A Highlander in a Pickup

by Laura Trentham

  “Sure. See you around.” She took a step backward and then another, but it was like fighting against a giant rubber band, which was crazy considering this was the perfect outcome. She could even tell Izzy that she’d made an overture, but he’d turned her down.

  He measured and made a mark on the wood. “By the way, there’s nothing to be feared of. Ozzie is gentle.”

  She stopped short. “What?”

  “You can pet Ozzie. Harriet too. They enjoy carrots and apples if you’re in the mind to bring them a treat.”

  “I’m not good with animals,” she said.

  “Did you not have a pet growing up?”

  “Not even a fish. Mom said they were too much trouble and prone to wandering off. Dogs and cats, not fish, obviously.” Anna had been desperate for a dog when she was in elementary school, but she’d soon come around to her mom’s way of thinking.

  He cocked his head and examined her thoughtfully. “That’s a shame.”

  “I suppose you had all sorts of pets.”

  “Aye. Sometimes they were my only friends.” Although his voice was steady and matter-of-fact, the statement hollowed an ache in her chest.

  “I thought you and Alasdair were besties growing up,” she said.

  “We were mates, aye, but he only came to Cairndow for visits. Summers, holidays. He wasn’t in school with me.” He lay a fresh piece of wood over two sawhorses, his hands deft with the measuring tape.

  “School was difficult for you.” While she’d meant to pose it as a question, the answer hid poorly in his stoic expression.

  He paused in his work for a moment before continuing to measure and mark. “I imagine school was easy for someone like you.”

  School had been easy, minus her struggles in math. She’d been a cheerleader with no shortage of boys and girls in her social circle. “School was easy. It was everything else that was hard.”

  The hours spent at the studio with the strain of her mom’s expectations had been like dancing on broken glass, leaving her psyche battered and bleeding. Although she didn’t elaborate, understanding bound them, and she took a step toward him without thinking.

  No. She forced herself to stop. She couldn’t get attached. Iain would end up being too much trouble and prone to wandering just like the dog she’d craved as a child. Soon enough, he would wander all the way back to Scotland. In the interest of self-preservation, she turned on her heel and walked away. With him out of sight, retreat became easier, even though her lungs remained tight.

  Returning to her loft without a dinner companion, she made herself a BLT on white bread and ate it while watching reruns of a favorite sitcom to cheer herself up. It didn’t work. Like a hawk on the wing, her subconscious circled Iain. Who was he with? Was it business or a date?

  A date. It was none of her business. Iain wasn’t even her type. Typically, she dated artsy guys who understood the energy involved in the creation of something, whether it was intangible like a dance or concrete like a painting. Iain measured and hammered and built utilitarian shapes meant to fence.

  She flopped to her back and closed her eyes. She would allow regret to swamp her for a minute and no more. She had to get ready to practice with the Bluegrass Jacobites.

  Opening the accordion-style door of her closet, she rooted around for her tartan bustier and a floaty green wrap skirt to match. It was sexy, but not too sexy, and progressive enough for a pub performance. This would be the first year in more than a decade she wouldn’t be competing in the Highland dance competitions during the festival. Not only was it a conflict of interest, but her hands would be full, organizing her dance troupes on top of keeping everything else running smoothly. Anyway, it was time for the torch to be passed along to someone like Keisha or Gabby.

  All the little things she couldn’t anticipate going wrong during the festival worried her. She’d had a nightmare earlier in the week about the portable potties never arriving, forcing everyone to squat in the woods. The first call she’d made upon waking was to confirm the date, time, and number of potties with the company. What else was she missing?

  Barefoot, she skipped down the outside stairs and let herself in the back door of the studio. After unlocking the front door for the Jacobites, she went to the costume closet to sort through dresses for her dance classes. All her Celtic dance students would march in the parade while the older girls would also compete at the festival. The studio always took home several ribbons, which she displayed in a row along the perimeter of the wall above the doorframes and mirrors.

  Her mind drifted to Gabby and her ghosting act. Another problem she needed to tackle, and soon. A cluster of male voices drifted from the waiting room. She slapped a smile on her face to cover her tiredness and turned, the words of welcome withering at the sight of a dark head inches taller than the rest.

  “Iain!” His name popped out of her mouth and echoed, stifling conversation for a few heartbeats.

  He met her gaze with an inscrutable stare, although seriously, everything about him was inscrutable. He’d cleaned up and was in a different kilt and T-shirt from his work in the barn.

  Robert came forward to give her a hug, lifting her off her feet to whisper in her ear. “Based on your drool, you’re partial to our Scottish man of mystery, eh?”

  “I’m not drooling; I’m surprised.” Anna slapped him on the arm until he released her.

  Robert set her on the floor and moved toward the storage closet, keeping his head close. “I found out the hard way that he’s unfortunately straight.”

  “I can’t believe you were brave enough to give it a shot.”

  “I calculated my chances beforehand, and they were on par with winning the lottery, but I figured I can’t score unless I take a shot.” Although his smile was wry, disappointment lingered. “He let me down quite nicely after he got over his surprise at getting propositioned by a man.”

  “When did you two meet?” Anna asked.

  “At lunch the other day. I was eavesdropping, of course, and heard him say he played guitar. We’ve been short one since January.” Robert helped Anna pull folding chairs for the members of the band from behind the frothy skirts of the costumes. “He met the other boys tonight over some warm-up drinks at the pub, and everyone seems to get along fine.”

  The rush of relief had her murmuring, “So he wasn’t meeting a woman.”

  “Were you worried, honey?” Robert was the only one who got away with calling her honey.

  “Of course I wasn’t. We’re not … together or anything. I barely know him. He can do whatever he wants.”

  “Whoever, you mean.” Robert’s laugh was like the crack of a whip. Before she could come up with a snappy retort, he clapped his hands as the leader of the merry band of Jacobites.

  Anna sidled over to Iain. He’d slid his chair apart from the rest of the men and was fiddling with the pegs of a guitar. “Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?” she whispered between teeth clenched in the semblance of a smile.

  “You didn’t ask, and I had no idea you would be dancing until tonight.” He strummed a sweet-sounding chord then folded his arms over the body of the guitar. “As I recall, you’re the one who urged me to keep busy with anything but the festival. Are you taking issue with my presence?”

  “No, of course not.” Any other answer would make her seem like a shrew. Anyway, a warm happiness had sprouted at the sight of him. Especially since she knew he hadn’t met another woman. “It’s no big deal.”

  The tremor weakening her knees told a different story, but luckily it didn’t have a say.

  The members of the Bluegrass Jacobites unpacked. Two fiddles, a banjo, an upright bass, and two guitars counting Iain’s. The bass player could also play a mean tin whistle.

  Robert tapped his bow on the neck of his fiddle and everyone quieted. “Are you ready, Anna?”

  Moving toward Iain, she stared into his dark brown, unfathomable eyes. Oh God, she’d be dancing for him. No, not for him—this wasn�
��t a strip club—but in front of him. Great, now she couldn’t get the film reel of giving him a lap dance out of her head. While he could be distant and gruff, he exuded an intensity that drew her as if he’d cast a spell over her.

  “Anna?” Robert hip-bumped her.

  “What?” She swung around and blinked at Robert.

  “I asked if you were ready.” Robert’s eyes narrowed as if reading her mind was part of his vision test. She needed to put distance between her and everyone.

  “Hang on. I need to lace on my shoes. Why don’t you guys do a warm-up song?” After her dancing shoes were on, she met her eyes in one of the mirrors and whispered, “You are going to be fine. Don’t let a man distract you.”

  Giving herself a bracing nod, she hiked the tartan bustier up another inch. It would be her luck to have a wardrobe malfunction. Izzy would have thought the entire situation was hilarious, of course.

  Robert counted off a rhythm, and the twin fiddles began their mournful call. It was “Coming Through the Rye,” another Robert Burns creation, but with a twangy twist of bluegrass. Iain was so traditionally Scottish, she watched his reaction, but he merely closed his eyes and smiled before his rich voice cut through with a grounding confidence that spoke of deep familiarity and love of the material no matter what form it took.

  Anna couldn’t take her eyes off Iain. Yes, he’d kicked her libido like stirring up a hornet’s nest, but it wasn’t the physical holding her mesmerized. He embodied something that felt just out of reach for her. Purity and passion and commitment. Something she had lost years ago. Tears came to her eyes, and she blinked, not sure whether to blame the music or the man.

  The last note from the fiddles echoed through the studio, reverberating in her chest. A few beats of silence followed before the men erupted into chatter. She wanted to yell at everyone to shush as if they were in church, but she remained still and silent.

  Iain didn’t join in with the others. Instead, he turned to snare her in his gaze. Anna couldn’t look away. Communication between them seemed to be taking place on a subconscious level. Was she sending Mayday signals? Because she was a drowning woman.

  She took a step toward him. Then another. She wasn’t sure what would have happened if she’d reached him. She would never find out, because Robert chose that moment to throw his arm around her shoulders and guide her to stand in front of the players.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got, honey.”

  Anna had choreographed new dance steps to an old Scottish folk song, “Loch Lomond.” It was a sad song, even keeping to its traditional Scottish arrangement. Bluegrass only added another layer of melancholy. After all, the Scots who’d immigrated to America and settled in the Blue Ridge Mountains had brought their music. The mountains had proved fertile ground and while new branches of music emerged, the roots were recognizable.

  Again, Robert’s fiddle led the way into the music. Anna briefly closed her eyes, feeling the floor beneath her feet, grounding her in the notes. At her cue, she opened her eyes and stepped into the dance. Her internal organs rearranged themselves when Iain’s baritone and Robert’s tenor melded in harmony as if they were the two soldiers in the song traveling back to Scotland together, one alive, one dead.

  She tried not to look at Iain, but her eyes never strayed from him for long, and eventually, she stopped fighting the compulsion. She could sense his approval and admiration. Admiration coming from a man wasn’t unusual, but it didn’t feel sexual. Or, at least, not wholly sexual.

  It wasn’t until the song ended and the men erupted into high fives that she snapped out of her semi-trance. She didn’t want or need anyone’s approval or admiration. A vicious little voice cracked with laughter in her head at the lie. Hadn’t she been desperate for her mom’s benediction? Would she forever seek to fill the void?

  She ground out the questions as if they were roaches, but like all infestations of doubt, there were too many to silence.

  “That was amazing!” Robert paced in front of the group. “How long did you say you’d be in Highland, Iain?”

  “At least through the festival. Maybe longer.”

  Longer? The word spurred her heart faster. What would keep him in Highland after the festival?

  They practiced another song she would accompany them on, then the band launched into half a dozen more she would not dance to. The long day was turning into a marathon, and a headache brewed behind her eyes. She rubbed her forehead.

  Iain tapped his fist against the wood of the guitar, drawing everyone’s attention, including hers. “It’s time to head out and let Anna get some rest, blokes.”

  Some good-natured grumbling commenced, but Iain herded them toward the front door like a giant sheepdog. Anna flipped all but the storage room light off and was halfway through lugging the folding chairs to stack inside when Iain rejoined her, taking the chairs away from her and finishing the job.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  The music had left her feeling vulnerable. While they hadn’t hashed out the tension between them through words, the day’s encounters had confused her and left her wanting to know more about him.

  He squinted at something behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the two of them in the mirror standing in shadows almost like their reflections existed in a different realm.

  “You’re a bang-up dancer,” he said softly. “Not that I expected anything less, considering the way you walk.”

  Anna shifted on her feet, not away from him like a smart, sane person, but putting them a few inches closer. “How do I walk?”

  While his lips only tipped a little at the corner, his dark eyes twinkled. “Not like a mortal woman.”

  “I’m not sure if I should primly thank you or punch you in the face. Are you trying to say that I walk like the undead?”

  A laugh burst from him. Unlike his smiles, the sound was uncontained and laced with a wildness that drew Anna ever closer. “It was an attempt at a compliment. Unfortunately, I wasn’t gifted a silver tongue when it comes to the fairer sex.”

  Anna stared nonplussed at him for a few heartbeats, which wasn’t actually that long considering how fast hers was beating right now. “If we’re doling out compliments, I have to say you are a very talented musician. Have you ever sung professionally?”

  “Singing isn’t a proper job.” The shock at the suggestion wasn’t feigned.

  “Tell that to Elton John.”

  “I’m no Elton. Whilst I enjoy music, I don’t care for being on a stage and having people looking at me. Not like you do.”

  “You think I enjoy having people watch me perform?” It wasn’t genteel to admit she more than enjoyed being on stage. She gloried in it.

  “Aye.” Before she could mount a half-hearted argument, he added, “And there’s not a bloody thing wrong with reveling in the attention when you possess your kind of talent.”

  “There are some who would say it isn’t ladylike.” Her mother had berated her preening high spirits after her performances.

  Iain cocked his head, his brows drawn low, his gaze like a scalpel. “Doesn’t performing go hand in hand with choosing dancing as a profession?”

  “Yes. And no.” Anna rubbed her arms, goose bumps rising in the cool of the AC now that she wasn’t moving.

  “Once again, I must admit I don’t understand.”

  “My mom taught me a dancer on stage should give themselves over to the music during a performance, which the audience then enjoys. A dancer shouldn’t take the audience’s admiration as fuel. It’s like you and your music. You as much admitted that you’d rather sing to yourself than for an audience, whereas I’m the opposite.”

  “I see,” he said, but Anna knew he didn’t really see. “But I still call your theory poppycock. Speaking of Elton, performers feed on the crowd. Haven’t you been to a rock concert?”

  “Nothing bigger than the small clubs on the Lower East Side.”

  “Lower East Side of what?” Iain asked.


  “New York City.” She’d forgotten about the gulf of the ocean between their experiences. Iain was Scotland personified. Central casting would have picked him out of a lineup for a tourism ad. She could picture him standing on a craggy cliff with a castle in the background, his kilt whipping around his legs, and playing a mournful tune on a set of bagpipes. “Do you play the pipes?”

  “I could bleat out ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ at one time, but it’s been years. When did you live in New York City?”

  She brought her hand up to her neck, feeling the need to shield herself. “Right after high school graduation. Is this your first time away from Scotland?”

  His jaw worked and his gaze slide to the floor. “I was in the army for five years. Got out last fall. What took you to New York City?”

  “Chasing a stupid dream. Where were you deployed?”

  “Afghanistan. Why do you think your dream was stupid?”

  “Because I was a total and complete failure.” Their conversational game of hot potato had turned scalding. “I’m tired and need to lock up.”

  Instead of acting like his feelings were hurt, or arguing, he merely inclined his head and turned to retrieve his guitar case. He paused in the doorway leading to the waiting room and glanced over his shoulder. Their eyes met. Even over the distance and through the shadows, the look on his face stilled her breathing. She waited for something momentous to occur. A lightning strike or a thunder clap or the laws of space and time to be broken.

  He merely walked away as if nothing at all unusual had occurred. She should have paid more attention in science class. Could a person be drawn to another on a molecular level? He was the positive force, which made her the negative one. That sounded about right.

  She locked up the studio and climbed the metal stairs to the loft. Only the hum of the AC unit filled the silence, and she beat back a feeling that hadn’t plagued her in a long time—loneliness. Not for sex, but for companionship. While she missed Izzy like crazy, it wasn’t her best friend she pictured next to her on the couch watching TV and eating junk food. It was a Highlander with complicated eyes and a habit of muscling past her defenses.