Some Like It Scot (Crescent Cove Book 1)

by Marlie May

  While I had no clue where this was going with Lark, I couldn’t wait to see where this adventure took me.

  Our kiss in the kitchen had knocked me on my ass.

  But, by the next day, I’d put the whole thing into perspective. Sure, I liked her, but I was nowhere near close to falling for her. Pheromones were playing tennis with my mind. I hadn’t been with anyone in eons. This was just an ordinary attraction. Nothing more.

  But that didn’t stop me from dressing differently before it was time to take her out to the farm.

  Something inside me kept shouting, GAME ON!

  Reaching into the closet, I pulled out the garment bag and dropped it on my bed.

  Five years ago, after the wild popularity of my first book, the leader of Clan MacLeod sent a gift. Clan MacLeod was Duncan’s family. Clann Mhic Leòid, if I wanted to be specific. The name meant Son of Leod, ironically derived from the Old Norse name Ljótr, meaning ugly.

  Mom ruffled my hair and hooted when I told her.

  I pulled off my sweats, balled them up, and tossed them into the basket.

  Boxers? No boxers?

  You don’t want to scare the lass off, now do you, lad?

  “Okay,” I said. “Boxers it is.”

  The folds of my black, green, and blue kilt settled above my knees. I pulled on the white shirt they’d sent along with the kilt and tucked it in. Next, I buckled my sporran around my waist and let the pouch rest over my groin. A kilt had no pockets, and, in the olden days, men would store items inside the sporran. I tugged on long socks and tucked my sgian dubh knife into the top. Next, I laced on thick-soled, black ghillies, shoes named for the traditional Scottish gamekeeper. Over my shirt, I draped a tartan and fastened it with a pin at my shoulder.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I took in my image. And scoffed at the hint of vulnerability in my eyes.

  “Ye can do this, lad. She said she’d consider going out with someone like Duncan. Ye created the Scotsman she loves the most. Who better to play him than you?”

  My heart thundering in my chest, I got into my car and drove to Lark’s place, parking in her drive. I sat with the engine idling.

  Exiting her front door, Lark stood on the deck, staring at my car for a moment that stretched on so long, I worried she’d return back inside and send me a text, get lost.

  While I fiddled with the hem of my kilt and contemplated backing down her drive and taking myself home where I could slink into my office, a light breeze stirred her flowery skirt and picked up her chestnut hair.

  My breathing ground to a halt. I’d never known anyone this gorgeous in my life.

  Yes, I wanted her. To hold and to cherish. But I also wanted her, that funny, quirky woman hiding inside the pretty exterior.

  The realization shook me to the bone.

  As I gulped and wondered what the hell I was going to do now, she came down the steps and strode over to the car. She opened the passenger door, settling into the seat beside me, and tossed her tote bag on the floor by her feet.

  “Hi,” she said while buckling. Glancing my way, she did a double take. “What…what are you wearing?”

  “Ach, lass.” I swallowed and located my tongue. “Dinnae ye recognize authentic Highland Games attire?”

  “Why are you wearing a kilt?” No mistaking the breathlessness in her voice. Her gaze drifted across my chest to my sporran, then along to my legs. “And what’s…” She blinked again. “What’s with the accent?”

  I loved that she was as unsettled as me.

  “’Tis nothing, lass.” This was…working. Maybe. Grinning, I backed down her drive. “I just wanted to give ye a taste of a true Scottish man.”

  “You’re not Scottish.”

  “Close enough.”

  She couldn’t seem to drag her attention away.

  “How have ye been, lass?” I asked, all casual, as I drove out onto the main road.

  Shaking her head, she turned her head sharply to focus on the road in front of us. “Busy. Running, working, running, working. The, ah, story of my life.”

  “Quite a book ye are writin’ there.”

  “Yes. I, uh…”

  “Do ye like my accent?” I asked, my voice husky with untamed emotion.

  “Yes. I mean, no. I mean…”

  No harm in admitting to myself that I was filled with a mix of relief and excitement. Her stumbling told me I wasn’t the only one playing this game.

  Regaining control, she pressed on. “Anyway. Esteban said he’d been in touch with a few farmers. I called them both, but the one we’re visiting today is our best prospect. The owner is a referral from one of his friends.” She pulled a folder out of her bag and opened it on her lap, then slid her finger down the page with our assignment. “Don’t forget. We still have to make sure everything’s set with the heavy games, too.”

  “We can get together to line things up on the morrow. If ye would like.”

  She paused, staring down at the pages. “Are you going to keep talking like that?”

  Did I hear eagerness in her words?

  “No harm in it, is there now, lass?”

  “I suppose not.” Her throat moved heavily with her swallow. “I can’t…” She coughed. “I can’t get together tomorrow. I’ve got to work.”

  “Friday?”

  She shook her head. “More work.”

  “We’ll find time, then. At my place?”

  “Not at your place.”

  “Why not?” Obviously, I’d gotten underneath her skin with my kiss. Good, because she was solidly underneath mine.

  “It’s just not a great idea.”

  Before I could say anything more, we arrived at the farm. I drove up the dirt driveway and cut the engine in front of a two-story house connected to a series of red barns.

  A middle-aged woman exited the front door and stood on the porch, shading her eyes with her hand. We got out of the car while she strode down the front stairs.

  Like Lark, she took in my outfit with raised eyebrows. Unlike Lark, she said nothing.

  I just grinned. This was going to be fun.

  She stretched out her hand, and her lips twitched. “I’m Jane. You must be Dag and Lark from the Highland Games Committee.” She waved at the buildings. “In case you can’t tell, I’m a farmer.” The buildings might not give her away, but her boots, jeans, and green tee with Organics Farmers Do It Better, written across the front, might.

  “As Esteban mentioned, we’re in charge of the animal events,” I told her as she led us across the driveway toward the biggest barn. She veered around the side and stopped in front of a scrubby pasture.

  A rooster crowing somewhere nearby and the nicker of a horse greeted us. My sinuses took in the heavy mix of freshly cut hay and manure, while the sun-soaked into the exposed skin on my arms. Two cows stared at us from beyond a wire fence that encircled the pasture, lazily chewing their cud. Others munched on grass or drank water from a trough. A horse trotted toward us, his black tail flowing behind him in a rippling wave.

  “We’re looking for animals for the children’s petting area,” Lark said. “Any suggestions?”

  “Well.” Jane scratched her short, salt-and-pepper hair, and gazed toward the animals. “I’ve got rabbits. They always go over well with little ones. My goats are sweet, too.”

  As evidenced by the one nudging my sock with its nose. Jane let them run free?

  The creature reared up on its hind legs and planted its front hooves on my chest, making me whoof. I grabbed onto it before it fell, and rubbed its bristly, furry sides. Scratched behind its floppy ears. “How are you, little guy?”

  “That’s Daisy,” Jane said. “See what I mean? Friendly.”

  Lark pinched her lips, and I knew she was poised to burst into laughter.

  Animals liked me. There was nothing wrong with that.

  Daisy dropped back to her four hooves and started to graze on the grass near my shoes. As long as she didn’t eat them, we’d remain solid fri
ends.

  “I’ve also got geese,” Jane said to Lark. “Nice ones. Not meanies like some. Raised them with my grandkids.”

  Hopefully, she meant she’d raised them in the barn, not along with everyone in the house. The geese, that is, not the kids.

  “Chickens. I’ve hatched chicks recently,” Jane said. “And I’m your best bet for llamas. Everyone loves llamas. The ones I own can’t get enough of being touched. They’re soft. I keep ‘em super clean.”

  “How about ponies?” Lark asked. “We want to offer pony rides.”

  “I have four that might work well for that.” Jane laughed. “I’ve got a regular menagerie here. My grandkids love coming out to stay.”

  One-stop animal shopping couldn’t be beaten.

  “I’ll send some hands along, too, to help during the Games. My crew will keep track of the animals, make sure everyone’s safe, and deal with the ponies. The kids will need help mounting, and then someone to lead the animal around in a circle.”

  “I think that’s it, right, lass?” I asked Lark. This had been easier than I’d expected. Maybe I could talk Lark into having coffee with me before I dropped her off. “Anything else ye can think of?”

  She nibbled her lower lip, a gesture that brought my insides to a boiling point in seconds.

  Was there a convenient hay pile nearby I could talk Lark into trialing? During the Games, we planned to set up huge mounds of hay the kids could jump into, off a slightly raised platform. Lark and I needed to make sure the activity would work while we were here. Provide that necessary service to the community. Lark could lie back in the hay, and I could lower myself on top of her. Sample that sweet spot where her neck met her shoulder again. Move my lips lower, if she let me. Which she probably wouldn’t.

  I needed to taste her mouth again. Even one day without her kiss was a drought.

  Lark cupped her cheeks with her palms. “Wait. We can’t forget the greased pig.”

  Totally not where my mind was going. I needed to haul my attention back on track before it derailed completely.

  “I have piglets.” Jane frowned. “Hadn’t thought about greasing ‘em up and chasing them around. I don’t imagine the piglet would mind, though, as long as you can assure me the animal won’t be injured or frightened by the activity.”

  “The event will be completely supervised,” I told her. “If things start to get out of hand, we’ll stop immediately.”

  “Sounds fine by me, then,” Jane said. “I have one piglet my grandkids chase around all the time. I imagine the piglet knows it’s a game.” She tapped her temple. “Pigs are smarter than humans.”

  “How is this done, do you think?” Lark asked me. “Would we need shortening? Oil? I think oil would work better. It’s more slippery.”

  Yeah, this conversation was going to kill me. I couldn’t stop thinking about Lark being slippery. My groan slipped out before I could nip it back.

  Lark and Jane sent matching confused looks in my direction.

  “You okay?” Lark asked. “You’re flushed.” Her palm slid along my forehead. “You coming down with something?” She snickered. “Maybe it’s all that running around with bare legs.”

  So, she’d noticed my legs? I liked that.

  “I’m fine.” I backed up. One touch, even purely platonic, acted like dynamite. It could set me off. So much for simple pheromones. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my insides were turning to mush.

  But I didn’t do mush. Nothing close to mush.

  Except for Lark.

  “Shut up,” I hissed.

  “What?” Jane and Lark frowned.

  I raked my fingers down my face. “Nothing.”

  “Maybe you should try her out?” Jane asked. She continued while I blinked at her. “We can grease her up, and you can give her a whirl.”

  Was I that obvious? My kilt was loose; no one should be able to tell.

  Remain focused on the conversation. This is not about sex.

  “I’ll grab the oil and piglet, then let it loose in the lower pasture.” Jane gestured to a smaller, fenced in area. “We’ll see how it goes.” She strolled toward the house.

  Lark turned and scrunched her face at me. “I’m not sure about this.”

  Neither was I. And not just about the piglet. I was being thrown for one loop after another.

  “We’ve got to make sure it works, right?” I asked, trying to remain focused on the conversation.

  Her lips twisted. “We?”

  “It’s nae a competition, lass, if I chase the pig by ma self.”

  Did Lark have to nibble on her fingernail, drawing my attention to her mouth? If only I could convince her to give equal attention to me. I was long overdue for nibbling.

  “Unless you dinnae think ye can do it,” I said as a challenge, wiggling my eyebrows.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m a runner. I can outpace you on any day of the week.” Her hand flicked my way. “Especially in that get-up.”

  I snorted because it was readily apparent I flustered her in this ‘get-up’.

  Her eyes darkened to a stormy sea. “You’ll soon be licking my heels while I’ll be making off with the pig.”

  “I’m all about licking.”

  That pretty color rose into her face. Damn, but I enjoyed making her blush.

  Unfortunately, Jane returned before I could press my advantage. She held a piglet under one arm and a bottle of vegetable oil with the other. We followed her to the lower pasture and through the gate.

  Lark cooed at the piglet and rubbed its little ears.

  “Hey, no sweetening up the animal first,” I said. “You’re breaking the rules.”

  The smile she fed me set my bones on fire. “There are no rules when it involves a cute piglet.” The last few words were said in that cooing tone my mom used with her golden doodle.

  Jane handed the oil to me. “Grease her up good, and we’ll let her go. I don’t know if she’ll run. She seems pretty happy letting Lark pet her.”

  I could understand that.

  While Jane held the pig away from her body, I drizzled oil all over it. Lark helped me spread it around while the pig grunted, no doubt enjoying the massage.

  Shit, I’d grunt, too, if Lark did the same thing to me.

  “Okay,” Jane said. “Release her, and we’ll see if we can get her going. You two can catch her after that.” Taking the animal from Lark, she lowered it to the mud. The piglet squealed and took off, racing across the uneven ground, no doubt enjoying the unexpected freedom.

  “Well. Guess that answers that question,” Jane said. Widening her eyes, she flapped both hands. “Go get her. This is your thing, not mine.”

  Lark laughed and took off after the piglet, her flowery skirt flicking up in the back. She wore flowery sneakers that matched. But her bare legs drew my eye, muscles pumping as she ran.

  I gave chase, pounding after her. Her giggle when I caught up told me she was okay with my pursuit. Well, my pursuit of the piglet, that is. Sort of. It was more fun chasing Lark.

  The pig reached the end of the pasture and veered to the right. Then to the left. It leaped small rocks and darted around clumps of grass, little legs churning. Emitting soft grunts that sounded like distinct pleasure.

  We raced after it, elbowing each other playfully, struggling to grab the elusive animal.

  I leaned forward and snatched at its back leg, but it slid free.

  “No,” Lark yelled, streaking ahead of me, drawing closer to the pig. Her chestnut hair flew behind her in a sable cape. When she darted a look my way, her eyes gleamed like blue diamonds. I’d just about kill to kiss her pink cheeks. “Get your own piglet.”

  “I think I’m after the right prey already.”

  She scowled, but I could tell by the twitch of her lips she was having as much fun as I was.

  The piglet must’ve thought we’d given up, because it slowed and glanced our way, pretty much snickering. Taunting us, most likely.

  I burst
forward, reaching for it, determined to win at least one round today, but the pig leaped sideways. It squealed again and ran toward Jane. Lark and I lunged after it.

  The ground was softer in the middle of the pasture. Wetter, too. Lark’s foot slipped, and she started to fall. Because I couldn’t stop her from toppling, I dove toward her and turned with her in my arms. We plunged onto the sloppy surface, skidded along, and then came to a stop.

  Lark lay on top of me.

  While having her underneath me might be my current goal in life, I was okay with this position, too. Especially with her legs straddling my waist. What would it take to get her to slide her hands underneath my shirt? The memory of her touch burst into my brain. Like clockwork, my body responded.

  Lark stilled and stared down at me. I could spend considerable time exploring all the colors in her eyes.

  Her lips parted, and she leaned closer.

  Hell, yeah. Sliding my fingers into her hair, I nudged her near, determined to capture her lips.

  She blinked and pulled back.

  Crap.

  Her chest shaking with laughter, she propelled herself up and off me. Her grin grew as she raked her gaze down my body. “Lookin’ good, Dag. Lookin’ mighty fine.”

  I could live with mighty fine.

  She held out her hand to help me up, and I took it. Not that I needed help. I just wanted to hold her hand.

  “You know,” she said. “With all that mud on your face, you look kinda cute.”

  So did she.

  Today had been fun, solely because I’d shared it with Lark.

  Lark

  Dag, Dag, Dag.

  What was I going to do about Dag? His cleverness kept me on my toes. His teasing stretched my face into a permanent grin.

  Seeing him dressed in a kilt had almost sent me into cardiac arrest.

  It was all I could do to keep from devouring him when I’d fallen on top of him while chasing the piglet. I was a moment away from telling him that maybe I was open to going out with him.

  Was I wrong not to trust him?

  Fortunately, my truck started on Saturday, because I needed to get to the next Highland Games Committee meeting. In many ways, I was looking forward to it. In others, I wasn’t sure.