Scot on the Run

by Janice Maynard

  “Actually, yes. More than once. The last time was after hamstring surgery. I’ll tell you from experience that it makes more sense to follow the doctor’s orders from the beginning rather than risk further injury.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “Okay then. Good night.” Why were his feet not moving? Perhaps it was the way her soft T-shirt clung to her breasts. Or the unfathomable mysteries hidden in deep blue eyes. What was she thinking?

  He didn’t have to wonder for long. She waved a hand. “Go. I promise I won’t bother you in the middle of the night.”

  Nodding tersely, he left the room and shut the door, knowing that her words were a lie. She would bother him in the middle of the night. Everything about Bella Craig bothered him.

  The question was, what was he going to do about it?

  * * *

  The following morning, Bella awoke at dawn with her stomach growling and her body aching. Apparently, when she twisted her ankle, she had wrenched other muscles as well. She felt like an old lady.

  Ordinarily, she would go for an immediate cup of coffee, but since she had a guest in the house, she was forced to at least wash her face and brush her hair. The long waves were wild from the damp air last night, so she caught them up in a loose ponytail. After that, she slicked gloss over her lips. Seconds later, she rubbed it off with a tissue and glared at her reflection in the mirror.

  It didn’t matter one little bit what she looked like at this hour in the morning. Ian Larrimore was no more than an inconvenience to her. Period.

  Trying to use two crutches to negotiate the multi-level house seemed hazardous, so she tucked one crutch under her arm and set out. Fortunately, the short, crooked flights of stairs at least had sturdy handrails. Moving slowly, she made her way to the kitchen. Cinnamon looked up, alert and happy, when Bella hobbled into the room. Surprisingly, the dog stayed put. She had obviously taken Ian’s lecture to heart.

  “Hello, sweetheart. Sorry I can’t get down and play with you today. I’ll make it up to you when I can walk again.”

  The dog’s tongue lolled. Her tail swished briskly.

  Bella sighed as she poured her coffee, noting that someone in the house had been up early. “I know you miss Finley. I miss him, too. And McKenzie. I’ve never had a sister. I hope she and I can be friends.”

  Cinnamon’s silent encouragement was surprisingly comforting.

  “The thing is,” Bella said, sitting down at the table and nursing her drink, “I’ve lost my way. Does that make sense? I thought I had my whole life mapped out in advance. Now I’m not so sure. Look at Finley. He was practically a confirmed bachelor. Then kaboom. He runs into McKenzie on a dark road, and a romance is born.”

  Cinnamon rested her nose on her tail and whined.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Bella said. “Finley’s older than I am and ready to settle down. He didn’t know that, though, did he? Until he met McKenzie, all he wanted to do was build motorcycles.”

  The one-sided conversation might have continued, but someone knocked at the front door. Bella glanced at the clock and then at her attire. It was early for visitors. When she peeked out the curtains in the living room, she smiled and opened the door. “Hilda! What’s up?”

  The other woman cocked her head and studied the crutch. “I think that’s my question, lass. Ye don’t look so well. May I come in?”

  “Of course.” Once they were both settled, Bella indicated her foot. “I twisted my ankle yesterday. I don’t think anything is broken. Shouldn’t you be opening up the store?”

  Hilda and her husband owned an upscale gift shop in the village. Hebridean jewelry. Beautiful pottery. Matted photographs. It was mostly a seasonal business, but they managed to squeak by in the lean months. She and Bella had met each other on one of Bella’s earlier visits to Skye, and the friendship stuck.

  Hilda set a small paper-wrapped parcel on the coffee table. “I made you a loaf of my pumpernickel bread. My mother-in-law has the children today. She’s taking them to Inverness to buy new shoes. It makes her happy and gives me a break. Not to mention my dear husband thinks we’re going to close up shop for the lunch hour and canoodle. He’s a randy old fool, and I’ve told him so.”

  Despite the complaint, the other woman radiated smug happiness that only someone in an intimate relationship could display.

  Bella smiled wistfully. Hilda’s boys were three and almost five, the image of their father but with Hilda’s freckles and sly humor. “I’m always up for company. Still, why are you here when you could be reading a book with your feet up?”

  The wiry Scotswoman was little more than thirty-five, but she seemed older. She leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile. “I thought I’d ask ye face to face.”

  “Ask me what?”

  “Is he really here? Is he staying with you?”

  “Umm…” Bella leaned forward to rub her ankle, giving herself a moment to think, searching frantically for the right answer. She had managed to fool the press when Ian first arrived, but Hilda wouldn’t be fobbed off with a half-truth.

  Hilda sat back and stared, her jaw slack, her expression wide-eyed. “So it’s true then. He’s here.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Don’t be coy, missy. Ye’re playing house with the second most eligible bachelor in all the UK, aren’t you?”

  Bella whispered a vague, desperate prayer. Please don’t let Ian walk in. Surely he would hear that Bella had a visitor and keep his distance.

  “Why on earth would you think that, Hilda? Do you really believe Cinnamon would let a strange man in the house?”

  “Don’t try to fool me. Everyone in town is talking about it. I thought surely you would have told me if it was true.”

  Bella’s heart sank. This woman was her friend. In Hilda’s eyes she saw disappointment and hurt. “Hilda…” She trailed off, trying to solve the conundrum. “Sometimes a woman has to make difficult choices to honor a promise. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Hilda’s brow furrowed. “Ye’ve made a promise? To whom?”

  Bella remained silent, giving her visitor time to sort through the equivocation.

  Suddenly, the Scotswoman’s face cleared. “Ye’ve promised the man ye won’t divulge his location.”

  “My brother has lots of friends.” Again, a non sequitur that might explain without elaboration.

  Hilda was sharp. She cocked her head. “Finley told this Ian fellow he could hide out here. Ye’re complicit in the scheme. Have I got it?”

  “Nice weather we’re having today, isn’t it?” Bella grinned.

  “Ach, lass, ye’re a sly one. Now when I’m out and about, if anyone asks me what I know, I’ll simply tell them there’s no evidence at all that the famous Mr. Larrimore is anywhere near the vicinity of Portree.”

  Bella nodded slowly. “Tell me what’s new at the shop,” she said.

  Despite her understanding, Hilda was clearly disappointed. As Bella’s friend, she obviously had hoped for an inside track to an encounter with Britain’s second most eligible bachelor.

  Chapter Seven

  After the two of them chatted for almost an hour, Bella began to get antsy. The two cups of coffee she had drunk were making themselves known. Bella couldn’t risk leaving Hilda unattended while Bella made a trip to the bathroom. What was she going to do?

  Fortunately, Hilda’s long-suffering husband called her cell phone to say a tour bus had unloaded on the street and he needed Hilda’s help with the shoppers. At last, the other woman stood. “I’d best be gettin’ down the hill or he’ll accuse me of bletherin’ all day while he’s hard at work.”

  “You don’t fool me. That man dotes on you.”

  Hilda preened. “Aye, ‘tis true.”

  Bella got up with her single crutch, said good-bye to her friend, and locked the door behind Hilda. Not everyone in these parts was security conscious, but with reporters likely still nearby, Bella erred on the side of caution. She didn’t
want unexpected company, especially not the kind who might slip in without permission.

  After a quick trip to the loo, she managed the steps to the landing where the guest room was situated. Wrinkling her nose in indecision, she knocked lightly on Ian’s door. “Ian, she’s gone. You can come out now.” No answer. Well shoot. Was he ignoring her deliberately?

  As much as she enjoyed Hilda’s company, she couldn’t help thinking about last night and all that had happened. The pleasant dinner, the blood-pumping escape from the paparazzi, the cozy time by the fire in the cabin, her twisted ankle. And then the kiss…

  The kiss. It was either a beginning or an unfortunate slip. Sadly, she concluded it was the latter. Flirting with Ian was fun. That’s all it was. He would only be hiding out from the press for a short while. Probably about the time Ian returned to London, Bella would be on her way to the Orkneys for a few days. It was a trip she had planned weeks ago. Her house-sitting duties would be covered while she was gone by the same teenager who looked after Cinnamon now and again.

  The prospect of that upcoming adventure had beckoned on the horizon like the cherry on the top of her wonderful visit to Scotland. Why now had it lost its luster?

  With the step-clunk that was her new less than graceful pattern, she climbed another flight of stairs and made it to her bedroom. This walking-with-crutches thing was not easy.

  It took more effort than it should to shower, wash and dry her hair, and dress in loose-fitting black knit pants and a soft jersey top. The shirt was peony pink. She needed the bright color to boost her mood.

  Nothing had changed. With Finley on his honeymoon, she had an unprecedented and extremely affordable opportunity to explore the country that had intrigued her for years. Ian was not part of the equation. He was a blip on the radar. An annoying fly on the windshield of her life.

  Unfortunately, no amount of rationalization could take away the feeling that she was missing out on something wonderful.

  When she went downstairs for lunch, she found evidence that Ian had already eaten. That fact shouldn’t have hurt. It was a sandwich and a drink. Ian had told her he focused intensely when he was working. Likely he didn’t want to be interrupted while his impressive brain was calculating obscure equations with multiple variables.

  Moodily, she sat at the kitchen table—solo—and consumed an apple with peanut butter. Not even Cinnamon was around to keep her company. The goofy dog was probably holed up with Ian in the guest room.

  Suddenly, Bella couldn’t stand being cooped up in the house a minute longer. Using both crutches this time, she retrieved her purse and a small backpack and set out for Eilean Donan Castle. It wasn’t terribly far… across the new bridge and on around toward Dornie.

  Only when she arrived and the ticket seller apologetically explained that the tour was not handicap friendly because of all the uneven stairs and narrow corridors, did Bella realize that her injury was going to hinder her ability to explore. Instead of touring the picturesque home of the MacRaes, she could only enjoy the grounds.

  As second best, it wasn’t a bad option. The castle sat on a tiny island where three great lochs converged. Though the original structure had been destroyed and rebuilt several times over the centuries, its latest facelift in the early years of the twentieth century had restored the castle to its former glory. A stone bridge encouraged visitors to approach and admire.

  Although it was awkward, Bella managed to balance on one crutch and take photographs with her iPhone. Eilean Donan was striking from any angle. With the clouds and the water, and the wind whipping the Scottish flag, it wasn’t hard to see why this particular location had been used repeatedly in television and movies. The massive stone castle was impressive. It conjured up images of centuries long gone by.

  All the wonderful photographs in the world didn’t make up for the fact that she wanted to see what was inside. Another day. Maybe even another trip. Her time in Scotland was speeding by much faster than she had anticipated. Not that she couldn’t visit Finley again in the future, but she was surprised by how quickly the days were ticking off on the calendar.

  Because her ankle was aching, she bought a cinnamon scone in the bustling visitor center café and sat down to eat it, her swollen foot propped on a chair. Clearly, she had endured enough physical activity for one day. No point in making things worse.

  The pain and swelling had stabilized, though, so she didn’t see the need for X-rays. She’d always heard that bad sprains took longer to heal than breaks. Patience was all she required, not medical care.

  As she enjoyed the pastry, she acknowledged the truth. She didn’t want to go back to Finley’s house. She was afraid Ian would be there, and she was afraid he wouldn’t be there. How did her perfect sabbatical get messed up so quickly? It was ridiculous to feel exiled from her own house.

  The snack wasn’t going to hold her for long. On the way back, she decided to stop in town and order chicken cacciatore for two. If Ian was MIA, she would simply save the other half for her lunch tomorrow.

  By the time an hour and a half elapsed, she had developed a great appreciation for people with mobility issues. Parking, walking to the restaurant, carrying the food to the car—all while on crutches—was hard.

  At last, she made it back to her home away from home. She felt hot and grubby and out of sorts. Somehow, all her frustrations led back to Ian. She couldn’t blame the injured ankle on him. That was her own carelessness, but dreading the thought of going inside was all his fault.

  She could hear Cinnamon barking. If Finley was home, he had to know she was back. No sooner had she made it up the steps than Ian jerked open the door. She had her hand on the knob, so she nearly overbalanced. He rescued the food just in time and put his arm around her waist.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

  Ian was fresh out of the shower. His thick chestnut hair was damp and his tanned skin smelled like manly soap. Bella might have swooned, but she didn’t trust the darn crutches to hold her up. She tried to wiggle free. “I’m all sweaty,” she said. “Let me go.”

  He dropped a kiss on her nose but released her. “I thought I might have to send out search and rescue. I had no idea where you were. For all I knew, you might have tripped and fallen down a hill.”

  “Your concern is touching. I might point out, though, that if you hadn’t been sneaking around like a ghost earlier today, I could have told you my plans. Where were you, anyway?”

  He led the way to the kitchen and set the bag on the table, sniffing appreciatively. “Smells wonderful.” He grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and started peeling back the foil around the cork. “When I realized you had company, I spent some time in Finley’s workshop. If I had stayed in my room, your friend would have heard the floors creak. I didn’t want to make things awkward for you.”

  Bella scowled, but it was halfhearted at best. “Well, if that was your concern, you should have stayed in London,” she muttered.

  Ian handed her a chilled glass of chardonnay. “Not nice, Bella. Not nice at all. What would Finley say?”

  She took a long slug of wine and sighed. “Finley can go stuff it. I never signed on to be an innkeeper.”

  “Someone’s in a pleasant mood,” Ian said, eyeing her over the rim of his glass. His steady regard made her squirm.

  “For once, it’s not your fault. I went to tour Eilean Donan Castle this afternoon. It’s been on my to-do list forever, but it didn’t occur to me that medieval castles aren’t retrofitted for crutches and wheelchairs. I looked rather foolish, if you must know. I think the guy who wouldn’t sell me a ticket felt sorry for me.”

  “Poor Bella. I’ll take you back when you can walk again, I promise.”

  “How long exactly are you planning to stay?” The question came out more sharply than she intended. The uncertainty of their cohabitation situation made her ill at ease.

  Instead of answering, Ian carefully set down his glass of wine, fetched a c
ouple of plates from the cabinet, and began putting the food out on the table. When Bella tried to stand and help, he shot her a hot, irritated glance. “For God’s sake, sit down. I’ve got this. If you so much as move a muscle, I’ll tie you to that chair.”

  And just like that, the specter of intimacy appeared again.

  Bella looked down at her food, her heart racing. She was afraid to pick up her fork, because her hand was trembling, and she didn’t want him to see.

  The silence after his heated rebuke lasted for twelve and a half minutes. She knew, because she tracked the awkward void on the kitchen clock. Little by little she forced herself to take bites, but the food stuck in her throat.

  Ian ate quickly, either because he was starving or because he wanted to get away from her and back to his computer. Was she imagining his sexual subtext? It wasn’t a skill she’d ever excelled at… gauging a man’s interest.

  When she had eaten enough to make it look as though everything was normal, she poked at the remainder with her fork. “Did you have a productive day?”

  Ian looked at her, his eyebrow raised. “Small talk? Really? Are we having afternoon tea? Should I extend my pinkie finger?”

  “Don’t be a sarcastic ass.”

  “It’s the only kind of ass I know.”

  The droll comment made her laugh, and oddly enough unraveled the knot in her stomach. “What exactly is it that you do?” She couldn’t believe they had shared a roof for several days now and she still didn’t know.

  He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “’Cause I’m not as smart as you?”

  For a moment she thought he was going to jam his fork, tines down, in Finley’s old-fashioned, already scarred oak table. “You have to be the most impossible, contermacious woman I’ve ever met.”

  “You’re not exactly easy, now are you? Go ahead. Try me. Tell me about a day in the life of Ian Larrimore.” She wasn’t familiar with that Scottish adjective he used, but from the context, she could guess.

  He rubbed two fingers in the center of his forehead. “I’m part of an experimental think tank. We’re funded by a handful of nonprofits and charged with creating ways to make the world a safer and better place.”