Joanna's Highlander

by Greyson, Maeve

  Miss Lydia bobbed her head and smiled. “Good to meet you, young lady. I’ve heard lots of good things about you.”

  “Oh really?” Joanna turned for a brief moment and aimed her sunglasses at Grant in what he was certain was a warning glare. Without another word, she turned back to Miss Lydia. “It’s good to meet you too, thank you.”

  “Good. Now that we all know each other well enough, we best be on with it.” Sarinda beamed at Joanna while nodding at Miss Lydia. “Miss Lydia and I have a full day planned for your group of ladies. Don’t we, Miss Lydia?”

  “Absolutely!” Miss Lydia took Joanna’s hand, pumped it up and down briefly, then held on tight, patting the back of it as though consoling an ailing friend. “Wool cardin’. Spinnin’. Batchin’ up the dye out of local plants. Weavin’ the material in a particular pattern. Just about every step they’d be interested in except for shearin’ the sheep.” Miss Lydia glanced over at Grant and smiled while still patting Joanna’s hand. “And Grant’s going to see to it that you have a fine day at Highland Life and Legends while we’re making expert cloth makers out of your ladies. He tells us the only time you’ve really been here at the park is when you’re working. High time you discovered the more relaxing side to the sights we have here.”

  Joanna extricated her hand from Miss Lydia’s grasp and folded her arms across her waist, her coffee cup hugged against her middle. She faced Grant, aiming her sunglasses at him again with disturbing accuracy as though centering him in her sights.

  “Really,” she said in a cold, deadly tone.

  I wish she’d remove those damn glasses. ’Tis like looking down the barrel of a gun. Grant nodded, bracing himself for the backlash that Joanna’s tone warned was imminent. “Aye. ’Twas quite the surprise t’myself as well. Máthair and Mistress Lydia took it upon themselves t’plan this fine day.” It might be cowardly, but at least now Joanna would ken that he had nothin’ at all to do with whatever the women had planned. He’d choose cowardice every time when it came to the plottin’ of women who knew him entirely too well.

  Joanna didn’t acknowledge Grant’s confession or if she did, her reaction was hidden by the impenetrable black plastic of her huge sunglasses. She turned back to Sarinda. “I really can’t let you accept full responsibility for this bunch, Mrs. MacDara. Not for an entire day of their tour.” She jerked her head toward the chattering seniors, who were gradually inching closer so they wouldn’t miss a single tidbit of the conversation. “I know you handled them yesterday, but I don’t think you realize what you’re getting into, taking them today. They’re a real…handful.”

  “Call me Sarinda, child,” Grant’s mother insisted while sparing a knowing glance first at Miss Lydia and then at Grant. “And I’ve put the fear o’ the gods and the sting of m’switch into four boys that I raised to men and one girl child that I’m still molding into a strong young woman. I think I can handle seven mature ladies hell-bent on havin’ a fine time afore they go to their graves.”

  Grant inwardly groaned, but bit the inside of his cheek and remained silent. ’Twas too damn dangerous to speak with this many women about. He’d ne’er survive it.

  Sarinda grinned. “ ’Tis all settled then. Off wi’ ye now.” She stepped forward and poked a finger into the center of Grant’s chest. “Take yer lady o’er to a fine breakfast at the inn. Mabel’s got a fresh batch of parritch made and some hot bannocks just waitin’ to be buttered and smothered with Master Ted’s fresh clover honey. He had an early batch this spring and saw fit t’give it to us.”

  “Aye, Máthair.” Grant nodded obediently and held out his hand to Joanna. “Come, lass. Let us be about the day.” And escape afore these plotting females think of any other ways to torment us, he added to himself.

  Joanna turned without a word, ignored Grant’s hand, and took off at a brisk pace across the round cobblestoned meeting area that served as the hub for all the streets and avenues at the front gates of the park.

  “Ye best hurry and catch her, boy. Appears she’s as sweet as yerself when she’s no’ had enough sleep.” Sarinda shooed her son away with both hands as she joined Miss Lydia and the other ladies.

  Aye, we’re a match all right. A few broad strides easily brought Grant to Joanna’s side. As they walked, the silence between them grew heavy, taking on a life all its own. Grant rolled his shoulders against the prickling sense of doom settling all around them.

  “Are ye vexed wi’ me for some reason?” He didna wish t’ask the question, but battles were easier when faced head on—even so, he swallowed hard and braced himself for whatever she answered. He couldna imagine what he’d done wrong, but ye ne’er knew for certain with women—or at least that’s what his newly married brother Alec had told him.

  Joanna remained silent. She picked up her pace and turned up the short brick-covered street housing all the food and concession establishments at the park.

  “So yer just tired then?” Grant forced himself to keep his voice calm, frustration building as Joanna continued to ignore him. Why the hell was she no’ talkin’ to him? “Are ye a wee bit hungry? Is that the problem, or have ye merely not had enough of that godforsaken muckwater ye fancy so much?” He hadna been around the woman first thing in the mornin’ that much. Usually, their paths didna cross until well into Joanna’s day. She’d seemed fine yesterday morning, but mayhap today was different since she’d had no sleep. Or maybe she was a wee beastie at the start of the day and yesterday morning’s decent mood had been a strange rarity. He could live with that. His little sister, Esme, was just the same.

  “It’s coffee. Remember? Not godforsaken muckwater just because you don’t like it.”

  Thank the gods. The woman speaks! “Aye, I remember.” Grant held open the heavy oak door to the inn. “And ye’ve got the right of it. I canna stomach the stuff, but Alec’s wife calls coffee the black nectar of the gods.”

  “I’m definitely on the black nectar of the gods’ team.” Joanna yawned and selected a corner booth. She slid into the seat, swooped her sunglasses off, and tossed them to the table. She covered her face with both hands and massaged the inner corners of her eyes with her fingertips.

  Ahh…his sweet lady was bone-tired. That was it. The poor lass’s red-rimmed eyes with bluish shadows smudged beneath gave testament to her lack of sleep. No wonder she’d worn the dark glasses. He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “I apologize for yer weariness, but…” He paused and lightly traced slow, lazy circles across the silky back of her hand. “In my mind, ’twas well worth it.”

  Joanna managed a faint smile. “It was worth being a bit drag-assy for a day.” Her gaze dropped to the table, but not before Grant spotted something quite troubling in her eyes. “I’m just not so sure it was worth all the other repercussions.” She gently eased her hand out from under his, then leaned back on the bench and stared down at her lap.

  “What other ‘repercussions’?”

  “I shouldn’t have let it happen. None of it. Not the woods and definitely not my room. There’s too much at stake here.” Joanna waved down the girl prepping the heavy wooden tables of the dining room with roughly woven napkins, wooden platters, and heavy rustic silverware. She held up her travel mug. “Could I have a refill on coffee, please? Black. Strongest you’ve got.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The waitress, dressed as a Highland bar wench, hurried back to the kitchen.

  “What the hell are ye sayin’?” Grant cleared his throat and lowered his voice as a small group of early-morning tourists filed into the restaurant. “What repercussions?”

  “Personal and professional repercussions,” Joanna said in a whispered hiss as the waitress appeared out of nowhere with her coffee.

  “Can I bring you a scone, some parritch, or something else for your breakfast?” The young waitress smiled at Joanna but her gaze kept darting over to Grant as she preened closer
to him, arching her back and flaunting the low, rounded neckline of her long dress. “What can I get for you today, Mr. Grant?”

  “Nothing for me, lass, thank ye.” Grant restrained himself from shooing the girl away. It wasn’t the waitress’s fault that Joanna had just as good as told him t’go straight t’hell.

  “Just coffee for now, thanks,” Joanna added.

  “Tell me what you mean.” Grant grit his teeth. When he’d left Joanna’s bed that morning, he’d felt more alive than he had since before the damned goddesses destroyed all his hopes and dreams. He’d felt lighter and filled with anticipation. Like a weight had been lifted and he’d been made whole again. Now the weight was back, bearing down and threatening to crush him.

  Joanna stared down at her cup, gripping the handle in her right hand and rubbing her thumb along the black rim of the lid. “Have you ever heard the saying ‘Don’t dip your pen in the company’s ink’ or ‘Don’t shit in the same place you eat’?”

  “What the hell is yer meanin’?” Grant took in a deep breath and held it. He must not raise his voice or lose his temper. ’Twould no’ be fair to Joanna to cause a scene—especially if he hoped to rid her mind of whatever foolishness was givin’ her pause about the fact that she now belonged to him—and he belonged to her.

  “You and I have a professional relationship. Carolina Adventures is also trying to get a permanent year-round contract with Highland Life and Legends. How do you think it looks for me to be sleeping with one of the board members?”

  “I dinna give a damn how it looks.” Grant pried Joanna’s coffee out of her grip, set it aside, then scooped up her hands and held them tight between his. “ ’Tis no one’s business but our own,” he added.

  “You know better than that. You can’t take a crap around here without everyone knowing what color it is. Small-town gossip is faster than high-speed internet.” Joanna finally looked up at him, her green eyes dark and sad. “And I don’t want your family thinking I’m a slut. I don’t usually do what we did yesterday with men I don’t know all that well. I mean…I know I know you, but I don’t really know you. You know?”

  “Yer no’ makin’ a bit a sense. Like hell ye dinna know me. We’ve been flittin’ about each other like moths to a flame for nigh on a year and a half now—almost two. Ye canna tell me that ye didna think last night was a possibility—destiny even.” Grant slowly exhaled, the tension easing just a bit. She wasna angry with him. She was concerned about gossip. Thank the stars above and the fires below. “And my family willna think ill of ye. They’ll just be glad that I’m easier t’live with, ye ken? They’ll more than likely thank ye.”

  “And that’s another thing.” Joanna’s voice dropped so low, Grant had to lean forward to hear her. Her reddish-blond brows knotted together as she fixed him with a sad but determined look. “I’ve heard rumors. About…about…what an asshole you can be. Sorry—but that’s what I’ve heard. And there’s been talk about your moodiness. I can’t…” Her words drifted off and she broke eye contact, staring down at the table. “I can’t go through a relationship even close to that again.”

  She pulled her hands out of his and flipped them in the air. “That is, if you were planning on a relationship. But then, there I go assuming.” She shrugged and managed an unconvincing laugh. “Maybe you just wanted to get laid. In that case—we’re all good here. Right?”

  “I didna want t’just ‘get laid.’ ” A heavy, sick weight knotted in Grant’s chest. He couldna explain his outlook on this century to her, his “moodiness” as she’d called it—not yet. He fisted his hands on the table, wishing he could make her understand. “And we are not ‘good’ here. We’re a hell of a distance from good.”

  Chapter 9

  “Auntie Jo!”

  Thank God. Saved by a seven-year-old.

  The little voice carried across the restaurant as two women, one of them Lucia, attempted to herd a rowdy group of second graders into a private dining room partitioned off from the main seating area of the inn.

  “Auntie Jo!” Tyler, the smallest and bounciest bundle of barely contained energy in the class, waved both hands while hopping sideways to follow the teacher.

  “Hey, sweetie!” Joanna waved, then pointed him out to Grant. Tyler was the perfect way to change the subject from the current, very volatile topic. “See the smallest boy in the middle? Black hair and the bright red superhero T-shirt? I’m not sure which superdude he is today. I can’t keep up with his favorites. That’s my godson, Tyler. Lucia’s son. I don’t think you’ve met him yet.”

  She was babbling, but it was Grant’s fault. Today was supposed to be damage control day and fix what her lack of self-control had sabotaged yesterday. She totally sucked when it came to damage control. Especially when all she really wanted to do was fall back into Grant’s arms, skin to skin, boobs smashed against hard chest, and go to sleep. Well…maybe play a little first and then go to sleep. Joanna clenched, tensing every muscle. Stop it! That’s what started this mess.

  The muscles in Grant’s jaw rippled. He stared at Joanna without blinking. A hard, determined stare. One that threatened to strip her soul bare and pry out all her secrets one by one. He finally blinked, as though waking from a trance, and looked in the direction Joanna pointed just as seven-year-old Tyler came bounding up to the table.

  “Mom said you’d be here today. You look like you just got outta bed. You forget your makeup or something? Your eyes look all dark and circley, kinda like they did when you hit your nose and broke it.” Tyler studied her, one corner of his mouth curling upward as he wrinkled his nubbin of a nose as though he smelled something disagreeable. “You really need your makeup today, Auntie Jo. You look kinda bad.”

  “Thanks a lot, Tyler.” Joanna snagged his shirt and pulled him closer. “If you don’t be nice, I’m going to hug you in front of your friends.”

  A look of horror spread across Tyler’s face. Pushing away, he twisted out of Joanna’s grasp and scooted sideways. “Nuh-uh. You promised!” Without missing a beat, he turned to Grant and stuck out his tiny hand. “I’m Tyler Banks. Who are you?”

  Grant visibly relaxed and politely took hold of Tyler’s hand. “My name is Grant MacDara. ’Tis a pleasure t’make yer acquaintance, Mr. Banks.”

  Frowning and assuming a leaned-back stance as though he ruled the world, Tyler crossed his spindly arms across his tiny chest. “You can call me Tyler, but you and I need to get some things straight. I heard Mom talking to Auntie Jo on the phone this morning. Are you the guy that went to Auntie Jo’s slumber party last night?”

  “Tyler!” Hot coffee nearly spewed out Joanna’s nose, scalding her throat and the roof of her mouth until her eyes watered. She snatched a nearby linen napkin, coughing into it until she could wheeze in enough air to speak. “Don’t you think you’d better be getting back to your class? Your teacher will be looking for you.”

  “She knows I came over to see you,” Tyler replied with a casual flip of one hand. He turned back to Grant. “Well? Are you? ’Cause if you are, I wanna make one thing clear, Mister. If you hurt my Auntie Jo like that last guy did that went to her slumber parties, I’m gonna make you sorry.” Tyler lifted his chin and glared at Grant. “I’ve got a BB gun and if I pump it up enough times before I pull the trigger, it’ll sting your butt really bad. You get what I’m saying?”

  Oh shit. Shut up, Tyler. Please shut up. Digging into her pocket, Joanna found her phone and punched Lucia’s speed-dial number. “Come. Get. Your. Son. Now.” Lucia’s sunshiny “hello” made her want to scream the words across the dining room rather than use the phone, but she managed to keep her tone civil—temporarily.

  Grant’s face grew redder by the minute. He cleared his throat, ducked his chin, and held his fist to his mouth as though he was either going to cough or burst out laughing. Joanna prayed he wouldn’t hurt Tyler’s feelings and also feared where the conv
ersation could possibly go from here. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked at Tyler with all seriousness. “Aye, sir. I ken yer meanin’ quite clearly.” He cleared his throat again and nodded. “I am the man who attended yer auntie’s wee party last night but let me assure ye, I’d ne’er treat her wrongly. But just so I fully understand all that yer sayin’, what exactly did this other man do to yer Auntie Jo to cause her such pain?”

  You sneaky bastard. Joanna glared at Grant, then looked wildly across the restaurant, praying Lucia would get her ass over there before Tyler had a chance to say whatever it was that Tyler was going to say. You never knew with that kid. “Tyler, here comes Mom. Tell Mr. MacDara ’bye.”

  The look Tyler gave Joanna sent another wave of oh hell no shivering up her spine. He edged closer to Grant, his round-cheeked face scrunched up in as threatening a look as a seven-year-old could muster. His eyes narrowed even more and he thumped the table with his little fist. “Mom said that guy was the rat bastard that hit Auntie Jo in the face and broke her arm too. His name is Mr. Matthew. And Mom said he forgot to tell Auntie Jo that he already had a wife and was a dad to two kids. But that’s a lie. I say he didn’t tell her ’cause he knew if he did, she wouldn’t invite him to any more sleepovers. She has good snacks at her sleepovers, but you prolly already know that.” Tyler paused and glanced back, obviously calculating how much time he had left to speak by how close his mother was to reaching him. He gulped in a quick breath and started again. “And when Auntie Jo told the cops that Mr. Matthew hit her, he got mad and got her fired from the job that made her a lot of money.” Tyler thumped the table again, talking faster and faster, determined to get out all the juicy details before anyone could stop him. “She doesn’t know that I heard, but she cried every night when she first came back to live with us. Her and Mom both cried every night.”