Operation

by Barbara Bretton

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  OPERATION: BABY

  First edition. March 15, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Barbara Bretton.

  ISBN: 978-1386000396

  Written by Barbara Bretton.

  Operation: Baby

  The Wilde Sisters

  Barbara Bretton

  Free Spirit Press

  For Deby, with love and gratitude

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Social Media Links

  The Complete List

  Chapter 1

  “It’s ill wark, takin’ the breeks aff a Hielandman.”

  —Unknown

  Scotland

  He was tall.

  He was dark.

  And he was naked.

  Right there, in the passenger cabin of the plane.

  “Speak up, lassie,” the naked man said. “I don’t understand a word you’re sayin’.”

  No surprise there. Samantha Wilde, thirty-two years old and Harvard-educated, was struck dumb with shock. The last thing she’d expected when she boarded the small plane was to find the pilot naked as the day he was born. She tried to say something but no sound came out. What on earth did you say to a naked Scotsman, anyway?

  “You’re wasting my time, lassie,” the man said. “If it’s looking you’re after, then look your fill and say goodbye.”

  Sam tried to say something. She really did. But there was something about being faced with so much male splendor in a confined space that rendered her speechless. It wasn’t that she’d never seen a naked man before, even if it had been a long time between sightings. She was as sophisticated as any other American woman at the end of the twentieth century.

  The male form in all its infinite variety didn’t usually make her feel like swooning, but this time she found herself grabbing on to the sides of the cabin door for support.

  She thanked God her view was partially blocked by one of the two seats in the tiny passenger cabin. If he stepped into the aisle, she’d probably have a heart attack. Back in Houston, the hometown papers would have a field day with the headline. Jewelry Executive Dies at Feet of Naked Man.

  Things like this simply didn’t happen in her orderly, well-organized life.

  “I—I, um—” she stammered, reduced to the communications skill level of a three-year-old. “Th-they told me I could find a pilot here who would b-be willing to take me north.”

  His dark brows shot together in a fierce scowl. “They told you that, did they now?”

  “Well, yes,” she said, wondering when he was going to remember he was naked. “I asked at the office and they told me I’d find you out here.”

  “Aye,” he said, nodding slowly. “A logical assumption.”

  “I’ll pay you twice your normal rate,” she volunteered, making sure she maintained eye contact. It would be too easy to stare at him as if he was her private centerfold come to life. “I have to reach Loch Glenraven by nightfall.”

  “Loch Glenraven?” He looked at her with obvious curiosity. “And what would be taking you to such a place?”

  “Business.” Not that it was any of his. He should be more concerned with catching a cold, what with all that exposed skin.

  “One hundred twenty people live in Glenraven, and most of them raise sheep.” His dark blue eyes studied her from sole to crown. “You haven’t the look of a shepherd about you.”

  “Do you want the job or don’t you?” she asked, trying to pretend she negotiated with naked Adonises every day of the week. “I’m sure one of the other pilots would be glad to fly me up to Glenraven.”

  “There are no other pilots, lass. I’m the only one here today.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Then name your price.”

  His laugh was an alarmingly erotic rumble. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so aware of a man, clothed or otherwise. “My price is more than you could handle.”

  “Try me,” she said, then instantly regretted the challenge when she saw the look in his eyes veer from amusement to speculation. Try me. What kind of insane thing was that to say? She must have lost her mind. “What I mean is—”

  “Ten thousand American dollars.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Those who know me know I never joke about money. Ten thousand American dollars.”

  “That’s highway robbery.”

  “Call it what you will, lass, but that is the price.”

  Naked and crazy. There was a winning combination for you. “I’d rather walk to Glenraven.”

  “Then you’d best get started,” he advised, “for it still grows dark early this time of year.”

  “Your advice would carry a lot more weight if you had your pants on,” she snapped, turning toward the door. “Thanks for your time, but I’ll find Glenraven by myself.”

  * * *

  FROM THE MOMENT Duncan Fraser Stewart opened his eyes that morning, he’d had the sense all was not right in his world. First there was the row with Old Mag, his housekeeper, about the amount of haddock one man could eat at a sitting. She served up meals by the pound, not the plate. He had no doubt they could feed all of Glenraven on a week’s leftovers.

  “I cook for families,” Old Mag had said fiercely. “Not for one lone man.” Her unsubtle way of reminding him that he was thirty-seven years old and without wife or offspring.

  “Do what you want, old woman,” he’d roared. “I’ll take my meals at the pub until you come to your senses.”

  Lucy at the Heather and the Thistle knew better than to question him before he’d had his mug of strong tea. After breakfast, he’d flown his plane to Glasgow to speak with his European agent and had been on his way back to Loch Glenraven when a nasty oil leak forced him to land at this little highland outpost.

  They were woefully ill-equipped, so he’d done his best with what he had on board, a messy and unpleasant job to say the least. Still, he’d managed to cobble together a temporary solution, one that would at least get him home in one piece. A storm was brewing to the west and his window of opportunity would not last long.

  He kept a change of clothes stashed in a duffel behind the pilot’s seat and had been changing into them when the American woman surprised him.

  He knew her nationality before she opened her mouth and he heard that soft drawl. She had that lean, rangy look he associated with Americans. A result, no doubt, of all that corn-fed beef and huge mutant vegetables they fed their children over there. Long lustrous blond hair. Big clear blue eyes framed by dark lashes and brows. Not a scrap of makeup that he could see. She had the kind of beauty that would age like the finest whiskey.

  It was hard to imagine what might bring a woman like that to Glenraven, but he was going to find out.

  * * *

  SAM DREW IN a calming breath and tried again. “I need to get to Loch Glenraven,” she said slowly and carefully into the phone as a chill wind whipped her hair across her cheeks. “Can you help me find a car and driver?”

  The woman on the other end of the line said something, then paused, obviously waiting for Sam to respond. Sam wanted very much to respond but she hadn’t understood more than every third word. She wondered if the Scots people she’d met were having as much trouble understanding her as she was having understanding them. Sometimes she had to remind herself they were all speaking the same langu
age.

  “Please,” she begged. “Jock drove me here. Could he possibly—”

  The word no came through loud and clear.

  “Damn,” she whispered, pressing the off button on her cell phone. Now what was she going to do? The airfield’s office was locked. The clerk had apparently closed up for the day while Sam was talking to the naked pilot. And why shouldn’t he close up? She’d seen Texas ghost towns that were more active than this little airfield. With a storm kicking up, they probably wouldn’t see another soul all day.

  She turned toward the crumbling runway. The naked pirate and his Cessna were still there. The thought of paying ten thousand dollars to go the hundred miles or so to Glenraven galled Sam no end, but she didn’t seem to have a choice. It was either pay that outrageous sum or spend the night alone in the middle of nowhere with nothing but her cell phone and her imagination for company.

  And, to make matters worse, dark threatening clouds had settled over the mountains.

  Besides, she hadn’t come this far to give up now. With a little luck, by this time tomorrow she’d have her elusive prey’s signature on the bottom line of an exclusive Wilde & Daughters Ltd. contract. That was worth whatever embarrassment she’d feel when she told the naked Scotsman she’d pay his ten-thousand dollar ransom to get to Loch Glenraven.

  She marched to the plane and was about to hoist herself into the cabin when he appeared in the doorway. He was fully dressed except for shoes and socks. Wouldn’t you know it? Even his feet were gorgeous.

  “It’s a deal,” she said without preamble. “Ten thousand dollars to fly me up to Glenraven right now.”

  If her decision surprised him, he didn’t let on. The expression on his darkly handsome face didn’t change.

  “You’ll pay me ten thousand dollars to take you to Glenraven.”

  “It’s highway robbery, but yes, I will.”

  “And what is there in Glenraven that interests you so much that you’ll surrender to highway robbery to get there?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she said evenly. “Will you take me there or not?”

  He hesitated. “There’s little in the way of amenities at Loch Glenraven,” he said. “It’s a small town and a tightly knit one. Strangers are looked upon with suspicion.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” she said with just the right note of hauteur in her voice. “I’m expected.” Which, of course, she wasn’t.

  “I know everyone at the Loch and all their friends and relations,” the pilot said. “Which one of them expects you, lass?”

  His obvious distrust was getting on her nerves. “Bad enough you’re getting ten thousand dollars of my money,” she snapped at him. “You don’t deserve my itinerary, too.”

  “Angus Birkell?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Robbie Macdonald?”

  “No,” she said, as her tenuous hold on her temper began to slip.

  “It couldn’t be Simon Laidlaw. He’s on his honeymoon with the Widow Leslie. Conn Thripp is in hospital. And old Tom wouldn’t be the kind of man you’d—”

  “Duncan Stewart,” she burst out, unable to bear his patronizing scrutiny another second. “If you must know, I’m going to see Duncan Stewart.”

  * * *

  THE LASS’S NAME was Samantha and she claimed she had a six o’clock dinner appointment with Duncan Stewart at the castle.

  Which was news to Duncan Stewart.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” she demanded. “Is it so hard to imagine I might have an appointment with Mr. Stewart?”

  Duncan nodded his head slowly. “Aye,” he said. “Harder than you might think.”

  She seemed to gather strength from his momentary surprise. “So will you fly me up to Glenraven?”

  “I’ll fly you to Glenraven,” he agreed. What better way to discover why the beautiful American businesswoman was on her way to breach the walls of his castle?

  She extended her right hand. “Ten thousand dollars, American.”

  He clasped her hand in his. Her fingers were long and graceful, her bones delicate. He could crush them with little pressure. “Ten thousand dollars, American.”

  She allowed herself a quick smile. “It’s a deal.”

  He allowed himself to notice what a beautiful smile it was. For a long time now he had gone out of his way to ignore such things. “We’d best get on with it,” he said, still holding her hand in his. “There’s a storm on its way.”

  She glanced at the sky, and her clear blue eyes widened in alarm as she saw how quickly the dark clouds were approaching. “It’s not that I’m afraid to fly,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I just don’t believe in taking unnecessary chances.”

  He hardened his heart against her display of courage. “’Tis my fondest wish to die in bed of old age. I’ll not be meeting my Maker in this bucket of bolts.”

  She relaxed a little. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Then give me your other hand, lass, and let’s be on our way.”

  She extended her left hand and he took that one, as well. With one easy motion he swept her up and into the cabin.

  “Oh!” She stumbled against him, her breasts brushing lightly against his chest. Spots of color appeared high on her cheeks and she ducked her head.

  It surprised him to note that he still held her hands firmly in his. He released her and took a step backward. “Sit next to me,” he advised. “The ride will be smoother up front.”

  “No, thank you.” Her tone was firm. “The passenger seat is fine with me.”

  “We’ll be flying into some choppy air. The ride is smoother up front.”

  “Back here is fine with me.”

  “You’ll be changing your mind soon enough.”

  “I doubt that.” He could hear the edge in her voice. The businesswoman had once again banished the more vulnerable woman.

  “It’s an hour flight,” he said, striding toward the cockpit. “We’ll see where you end up.”

  * * *

  SAM HAD LIKED HIM better when he was naked and mute.

  She’d grown up with a father who believed he knew what was best for his three daughters, everything from what kind of toothpaste they used to whom they would marry and when. Lucky Wilde had even issued an ultimatum, demanding that his girls marry by year’s end or lose their inheritance. Her sisters might get themselves all worked up over their father’s edict, but Sam would never pay attention to nonsense like that. As far as she was concerned, marriage and slavery were synonymous and she wanted no part of either one.

  She’d watched her father move from marriage to marriage, testing wives the way Goldilocks tested porridge. Her mother had been his first wife—and the only one to walk out on him.

  He’d been a faithful husband to Julia. Truth was, he’d been faithful to all of his wives. Julia, however, hadn’t felt obliged to return the favor. She left Lucky Wilde six months before their second anniversary, leaving behind their year-old baby girl. Julia remained a strong presence in Sam’s life, but Sam grew up under Lucky’s watchful eye.

  There had been some rocky times during her adolescence when her need for freedom clashed with his need for control, but somehow she had managed to stand up to her powerful father and enter adulthood with her independence intact. After that, standing up to this arrogant Scotsman should be a piece of cake.

  She strapped herself into one of the two narrow passenger seats while he prepared for takeoff. The engine clattered to life and she tried to ignore the tinny sound as the propellers whirred madly outside her window. Rain pinged against the glass, blown horizontal by a gust of wind. It must have started while she was fastening her seat belt.

  She leaned forward in her seat. “Excuse me,” she called out over the clanking engine. “Are you sure you should be taking off in this weather?”

  He turned in his seat and fixed her with a dark-eyed look. “What weather?”

  “What weather?” Her voice rose in sur
prise. “There’s practically a gale blowing out there.”

  “A fine April day in Scotland,” he said. “The real storm is still miles away.”

  “My father’s pilot would never take off in this.”

  “You’re telling me my business, lass?”

  “I’m not telling you anything. I’m making a suggestion. And while I’m at it, I’d like to strongly suggest you stop calling me lass. My name, in case you’ve forgotten, is Samantha.” She couldn’t ask him to call her Ms. Wilde. Not after she’d seen him naked. Besides, the less he knew about her, the better.

  He turned his attention to the job at hand without “ another word. Whether or not he was willing to admit it, Sam knew the elements were conspiring against them.

  What was it they’d told her at her fear of flying classes? Deep thinking, deep talking—deep breathing, that was it. Deep, calming breaths just like pregnant women learned at Lamaze classes. Not that Sam believed a few deep breaths could quell either her fear of flying or the rigors of childbirth, but she might as well give it a try. She pulled air into her lungs, held it for a few seconds, then slowly released it. Then she did it again, more loudly this time.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You said something?”

  Once again her face flamed. “No,” she said. “Not a word.” Hard to believe that back home she was considered unflappable.

  “I heard something.”

  “It wasn’t me.” He probably didn’t believe her, but that was his problem. Right now she had to concentrate all of her energy on the takeoff. It wasn’t that she was superstitious or anything, but she knew that if she so much as blinked and lost concentration, something terrible would happen and—