, then wrapped her hands around the tall travel mug she’d already filled at the coffee bar before coming to the table. He must’ve amped up his pheromones or something today. He’s getting to me worse than usual.

  “Yer no’ going to eat?”

  “Uhm…no.” Joanna covered a grin with another long sip of coffee. I see you scooting your chair closer. What are you up to, Mr. MacSexy? Ramping up the flirting today, are we? Putting on a show for the old ladies? God help her if he was. Her self-control would never survive it, and she’d left her battery-operated boyfriend hidden back in her room at the house she shared with her best friend Lucia and Lucia’s seven-year-old son, Tyler. “I’m not a big breakfast eater. I’ve got a protein bar in my bag if I happen to get hungry before lunch.”

  “A protein bar,” Grant slowly repeated, the look on his face registering somewhere between dubious and disgusted. “Mistress Martha has the best parritch in Brady and ’twill stick to yer innards ’til supper if necessary.” He scooped up a healthy spoonful of the rich, steaming glob of creaminess in his bowl, cupped one hand under the spoon, and started toward her with it. “Here. Try it. Ye’ll find ’tis much tastier than that black muckwater yer drinkin’ or a protein bar either.”

  “That’s oatmeal—right?” He’d called it something else, but she’d recognize that lumpy nastiness anywhere. “I don’t like oatmeal. Thanks, anyway.”

  He waved the spoon a little closer to her face and amped up the power of the adorable dimple in his cheek to I always get what I want wattage. “Come on, lass. Just a wee taste. I ken for certain ye’ll like it.”

  “You don’t ‘ken’ shit when it comes to me and oatmeal.” Joanna raised a hand to prevent the spoonful of yuck from coming any closer.

  “Such language!” Annamae scolded from across the table.

  “I know, Miss Annamae. Please accept my apology, or better yet…” Joanna patted Grant’s shoulder. “…blame Grant. He started it by attacking me with oatmeal.”

  Grant ducked his chin and grinned as he slowly and seductively licked the spoon clean. Then he gave her a sideways glance that finished setting her blood on fire. He reached over, took hold of her hand, and pressed a lingering kiss to her open palm. With her hand still so close to his mouth she could feel the heat of his breath, he leaned forward and spoke in a low tone that only she could hear. “I’ll choose m’weapons more carefully when next I decide to attack ye.”

  “Uhm…you do that,” she bantered back, struggling to breathe through the erratic pounding of her heart against her breastbone. Wow was the only word that came to mind. Grant was seriously stepping up his game from their usual innocent banter. This was all-out innuendo and paired with his deep, rich brogue, he wasn’t fighting fair. If she expected to keep her self-control intact, she’d have to initiate “clueless” mode and hope like hell that Grant fell for it. She’d admittedly grown fond of him—very—and lusted after him even more. But considering her track record with men, that was a dead giveaway that something was wrong with Grant beyond his medieval manners and the odd way he picked his words. Besides—how terrible would she be if she risked a steady flow of income for Carolina Adventures with a relationship that could possibly go so bad?

  The prickling sense of seven pairs of bespectacled eyes focused on her like hunting hawks on a bunny yanked her free of the inner survival monologue. Time to get this tour under control. She grabbed her travel mug and stood, pushing her chair away before Grant had time to help her. “I’m going to bring the bus around to the circle drive. You ladies meet me there.”

  With her best nonchalant attitude, Joanna smiled at Grant. “We’ll meet you at the welcoming center. Okay?”

  “Nay, lass.” Grant’s lopsided grin blossomed into the type of knowing smile that set off Joanna’s warning bells. “The clan tasked me with improving Esme’s drivin’ skills, so I had her drop me off here this mornin’. I’ll ride to the park with ye and yer ladies, if ye dinna mind.”

  “If you want, I’ll drive!” Georgetta volunteered with a wicked grin as she rose from her seat and motioned for the other women to follow. “That way you and this fine young man can sit together.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Joanna quickly interrupted. “Our insurance only covers drivers employed by Carolina Adventures.” There. That sounded like a safe official reason to refuse. Whether or not it was true, she had no earthly idea. She turned her attention back to Grant. Time to ferret out what he was up to.
Never in all the time she’d known him had he been this forthcoming to stay at her side. I’m not complaining, she told herself. But what the hell is going on?

  “I’ve seen Esme drive. Looks like she does just fine to me.” She fixed Grant with the same look that always worked on seven-year-old Tyler when the little imp was trying to get away with telling a lie.

  Grant rose from the table. Smile gone. Replaced with a stern jaw-clenched look. “No sixteen-year-old lassie shouldha already gleaned three warning tickets for speeding.” He shook a finger in the air, reminding Joanna of a preacher warning of hellfire and damnation. “I offered t’heat up her fearless wee arse with a fine willow switch but Máthair wouldna hear of it. She spoils the girl as sure as I’m standin’ here.” He shook his finger again, his voice getting louder. “The only reason she’s no’ had t’pay any of the tickets is because that young deputy is smitten with her and thinks she’s bonnie.” Grant shook his head with a hard jerk. “I’ll snap that man in half if he touches wee Esme.”

  Okay. So he’s not lying about Esme. “I’m sure you’ll get the situation all straightened out.” Joanna motioned to the ladies and waved them toward the door. “The circle drive in about five minutes, okay?” Surely, that would give them all enough time to…how had Irene put it…oh yeah…powder their noses.

  Joanna latched hold of Grant’s preaching finger that he still held stuck up in the air, then turned and headed across the dining room. What a pull toy! She coughed to cover a mischievous giggle. “If it’s that young dark-haired deputy, he just enlisted. Navy, I think. Seems like somebody said he’s interested in subs. He won’t be around much longer to chase after Esme. There’s part of your problem solved.”

  “Good.” Grant artfully finagled his finger in her grasp until he was holding Joanna’s hand against his side as though he would never let go. “But what is subs?”

  Struggling to ignore just how right it felt to have Grant snugging her up against his side, Joanna wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “Uhm…what?”