He traveled almost to the end of the street before finding a parking place in front of the Dapper Highlander. The mannequins in the window were kitted out in full Scottish regalia, signaling it was a tailor’s shop.
He turned the truck engine off and sat in the cab for a few minutes taking in the vibe. Flowers overflowed baskets hung from wrought-iron light poles. People strolled up and down the sidewalks, some sipping on drinks, others licking ice-cream cones. They ducked in and out of shops. Almost everyone carried a shopping bag. Highland was a bustling little village.
A man in green-and-black-checked tartan trousers tucked into black Wellies turned in Iain’s direction and squinted. He hopped off the curb and put both hands on the sill of the open cab window, ducking a little to smile a greeting.
“You must be Iain.” The man exhibited such good-humored welcome, Iain smiled back.
“Yes, sir. Iain Connors.”
“I’m Dr. Elijah Jameson. Local veterinarian and current mayor of Highland, although my tenure as leader of our fair town will soon be at an end.” He stuck his hand through the window, and they proceeded to engage in an awkward shake. “When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday in the wee hours of the morning. I’m meeting Anna Maitland in a bit.” Iain gestured at the door, and Dr. Jameson stepped back so Iain could exit the truck.
While Dr. Jameson was small in stature, his wiry strength was evident. His eyes twinkled and his mouth crooked into a smile when he looked up at Iain. “Well, aren’t you a big boy?”
“Bigger than some, I’d say,” Iain said dryly. He had spent his life as the biggest man in the room. If only size equaled confidence.
“I hope you’ll have time to compete in the athletic events during the festival. You’ll be surprised at the level of competition you’d face.” Dr. Jameson steepled his hands and tapped his fingers together. “I’m the games manager, you know.”
“Yes, Isabel mentioned that. She also mentioned your kickoff party the Friday before.”
“The whisky ensures a good time.” His graying eyebrows cocked over the black rim of his glasses. “I assume you and Anna will be performing the traditional opening of the games at the tasting?”
He had no idea what the traditional opening consisted of. The banging of a gong? The bleat of the bagpipes? “Erm. Of course, we will.”
“Excellent. I’ll make note of it. Seeing the truck, I thought for a second Izzy was home.” Dr. Jameson patted the bonnet of the truck. Although a smile remained in place, a melancholy refrain weaved through his rich Southern accent. Between his clothes and his accent, it was as if Dr. Jameson wasn’t sure whether he was playing William Wallace or Rhett Butler. “But I suppose Highland is no longer Izzy’s home.”
“Isabel speaks of Highland fondly.” Iain felt the need to comfort the older man.
“We miss her sorely around here. The wedding looked lovely. Everyone in town was sharing the pictures.”
“Aye. It was a lovely day.” Actually, the day had been blustery with a sideways spitting rain pinging the windows and a draft whistling through the chimney in the drawing room straight up his best kilt, but the sentiment and affection between Isabel and Alasdair as they had exchanged vows had been warm and sunny.
“How’s our girl feeling?”
“Poorly. She’s on bed rest until she labors. She was happy to see her mum.” At least, Iain had assumed her tears had been happy ones. Observing Alasdair comfort Isabel made Iain feel like he’d missed a pertinent lesson in school. Iain had sidled out of the room and tackled the less scary task of immunizing head-butting, biting, kicking sheep.
“Have time for a coffee? Or tea, if you prefer?” Dr. Jameson asked.
Iain checked his watch. “I have a quarter hour, as long as Maitland Dance Studio is nearby.”
Dr. Jameson pointed down the street. “Just at the end on the left. The Brown Cow is on the way.”
They walked shoulder to shoulder except when Iain gave way to let a clump of tourists by on the sidewalk. “Highland is a vibrant little village,” Iain said.
“It is now. Downtown wasn’t always like this, though. Thirty years ago, Highland was run-down with empty storefronts and no way to keep the young people from leaving for the bigger cities. It was rotting away from neglect and a lack of investment. Izzy’s father was the one with the vision of what Highland could become. He hosted the first games at Stonehaven. It started small, but the promise of what it could be was obvious.” Dr. Jameson opened the door to the Brown Cow Coffee and Creamery and gestured him to enter first.
Iain took a deep breath, the sweet scent of ice cream mingling with the richer undertones of coffee. It was heavenly. A line populated by families with kids had formed in front of the ice-cream station. Only one man stood at the coffee bar waiting for his order.
The woman behind the counter made a fancy coffee drink at one of the machines. Her messy ponytail was hot pink to complement her light pink T-shirt. She handed the drink off and shuffled to the counter to give them a gummy, wide smile.
“Hey-oh, Dr. Jameson. What can I do you for?” Her accent was different again from Dr. Jameson’s and Anna’s. It was coarser and more difficult to parse.
“Black coffee to go for me, Millie, thanks.”
“And what about your friend here?” She flipped her ponytailed hair and gave Iain a pointed look under her lashes.
Iain was suddenly uncomfortable and not sure where to look.
“This is Iain Connors,” Dr. Jameson said. “Would you prefer tea, Iain?”
“Yes, sir, a cuppa would be most welcome.”
Millie inhaled with an oh sound. “You’re one of them.”
Iain tilted his head. “One of whom?”
“You know. A real live Highlander like Alasdair and Gareth.” She smacked her gum and grinned at him.
“I’m Scottish, aye.”
“That is so cool.” She propped her elbow onto the counter and cupped her chin. Her stare had crossed from uncomfortable to awkward.
Without being able to stop himself, he touched the puckered, jagged scar with his fingers and ducked his head. Instead of saying the wrong thing, he often found it easier not to say anything at all. His method of silence wasn’t foolproof, however, and had got him pegged as an unfeeling pillock more than a few times.
He wasn’t unfeeling. Not in the least. He just wasn’t comfortable expressing himself. His da loved him, of that there was no doubt, but he was stingy with his words. Gareth had been like an uncle, but he too wasn’t known for his effusiveness. The closest thing he’d had to a mother was Mrs. Mac, and she showed love through food not words.
In short, he was an emotional knobhead, but a self-aware one at least.
“One coffee and one tea, Millie?” Dr. Jameson prodded with humor in his voice.
“Oh, right.” Millie turned away to pour Dr. Jameson’s coffee but cast enough looks over her shoulder, Iain worried she would overflow the cup and require medical attention. She handed the coffee over, then retrieved a to-go cup of steaming water and a basket full of individually wrapped tea bags. “Pick your poison.”
“Thank you, lass.” Iain snatched the first bag without looking and moved to the farthest table away to tear it open and let it steep.
“Gracious me, Millie is a character.” Dr. Jameson shook his head.
“In what? A horror show? I hope I didn’t scare her.”
Dr. Jameson’s laugh rumbled into a pensive frown. “More like a dark comedy. Her parents are ne’er-do-wells. Her brother stays out at their trailer playing video games as if it were his job. Millie’s a smart girl who works hard and sees her Prince Charming in every single man who walks through the door.”
Iain barked a laugh. He was no fairy-tale prince.
“I’d better get you down to Anna’s studio.” Dr. Jameson led the way onto the sidewalk. He leaned in as if telling a secret although his voice wasn’t at a whisper. “I don’t want to make Anna angry.”
“Does she sc
are you?” Iain barely stopped himself from adding “too.” Power coiled in Anna Maitland. He’d sensed it the day before but was only now able to name it.
“She’s got a wicked tongue, although thankfully, she usually uses her wit for good.” Dr. Jameson chuckled.
Before they made it a dozen feet down the sidewalk, a middle-aged woman in a flowing flowery caftan popped out of one of the shops and blocked their path with her arms akimbo.
“Dr. Jameson. Just the man I wanted to see. Did you get my message?” The woman didn’t let him answer. “The rot is not going to fix itself. When can the city send someone out?”
“With all the building going on and the festival around the corner, it’s been hard to line someone up, Loretta, but soon. I hope.” Dr. Jameson shifted to include Iain. “Have you met Iain Connors? Iain, this is Loretta. The All Things Bright and Beautiful shop is hers.”
Loretta turned her dark eyes on Iain as they exchanged a handshake. He had the feeling Loretta was not a person to cross. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”
“You’re here to help with the festival?” she asked.
“Aye.”
When he said no more, Loretta turned back to Dr. Jameson. “I’ll expect someone soon, Elijah. Soon.”
Once Loretta had reentered her shop and they were several steps out of earshot, Dr. Jameson said, “The city bought up several buildings thirty odd years ago when they became vacant. Now we rent them, which means the city is responsible for exterior maintenance. Finding someone who has the skills and is available has been a royal pain in my tush as mayor.”
“What’s the rot encompass?”
“The outside doorframe in the back. It’s not like the customers even see it.”
“I could take care of it in a couple of hours.” It was the sort of work Iain was used to at Cairndow. Fighting rot and the general upkeep of a castle hundreds of years old was a daily task.
“Won’t you be too busy with the festival?”
Iain didn’t want to admit he and Anna were at odds. “I can squeeze in a simple repair.”
“I might have to come up with a creative way to pay you.”
“It’s fine.” Iain hadn’t been angling for money. Gareth was covering his room and board plus a tidy bonus for working on the festival.
“If you’re sure you have the time, I’ll let Loretta know you’ll be by this week to replace the frame.” He and Dr. Jameson exchanged numbers, then Dr. Jameson pointed. “There’s the studio. Five minutes early even. I have a skittish sheepdog showing up at the clinic any second, so I better skedaddle, but call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
After Dr. Jameson and Iain shook hands, Iain pushed into Maitland Dance Studio. The air-con washed over him like a blessed baptism. Light wood floors, white walls, and recessed lighting gave the impression of crisp elegance and serenity.
He was alone in a waiting area. One wall was devoted to selling various dance shoes from ballet to tap and costumes geared toward children. One rack exploded with different colored tutus, another with sober black, white, and nude colored leotards. Music crept through the walls. He sidled over and cracked open a door to peer through.
Chaos reigned, and in the middle of children running hither and yon stood Anna in a carbon copy of what she’d worn the day before. The rainbow-colored tutu looked much more at home in the studio than herding a wayward sheep. The “Hokey Pokey” blared over speakers set into the corners of the room. His heart wanted to join the fracas on the dance floor, and he tried to flatten himself paper thin as he slid through the door to watch Anna at work.
She spun around and clapped her hands, the different colors of tulle floating around her legs. Her hair was plaited, the thick braid hanging over her shoulder. She was smiling. He swallowed hard. He’d seen her frown and harrumph and press her lips together in disapproval, but not smile.
Anna Maitland’s smile was something to behold. It crackled with energy and joy and an invitation to join her in the fun. If he had the talent of Robert Burns, he could compose an ode with the words tangling in his chest, but alas, as usual, he was left mute with the wonder.
* * *
Anna’s smile hurt her cheeks. The Mommy and Me class consisted of a dozen toddlers running in all directions while their moms and a lone dad attempted to corral them into a circle for the Hokey Pokey. Normally, the antics made her laugh, but today, her focus was on the clock, where a ballerina’s legs moved around the numbers in an impossible feat of flexibility.
A little girl with blond hair in pigtails tugged on Anna’s rainbow-colored tutu, which retained an earthy scent from her adventures the day before. The kids didn’t seem to mind. Anna scooped the girl up and propped her on a hip while they put their hands in and then took them out as the song bade them do. Then, she danced the girl in a circle.
“Good job, Sophie.” Anna squeezed the girl’s nose and made a honking sound. Sophie giggled and squirmed. The kids made her feel like the funniest person on earth, which was a decent trade-off considering the general air of stickiness and the unmistakable waft of soiled diapers.
The “Hokey Pokey” was their finale song. Hopefully, she would have enough time to change into more professional attire for her meeting with Iain. She sent another glance toward the clock, but never made it. Her gaze got stuck on the man standing inside the door like he was tar to her Brer Rabbit. She checked him out head to toe before she could control herself.
One got used to seeing men in kilts around Highland. The Dapper Highlander was dedicated to selling them, after all, but the air conditioning wasn’t strong enough for the sight of Iain Connors in a kilt. At least he had a shirt on today, otherwise she might have spontaneously combust.
He wore his utility kilt like it wasn’t a special occasion. He wore it like a cowboy wore jeans. His legs between hem and socks were well-muscled, tanned, and hairy. Manly. It was the only word that fit. Actually, the word could be used to describe the rest of him as well from his broad shoulders to thick arms.
Her thoughts flitted once more to the age-old question. What was or wasn’t he wearing underneath his kilt? She clutched her tutu and bit the inside of her cheek, shutting down the inappropriate wanderings of her thoughts. Why did he keep catching her in vulnerable scenarios? Bad luck and attractive men went hand in hand in her experience.
The dance studio was successful, and the festival hadn’t gone off the rails as of yet. She had worked up the confidence just that morning to fill out the paperwork necessary to file for her intent to run for mayor of Highland. Of course, a bossy, intimidating, self-important man would stroll in and screw it all up. If she allowed him to. Which she wouldn’t.
One of the kids tugged the back of her tutu and snapped the invisible tether between her and Iain. She turned away with a rush of relief to drop to a knee and give little Colin a hug. The parents gathered their bags in one hand and the children in the other and filed toward the door, their chatter reverberating around the room as Old MacDonald’s quacking duck played them out.
Iain stood to the side like a stone sentinel, not acknowledging the curious smiles tossed his direction. His focus was entirely on her, and it was intense.
What was going on behind his stare? Was he assessing her strengths and weaknesses? Was he strategizing how to take charge of the festival? Perhaps watching her Hokey Pokey with a dozen toddlers had solidified in his mind that she wasn’t capable of running the festival. Or the town.
She shook the thought clear. He didn’t know of her ambition to run for mayor. No one did. But as soon as she filed her papers at city hall, word would spread throughout Highland like a virus. What would the response be?
Anna could almost hear the whispers in her ear. She wasn’t old enough or good enough or smart enough. Damming her doubts behind a fake smile, she forced her shoulders back. She couldn’t allow Iain to sense weakness.
She brought up the rear of the exiting parents and children, waving them out of the studio until she and Iain w
ere alone. She cut off the music. The resulting silence was oppressive. Her mojo was off balance as if it had launched into a dozen pirouettes. Blindfolded. And drunk.
“You’re early,” she said as if it were an unforgivable sin.
“Promptness is generally regarded as a virtue.”
She harrumphed, knowing it was ridiculous to chastise him over something she appreciated.
“I came to town, met Dr. Jameson, and we stopped for a drink.” He held up the to-go cup she hadn’t noticed.
“What did he allow?” she asked.
“I didn’t ask his permission.”
She blinked at his nonsensical response before making a small sound of realization. “Sorry, I forgot I’m speaking to a non-native. It’s a way of asking what he had to say. I’m being polite. Or trying, anyway.”
His brow scrunched. “Does that mean you actually want to know or don’t?”
“I, uh, never mind.” She waved her hand, wishing she could brush away the awkwardness. “Come into my office so we can talk.”
She led the way and only realized her mistake when Iain joined her. Her office was the size of a walk-in closet because that’s exactly what it had been at one time. A desk took up the bulk of the space. A laptop and a few folders graced the top. A file cabinet was jammed in one corner, which left her swivel chair on the working side of the desk and a kid-size school chair she used when a parent was late picking their child up from class on the opposite side.
She vacillated. Logic decreed that Iain wouldn’t fit on the school chair. While humorous to picture, something would end up broken. Most likely the chair. Which left only one option. Anna would have to sit in the small chair and leave Iain in a position of power behind the desk.
Actually, she had another option. She could suggest neutral territory. She turned, not expecting him to be standing so close. Her nose was practically in his armpit. She sniffed. Even a hint of BO would have made him seem less formidable. Alas, his armpit smelled like fresh pine deodorant.
A Highlander in a Pickup Page 4