Charming Scottish Bastard

by Melissa Blue

  A part of her wanted to follow him up the stairs to somehow make it all right. How could she, though? Grant knew the right things to say and when to say them, but he never lied. The right thing to say was fifteen minutes ago when she’d seen how upset he was. A simple, “What’s eating at you?” was all she had needed to ask.

  She’d assumed he was the bad guy.

  She had told him more than once about getting kicked in the teeth, and she’d been the one to do the kicking.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket, breaking the grave-like stillness in the pub. Her mother’s ringtone. She let it roll to her voicemail. A minute passed, and her phone buzzed again. Taking a breath, she plopped onto a bar stool. Taking another, she answered her phone.

  “Hey, ma,” she forced cheer into the two words, and it hurt. It hurt like shit. She silently prayed her mother would be fooled by it.

  “You sound weird. What’s going on?”

  Tasha covered her mouth with a hand as tears once again threatened to pour out. She breathed again and tried again to sound like she hadn’t broken her own damn heart. “It’s just like…two in the morning. I was on my way out to get back to my B&B. What’s going on with you?”

  Her mother was silent.

  Tasha rested her head on the bar’s countertop. Just this once, please let it go. Let it go.

  “Tasha Marie…” her mother started and that was the end of that hope.

  “Yes, mama?”

  “You know I wasn’t really feeling you going to Scotland.”

  “I am very aware of that.”

  Her mother sighed as though the simple answer required one. “I don’t know what’s going on with you. I wish you would tell me.”

  Ha. And she immediately felt guilty at that thought. Her mother had never said anything that wasn’t true. John had been utterly condescending. It took hindsight to see that every belief needed a dissertation-like argument to back it up.

  She couldn’t just say, “I don’t like the color red.” John would tell her the history of the color and painstakingly explain why she should at least appreciate the shade.

  She should have seen how wrong they were for each other. But love. God, how it made everything hazy. How it made her excuse the indefensible and look the other way until the truth gripped her by the hair and forced her to stare in its face.

  Tasha didn’t want to be this prickly person but she damn sure didn’t know how not to be. It was all so screwed up with no easy fix.

  And here her mother was simply asking to be let in. No different than Grant. Thousands of miles, a fraught history, and so many complicated emotions made it hard to answer her mother’s straight-forward plea of confessing all.

  But Tasha tried because something—she— had to give. Where had being safe and cautious with her feelings gotten her?

  “I think I’ve fallen in love and ruined everything.”

  There was a world of silence on her mother’s end. Tasha braced herself.

  Her mother said on a sigh, “Your dad and I rarely fight. I don’t mean petty things. We have a lot of that, like most couples who somehow endured more than ten years in each other’s space.”

  Tasha smiled at the tangent. “I know, mom. You guys argue about him not closing the cereal right. All the time.”

  “He doesn’t close it. He rolls the bag up and leaves the cardboard top open. Beside the point. I told your dad what I said to you after John proposed, and he didn’t talk to me, not really, for a month.”

  This was news to her. Her dad was so easygoing she often wondered if she inherited anything from him. “Dad?”

  “Your daddy. I will never forget he looked me dead in the eye and asked me if I even said congratulations.”

  Tasha couldn’t remember if her mother had. “And what did you say?”

  “Nothing, because I couldn’t remember. So I said what I said to you, but after that, I tried my best to keep my mouth shut. Even when everyone else was saying things about what we all could see about John. For months before the wedding date, all I could remember was how happy you sounded, and how I rained on your parade. I couldn’t even remember saying I’m happy you’re happy.”

  “But you were right. I shouldn’t have married him.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. Your kids would have had his shifty eyes and corrected everyone’s grammar. I would have loved them as my grandbabies anyway even if I didn’t like them.”

  “Mom.” Tasha couldn’t hold back the laugh.

  “I said all this to say, I am not…jazzed you’re in Scotland, doing whatever. The last thing I want is for you to stay. But if being there makes you happy, then I am happy for you.”

  Her mother’s words made her feel so much better and so much worse. There was so much she could say, but Tasha picked the one thing that made her happy in the moment. “Mia and Kincaid picked a date. Christmas Eve.”

  Her mother sighed, the sound so resigned. “Are you staying until then or will I see you before that?”

  Mia was safe. The new hires needed maybe a few more weeks of training. Given what she’d done to Grant, there was no other reason to stay in Scotland. Her and Mia’s friendship would be fine long distance.

  “I’ll come home and come back here for the wedding.”

  Her heart broke a little more, but she didn’t know how to fix it. Grant was right. Emotions were so damn complicated and inconvenient.

  His mobile chirped and the sound hammered nails into his temples. He groaned into the couch cushions. It chirped again, because he hadn’t turned off continuous alerts. Shutting off alerts was something he would look forward as a non-CFO to a multi-billion company, but at the moment…

  He shifted to dig into his pants pocket for his phone.

  Isla: Can you pick me up from the airport?

  Grant squinted, confused.

  Grant: Airport?

  Isla: Glasgow International. You’ve time to kick whatever random woman out of your bed and pick me up by 2.

  The ache came rushing back in. The drink had done its job. What happened with Tasha hadn’t been his first thought waking. Almost like it hadn’t happened, but she had stared at him, suspicion in her eyes. She’d either hadn’t cared about the man he’d been with her, or purposely ignored …

  He shut his eyes. With one hand he texted Isla he’d be there to pick her up. She sent him back a heart eyes emoji. His sister was coming home. She wouldn’t do that on a whim, without a good reason. She was running from something.

  Though his head appreciated the distraction of worry for someone other than himself, his fucking heart refused to relent.

  Grant was thinking things like his heart. Fucking shite. He’d gone dramatic.

  With so much regret, he sat up.

  “The dead has risen,” the Baird boomed as he exited his room, headed for the kitchen.

  The manky bastard had done it on purpose. Had probably waited for Grant to wake. When the older man started rattling pots in the kitchen, Grant was sure Baird had indeed bided his time.

  Still, manners forced him to say, “Thank you for letting me crash on your couch.”

  “Figured you might need it. I could hear the row from downstairs.”

  Grant winced and kept his mouth shut. The Baird would likely have plenty to say. Grant didn’t want to replough that land though. The less he thought about the row with Tasha the better.

  But when you see her again?

  From the kitchen, the Baird asked if he wanted tea or coffee. The pound at the base of his skull made the choice for him. By the time he’d finished showering and shaving, the Baird had breakfast laid out.

  He muttered a thanks but wasn’t fooled. Maybe the Baird could see the pain from the hangover—and other things—on his face because the man went straight for the jugular.

  “Was it her or you that fucked things up?”

  Grant pulled his plate closer and started in on the beans. The Baird waited for
a reply and at some point, Grant realized the man would wait for Jesus to return for a reply.

  With a huff, he said, “She thought I would break up Mia and Kincaid’s wedding. I took offense.”

  “Offense,” the Baird said, and he might have as well have chuffed at the understatement. “Aye, offense is why a man drinks himself into a stupor and voluntarily sleeps on a hard, cold couch rather than his lover’s warm bed. Either way, sad to hear of the break between you. More coffee?”

  Something sharp and hot sliced through him at the quick dismissal. As though he and Tasha were a passing phase in each other’s lives. But isn’t this what he wanted? Things had ended. Time to move on.

  “More coffee, thank you.” Grant stabbed at the eggs and shoved them into his mouth.

  “Here you go, laddie.” As he poured, the Baird added, “But what did you expect with Tasha? The lassie is headed home in a few weeks. I’m sure she’ll come back for the wedding, but she’s a Yank, through and through. It’s surprising she’s friends with Mia. Now that lassie would uproot for everything for love. Tasha’s more cautious. She would see you as a man who put family first when it matters. Just look at Davina. She wasn’t family.”

  Dick punch. He shoveled more food into his mouth and hummed a response in hopes the man would stop flaying him, but that was like hoping a river to stop running.

  “But she’s a softie,” Baird added. “I’m sure once she’s seen the harm she’s caused, she’ll apologize.”

  She already had, but what did that change? When it counted, she hadn’t been someone he could turn to. Something deep and lasting couldn’t grow with ground sowed with distrust.

  “Are you done?” Grant said. “With the food, that is. I can wash up, since you cooked.”

  “I’ll do it. It’ll give my hands something to do.”

  “Aye, right. I’m heading out.”

  The Baird nodded slowly then pinned him with a stare. “Will you be staying on my couch again tonight?”

  With Isla in town, that left things up in the air. He was sure Kincaid and Mia wouldn’t mind letting her stay for however long she needed, but his sister was a bit…well, a lot to handle. A smile fought its way out. He’d missed her and couldn’t wait to see her, no matter whatever troubles followed her.

  “No,” Grant finally answered. “I think I’ll find accommodations before I have to pick my sister up from the airport.”

  The Baird put out his hand and it only took half a second to understand the older man wanted his plate. Grant scraped up what was left into his mouth and handed it over.

  The Baird grunted once the plate was in hand. “I thought you had already secured a room at a B&B.”

  Grant narrowed his eyes. “Aye, it’s taken.”

  “By Tasha?”

  Grant just gritted his teeth.

  Baird hummed. There was no doubt some sage insight into that, too. Tasha was frugal but headstrong. She could have pushed for him to stay at the B&B, since he was footing the bill, but she hadn’t, and that must have meant something.

  Fuck. And now he was thinking about that, and a kernel of hope planted a seed. Grant was sure everyone who met the Baird loved the man. He could only glare at him.

  20

  H

  ad the evening in the pub been one decibel quieter, Tasha was sure everyone would have turned to her when the glass slipped from her hand and hit the floor. She was only grateful she hadn’t already filled the cup. She should have reached for the small broom and dustpan, but she couldn’t breathe, much less move, her gaze fixed on the pub’s entrance.

  Grant stood with his arm slung over a woman’s shoulder, wearing a grin and a glint in his eye. The Black woman’s hair was a thick, curly dark shade of auburn. Even with the distance and tawny shade of her skin, Tasha could make out a few freckles along the bridge of her nose and a scattering that traced the top of her high cheekbones. She was beautiful and smiling at Grant like…

  The burn of a stare heated her face. She searched for it and found Douglass frowning at her. She swallowed, considering her options. She could stand there and try to act like Grant waltzing into the Drunken Barrel with another woman didn’t sting—no, didn’t feel like he’d just drop kicked her heart. Or she could act like something very urgent needed her attention in the back room.

  Tasha cleared her throat, “Could you?” she gestured to the waiting patrons.

  Douglass waved her off but muttered, “It’s not what you think, lassie.”

  She trudged to the back and skirted down the hallway to the storage closet. In the dark, she reached out for a shelf then leaned and breathed.

  The shock of seeing Grant with another woman faded until the edges stopped biting into her mind. A CFO, used to getting whatever he wanted with a snap of his fingers, would be petty enough to bring another woman around to rub into her face. A man who didn’t lose sleep at night over a lover abandoning her dream would also be totally fine parading around a rebound lover.

  But that wasn’t the whole of Grant Cameron. Or maybe her stupid heart had finally swayed her head. She didn’t know, but the confusion didn’t diminish the unexpected punch to her gut.

  “So why the fuck is he walking in with another woman?”

  The door creaked open, filling the enclosed space with light. There he stood, a scowl on his face. “Aye, right,” Grant growled. “I’m going to choke him.”

  “Who?” is all she could say, shocked to see him and maybe a little embarrassed he’d caught her hiding.

  “Baird. Sent me to get a broom. Even though I know we have one right behind the counter.” And then he frowned. “What are you doing in here, in the dark?”

  She couldn’t tell him she had been blindsided by jealousy, hurt and…regret. “Um, I—Well, I needed a moment.”

  Not a lie, and so not the truth. He came into the room, closing the door behind him and throwing them back into darkness.

  “You saw me come into the pub, didn’t you?”

  She heard a shuffle of steps and the light clicked on. His gaze went to her face, and she knew he would detail every single twitch. Her choices became so very clear in that moment. She could put on a brave face and lie through her teeth. Or she could be more like Grant, vulnerable and honest as though she had nothing to hide. She owed him that at least.

  Still, she had to swallow. “I saw you walk into the pub with a woman on your arm, and it was like getting punched in the gut.”

  His jaw worked. “So, once again you thought I was an arse?”

  “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You weren’t thinking?”

  The explanation didn’t sound any better when he repeated it. “You walking in with another woman simply blind-sided me and all I could do was feel.”

  “Feel?”

  “Seeing you with her, whoever she is, threw me. Had me in my feels. Up to my eyeballs. And given yesterday I really don’t have a right—”

  “Let me stop you there. You never even asked if you could have the right. Never demanded I be yours and yours only. Yet, I gave that to you anyway.”

  “We weren’t supposed to fall in love. I’m leaving. This isn’t my home. I shouldn’t care. And still it hurt.” Her breath shuddered out because tears threatened to fall. “Damn you, Grant.”

  He opened his mouth then clamped it shut then he tipped her chin up with his finger. “You’re cursing me? Me?” He didn’t sound angry, just amused.

  She couldn’t help it, not with him so close. Tasha closed her fingers around his wrist. “I’m sorry.”

  He dropped his hand, blowing out a breath. “You said you’re leaving.”

  “I always was.”

  “No. You said it like you had a date in mind.” His eyes were…

  She’d never seen someone look so sad without being on the verge tears. She balled her hand to keep from touching his face. “Had you asked me last night, I would have said in a few weeks.”

 
“What’s changed your mind?”

  “A shitty night of sleep for one. Even during the week you were gone, I hadn’t felt so lonely.” She had to stop and just breathe, because saying that much was…dear gawd, how did he do this all the damn time? “And last night, I couldn’t help but feel like that one scene from Indiana Jones. The one where the guy just punches a hole in someone’s chest and takes out their heart, while it’s still beating.”

  “Not an incredibly accurate depiction, but I get the gist.”

  She put a hand to her chest because her heart was racing.

  “You still don’t trust me.”

  Vulnerable. Honesty. It’s all she had even though the way her heart was pounding it was going to be the death of her. “I don’t trust myself. Not after what happened with my ex. All the signs were there, but I was so damned determined to get my happily ever after. And it would have been an unmitigated disaster.”

  “I’m not him.”

  “Believe me, I know. You don’t bloviate, for one.”

  He considered her, looking so uncertain, then sighed. “Didn’t Mia tell you she met my sister Isla a few months ago? My sister, who is biracial.”

  Tasha pursed her lips because Mia had told her. The two thoughts hadn’t connected—Grant wouldn’t be that kind of arse, and he had a biracial sister. All Tasha could see was Grant making his mushy emotional face at a beautiful woman. A woman who wasn’t Tasha, less than twenty-four hours after their argument.

  “I see,” she said simply. “The red hair should have been a dead giveaway.”

  “Maybe, if you weren’t blinded by jealousy.”

  He sounded so…pleased. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Immensely.”

  “Jealousy is an ugly emotion.”

  “You felt it anyway. And you told me.” He sighed again, shoving a hand into his jeans’s pocket. “You told me a lot, and I’m trying to get through it all.”

  She could understand. She hated that she could, and still she nodded. “An apology is great, but changed behavior is better. I can’t take back how I treated you last night.”