Finley nodded. “Yep. All things considered, we turned out pretty well.”
They turned in unison and gazed at their spouses who were laughing and joking and apparently having a lot of fun together.
Finley lifted an eyebrow. “Should we break up their party?” he joked.
Bella caught her brand new husband’s eye and smiled at him. Ian stopped mid-sentence and came to claim his bride. McKenzie followed right behind him, snagged her husband’s wrist, and dragged him close for an enthusiastic hug.
Over Ian’s shoulder, Bella blew her brother a kiss. “Nothing to worry about, Finley. I have it on good authority that we all lived happily ever after.”
If you enjoyed Scot on the Run be sure not to miss Janice Maynard’s
NOT QUITE A SCOT
McKenzie Taylor is high maintenance when it comes to fashion, but when it comes to travel, the socialite prefers privacy to parties, and her own space to hotels. After she and her friends arrive in Scotland and split up to pursue their own adventures, she rents a small cottage on the Isle of Skye. On day two, she crashes her rental car. But a hero emerges from the mist to rescue her. He’s handsome, earthy, funny, and before long is making her feel desirable, not to mention desirous. There’s just one problem: McKenzie’s Highland dreamboat is a motorcycle riding American.
Finley Craig knows his cute new tourist friend is stubbornly set on falling for a Scotsman. But he’s just as set on her falling for him. So he plans to give her a taste of what she thinks she wants. Because Finley suspects McKenzie isn’t as shallow as she appears. And in the process of surrounding her with his hand-picked suitors, she may just decide that American-made is best—especially when she and Finley are rained in together over one long, delicious, and very adventurous weekend…
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Read on for a special excerpt.
Chapter 1
Headed for Inverness on the East Coast Train…
Scotland. The Highlands. Purple heather. Northern lights. Men in kilts. I was too excited to sleep. I might have made this journey on my own long ago. Instead, I had waited until the moment was right. The wrong companions could ruin even the most exotic trip. Luckily, I’d known the two women traveling with me since we were all in diapers.
Hayley—whose mother ran the in-home daycare where my friends and I first met as toddlers—taught third grade. She was organized, earnest, and one of the most caring people I’d ever known. It pleased me to see her so happy. She practically vibrated with enthusiasm.
After the long flight from Atlanta to Heathrow—and a brief night of sleep in a nondescript hotel room—the three of us were now sitting in motor coach–style seats on either side of a small rectangular table. The train racketed along at high speeds, stopping now and again to drop off and pick up passengers as we whizzed through the countryside. Hayley had finished her tea and was poring over one of the guidebooks she’d brought along.
Willow, on the other hand, brooded loudly, if such a thing were possible. I suspected her cranky attitude was a cover for very real nerves. She had never traveled farther than a few hundred miles from the Peach State. This was a big step for her, not only because of transportation firsts, but because she’d had to leave her business behind.
The salon she co-owned, Hair Essentials, was the product of blood, sweat, and tears. Willow’s history was neither as privileged as mine nor as stable as Hayley’s. Yet somehow, our cynical friend had managed to find her own path, and a successful one at that.
I stifled an unexpected yawn, swamped by a wave of fatigue. Despite the collection of stamps in my passport, I’d never mastered the art of crossing time zones unscathed.
Willow and I had been squabbling half-heartedly for the last hour. As if sensing that I was losing my steam, she half turned in her seat and glared at me. “Jamie Fraser is a fictional character,” she said. “Like Harry Potter or Jason Bourne. You’re not going to find him wandering around the Scottish Highlands waiting to sweep you off your feet.”
I glared right back at her. “I know that. I’m not delusional. But at least I have a whimsical soul. You wouldn’t know a romantic moment if it smacked you in the face.”
We were in the midst of an ongoing argument that neither of us was going to win. I knew the Harry Potter reference was a deliberate jab at me. Though my travel companions had moaned, I’d awakened them early enough this morning to make it to King’s Cross Station for photographs and retail therapy. After all, it wasn’t every day I had a chance to get my picture taken at the famous Platform 9 ¾.
By the time I scoured the handkerchief-sized gift shop and braved the line of tourists posing for the platform picture, we’d had mere minutes to make our noon departure. It was worth the mad scramble. I considered J. K. Rowling one of the wonders of the modern world.
Willow wasn’t really miffed about my Harry Potter obsession. She was scared… scared that we three were embarking on an outlandish adventure sure to disappoint us in the end. I could see it in her wary gaze. Life—and probably men as well—had not been kind to her.
Hayley looked at Willow and me with hurt, puppy dog eyes, as if stunned we could be at odds in the midst of this great adventure. “You’re both jet-lagged,” she said. “If you’re not going to enjoy the trip, at least get some sleep so you won’t be grumpy when we get to Inverness. I’m tired of listening to both of you.”
Willow and I tabled our squabbles in favor of closing our eyes. Now the sensation of motion intensified. The train raced along, offering tantalizing glimpses of the countryside each time I peeked. Though I had spent a week in Edinburgh several years ago, this was my first chance to venture north. I had told Willow and Hayley that a recent bequest from my grandmother’s estate prompted our bucket list trip, but in truth, I’d been planning this pilgrimage for some time.
I was trying to make up for the decade and a half when my childhood friends and I lost touch. Though Hayley’s mom had eventually caught up with most of her daycare graduates via Facebook, in the years before that, little more than Christmas cards kept the connection alive between my friends and me.
Our lives had taken far different paths. Hayley was firmly middle-class America with two loving parents and a conventional job. Willow, on the other hand, didn’t talk much about her past. Her father had walked out right about the time my parents pulled me from public school and enrolled me in an elite academy. Willow and her mom had been forced to rely on the kindness of relatives who lived on the opposite side of the city.
Despite our differences and the years we spent apart, we were closer now than ever, partly because of a shared obsession, albeit a harmless one. We were all three madly enamored with Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander books, and more recently, the TV series. We spent hours critiquing the first season of the show, deciding that although nothing could compare to the actual book, the producers and directors and cast had done a bang-up job of bringing Claire Randall and Jamie Fraser to life.
Somewhere, somehow, in the midst of a sleepless spring night when my hormones were raging and my good sense waning, I had seized on the idea that Hayley and Willow and I should travel to Scotland and seek out our own Outlander-style adventures, preferably with a kilt-clad hero involved.
I knew my plan was farfetched. Guys like the fictional Jamie Fraser, particularly in the twenty-first century, were few and far between. I’d dated my share of losers. Kissing frogs was a rite of passage for millennials.
In my personal experience, though, American men tended to fall into three categories: mama’s boys who wanted another woman to take care of them; high-powered workaholics who didn’t need or care about real relationships; and last but not least, a large group of genuinely nice guys who would make great boyfriend or husband material, but didn’t get my heart (or anywhere else) all fizzy.
Still, I couldn’t give up hope that somewhere out there was the one man who was my soul mate. I didn’t actually share that belief with my friends for several reasons.
Hayley lived like a nun, and Willow was too much of a hard-ass to believe in fairytale romance. Or if she did believe in it, she sure as heck wouldn’t admit to something so girly.
My goal for this trip was to get away from everything that pigeonholed me back in the States. I lived mostly in Atlanta, but my parents had a penthouse apartment in New York and a ski chalet in St. Moritz. I was the epitome of the poor little rich girl. I knew my last nanny better than I knew my own mother.
I wasn’t complaining. Not at all. Nobody ever said life was fair. Since I’d never had to clip coupons or worry about my car being repossessed, I suppose it made cosmic sense that the average American family wasn’t something I would ever have. No Monopoly games around the kitchen table. No making s’mores over a summer campfire. No irritating siblings to steal the attention from me.
Hayley and Willow were the closest thing to sisters I would ever have. I felt more than a little guilty that I had bludgeoned them into making this trip. Even though I paid for the first class airfare and train tickets, the two of them were still going to be out of pocket for lodging and meals.
I wished they would let me cover that, too, but Hayley had pulled me aside months ago and pointed out that she and Willow needed to feel invested in this adventure and not entirely beholden to me. Like Claire Randall, the gutsy heroine of Outlander, we were supposed be bold and independent. In the process, perhaps we might stumble upon our own gorgeous, chivalrous, modern-day Highlanders.
Hayley believed it could happen. Willow would probably work hard to make sure it didn’t happen. And as for me…well, I as far as I was concerned, it was a pleasant daydream.
My repeated yawns were rubbing off on Willow. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tell me again why we didn’t fly straight to Inverness?”
“You know why,” Hayley said. She opened her notebook. “We agreed that since we can’t actually go back in time like Claire does in Outlander, this train journey will be symbolic of our desire to go off the grid for a month. No cell phones. No Internet. No Facebook. No Twitter. You agreed, Willow.”
“Under duress,” she muttered.
I snickered. “You’re bitchy when you’re tired.”
“And you’re even more annoying than usual,” Willow drawled.
Usually, I loved a good argument. At the moment, though, I was not at my best. After a warning glance from Hayley, I pretended to sleep again. Maybe that would keep me out of trouble.
This train ride had turned me inside out. I was flooded with all sorts of feelings. The fact that my two best friends had followed along with my mad scheme humbled me. I would be absolutely devastated if either of them ended up getting hurt, either physically or emotionally.
It wasn’t too late to back out. One word from me and I felt sure either or both of my friends would agree to a new course of action, one where we stuck together as a team. Why had safe seemed like such a dirty word?
Our plan was to remain together tonight at the hotel adjacent to the train station in Inverness. Then tomorrow morning, we would all three go our separate ways. My stomach clenched and my chest tightened. Whatever happened after that would be all my fault.
Hayley tapped the notebook where she had underlined the final piece of our plan. “And remember—every night at nine o’clock, or as close as we can make it, we’ll turn on our phones and check for any emergency messages from each other.”
Willow nodded. “I won’t forget.” I sensed that she was as worried about Hayley as I was. Willow had street smarts, but our schoolteacher friend exhibited a naïve streak a mile wide.
The odd thing was, Willow and I were probably the two with the most in common. Which sounded ridiculous given the circumstances of our upbringing. But it was true.
Hayley possessed the wide-eyed wonder of a child and a nonchalant certainty that people were basically nice and sweet and accommodating. Lord help us if she ever found out that wasn’t true.
Then there was Willow: hard-working, gruff Willow. Rough around the edges. Abnormally cautious when it came to money. Almost always expecting the worst. I’m sure she would hoot at the comparison, but she and I shared a similar outlook. Neither of us wanted to depend on anyone else for our happiness and our security.
Willow had coped with poverty and a dysfunctional family. The hand I’d been dealt included too much money and parents who barely acknowledged my existence. I’d long since given up trying to win their approval.
Even if I could go out tomorrow, marry a Wall Street banker, and pop out two point five kids, it still wouldn’t be enough. My father’s career engulfed him. My mother’s vanity and narcissism absorbed her.
Thank God I had two such amazing human beings for friends. I loved both with a raw intensity that would probably astonish each of them in different ways. With seven years of adult friendship under our belts to bolster our childhood memories, I would never let them go. Not the recollections of the past, and certainly not the women themselves. Hayley and Willow and I were the same age. At the moment, though, I felt the sole burden of responsibility. This entire Outlander scheme was my idea. If it failed, I’d be to blame. If it succeeded, even on a superficial level, we’d have a thrilling month ahead.
Despite the panic and the second thoughts, the prospect was exhilarating. Was there a Jamie out there for me? A strong, chivalrous Scotsman who would fight for me and keep me warm at night?
I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up his face.
Inverness couldn’t get here soon enough…
Meet the Author
Photo by Jamie Pearson Photography
USA Today bestselling author Janice Maynard knew she loved books and writing by the time she was eight years old. But it took multiple rejections and many years of trying before she sold her first three novels. After teaching kindergarten and second grade for a number of years, Janice took a leap of faith and quit her day job. Since then she has written and sold over thirty-five books and novellas.
During a recent trip to Scotland, Janice enjoyed getting to know the “motherland.” Her grandfather’s parents emigrated from the home of bagpipes, heather, and kilts. Janice lives in east Tennessee with her husband, Charles. They love hiking, traveling, and spending time with family.
Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job!
You can connect with Janice at http://www.twitter.com/JaniceMaynard, www.facebook.com/JaniceMaynardReaderPage, http://www.wattpad.com/user/JaniceMaynard, and http://www.instagram.com/JaniceMaynard.
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