Almost Jamie (The Jet City Kilt Series) (Volume 1)

by Gina Robinson

  My buddies were programmers, techies, and former geeks—still geeks at heart, in fact. Our most recent success, which was earning us quite a nice bit of cash and a fair bit of notoriety, was a dating app we'd developed with Lazer. It was unique in that it identified how many single women, or men, were in any given hotspot you cared to visit. It was changing the previously challenging dating scene for men in Seattle. With our high-tech industry booming, Seattle was one of the few cities in the country that had more college-educated men than women. Which resulted in making the competition for single women fierce and the women extremely picky.

  I checked our app as I headed into the Mercer Street Micro Distillery in downtown Seattle, a favorite hangout of techie guys like me. A guys' place. A man's bar. Insert chest thump here. Locally made spirits, including whisky. Sports themed. Large-screen TVs. Not the place you go to if you're looking for a woman. Since tonight was a guys' night out to plan our Comicon strategy and put the final touches on our cosplay workshop, which was why I was wearing this practice kilt in the first place—

  Whoa. What?

  I did a double take at my phone. According to the app, the place was crawling with women. What the hell was going on? This wasn't normal. I hoped I hadn't just discovered another bug in the software. I didn't know what was worse, a bug, or the ladies taking over our last bastion of male bonding.

  I forced my way into the distillery through throngs of women, hordes of them, and spotted Dylan and the guys holding court with an apparent harem at a table in the corner. Dylan was a big bear of a man. He was hard to miss. Yet I almost did, being seated as he was, and surrounded by standing ladies. He somehow spotted me around all that womanhood, wrested his eyes above cleavage level, and waved to me.

  Cameron and Jeremy turned around. Their faces lit up when they saw me. They were eating this new popularity up.

  A tall, auburn-haired guy was seated at the table with them with his back to me. From what I could see, he was creating the stir. He was the big draw, not my buds. Women crowded indecently close to him and the table. The guys were simply collateral beneficiaries of the attention.

  Since Ashley had made us all over and gotten us in shape, the women noticed us. But not like this. Not to this magnitude. This was out of the ballpark.

  The guy turned just then. Enough so that I could see his face.

  Connor Reid. The guys were fucking drinking with Connor Reid.

  Blair

  "Hold still, Blair." Beth spoke through a mouthful of pins as she kneeled and made the final adjustments to the hem of my floor-length eighteenth-century French couture gown. Even muffled by pins, her voice had the unmistakable authority of a mom scolding a child.

  "You're awfully bossy since you made that miraculous recovery from pneumonia," I said with as much affection in my voice as I could without going completely to mush. I had to peer around a huge pannier, a side hoop, to see her.

  "There was nothing miraculous about it. It was force of will and having my girl at my side egging me on and doctoring me." She tugged at the dress and grinned up at me. "And you're as squirmy as you were when you were six and I made you a Cinderella gown for Halloween."

  "That was a beautiful dress," I said, remembering the fitting I'd had for it. It had felt like I had to stand still for hours. But the end result had been worth it. "Almost as gorgeous as this one. I really did feel like a princess in it."

  "That was the point." She pushed up, slowly, hand on knee to hoist herself up. She was by no means overweight. In fact, she was thin and still frail. But the movement to her feet looked as if it took as much effort as it would for a morbidly obese person.

  No matter what she said, her recovery had been a miracle, even if she didn't have her full strength back. And I was thankful for that recovery every day. I couldn't imagine life without her. I didn't regret my choice to come home, not for even a second. Not ever. Even though it had cost me Nigel, I would have done it all over.

  The lady who'd read my tea leaves in Avebury had been right. Tears and a journey. Sooner than either of us thought. I'd sent her an email to let her know how accurate she'd been. She was still wondering about the past and present love, though. Maybe someday we'd find out. Maybe it had been predicting my breakup with Nigel. For now, I was single.

  Beth stood back and admired me. "You look beautiful in that dress, Blairest."

  I put my hand to my exposed chest. "Thank you. I feel half-naked. The neckline plunges almost to my navel. Those eighteenth-century French were scandalous. What kind of a mother are you pimping me out like this?"

  Beth and I had always teased each other.

  She smiled broadly. "A proud one. You have the figure for French décolletage. And don't blame me. All I've done is re-create the original."

  I shook my head. "It's amazing a Scottish lady would wear something like this. And, you know, you could have dressed me in plaid and wool instead of red velvet."

  "And have you be plain?" She sighed as if she was exasperated with me, but she was clearly half teasing. "Every heroine has at least one stunning red gown. Look at Scarlett O'Hara. It's how it's done if you want to create a lasting impression."

  She studied me again. "You look exactly like Sam Roberts does as the Sinclair's wife. You have the same high cheekbones and dark hair and eyes."

  I eyed my aunt skeptically. "I appreciate the compliment, but you're clearly looking at me through the eyes of love. Samantha Roberts is a former model and a renowned beauty."

  "Many actresses are. And I do love you, more than anyone else on the planet." Her face was fierce. "But…that makes no difference in my eyesight or my ability to objectively evaluate beauty. I worked in theater for years, after all. I was around plenty of beauty.

  "You have Sam's high cheekbones, height, stunning figure, dark hair, and wonderfully shaped eyes. The same point to your chin as hers has. I wouldn't be surprised if you were related somewhere back."

  What was with all the interest in ancestry and people being related?

  "She's Welsh," I said. "Dad was English."

  "He could have had some Welsh blood, right? That's not so much of a stretch. Or maybe Sam has a lot of English in her." Beth evaluated me again.

  She had been a costume designer for the local theater. Until she inherited me and gave it up for a better-paying job as a commercial interior designer who made a killing as a salesperson off her commission selling modular office furniture. She had a double degree in fashion design and interior design. I had obviously not inherited her artistic talent.

  "Those earrings make the outfit. I'm so glad we found them at the antique shop. Didn't I tell you they were worth the price?" She looked pleased with herself.

  The cost of the garnet earrings had been outrageous. The cost to her stamina because of the shopping trip was another thing not to be taken lightly. The shopping had worn her out for days. But it made her happy, which was all that really mattered to me now. Life was short.

  Beth had paid for the earrings, against my protests. I had been convinced we could have gotten something modern, and cheap, that would have done the trick almost as well. But she'd insisted on these antique garnet and gold drop earrings from a consignment antique jeweler. She insisted they added the authenticity that we needed to sell the ensemble.

  "You're going to have the best outfit at that Jamie panel at Comicon."

  With Beth, it was always about having the best costume. It had been since our first Halloween together. She used dress-up to help me heal from my parents' deaths. Escaping into other worlds through play and dress up helped heal both of us.

  I patted my panniers. "If I can even get through the door. How did genteel eighteenth-century women travel? Their carriages must have been enormous."

  She laughed. "Good thing I'm driving you and you'll have the whole back seat to yourself in my gigantic SUV."

  "I wish you were going with me. You're as much a fan as I am." The words slipped out before I could stop them. I didn't mean to so
und in any way ungrateful or like a petulant child. I just wanted her with me. I didn't want her to miss out on one single joy in life.

  "Me too, Blair," she said. "Me too. Give me a few more weeks and I could have done it. My energy will be back up by then."

  She was always trying to be optimistic and positive. It was part of her charm and ingrained in her personality.

  "But I couldn't take the wait in those lines," she said. "My Comicon-going friends say to expect to stand in line for popular panels and workshops for two to three hours.

  "I'd love to see Jamie and Elinor, Connor and Sam, in person. But it's going to be one of the most popular panels at the con. I've seen the buzz. Women are coming from across the country and Canada to see Connor and Sam. They don't make many personal appearances. They took a break from filming the next season of Jamie to come now."

  "We could get you a medical pass so you can go to the front of the line and wait in a special area," I said. "I'll write you a note. I can even get you a wheelchair. I am a doctor." I grinned at her, but I was half serious.

  "You just want to use me as an excuse to go to the front of the line," Beth joked. "Like boarding planes early for the old and infirm and families with small children." Which was her way of saying she wasn't up for even that.

  "You saw right through me," I said.

  Her gaze swept over my dress again. "You'll catch Jamie's attention for sure."

  "You mean Connor's, and it's rumored he's dating Sam," I said. "If he so much as glances at any other woman, his fans go either apoplectic or into a deep depression. They want Sam and Connor together in real life, just like Jamie and Elinor in the show. It's part of the fantasy. You know they do. We've talked about it before. We feel the same way." I moved my head so that my earrings swung, and I felt coquettish. "Not that I have a chance with Connor Reid anyway."

  "You won't with an attitude like that," Beth said. "Always believe the impossible is possible. You may not get the impossible, but you'll get more than you could have imagined."

  "You always say that," I said. "You've been telling me that since I was little."

  "Because it's true," she said. "Would I lie to you?" She shook her head as if she couldn't believe my attitude. "Now turn around so I can help you out of the dress. I need time to finish hemming it."

  I was relieved to be taking it off. It was gorgeous, but I was corseted beneath it. Beth had insisted on making her own whalebone corset. It gave me the right shape and a tiny waist I wished I had in real life. But getting dressed or undressed without assistance was impossible. And I wasn't used to the restriction of a corset. I admired Sam for her perseverance wearing these days on end while filming.

  "I'm not sure you should be hemming it," I said. "I'll hem it."

  Beth rolled her eyes, grabbed me by the elbows, and spun me around. "Please. Don't make me laugh. You may be a brilliant doctor. But I'm not letting you near my sewing machine or my beautiful creation. You have no feel for fabric."

  It was hard to argue with fact. I was a terrible seamstress and had no interest in becoming better.

  "You should be taking it easy." I turned my back to her and let her unfasten me.

  "I'll take it easy when I'm dead," she said. "Until then, I can decide what I'm up to or and not up to."

  I sighed. "Are you sure people will dress up for the Jamie panel?"

  "Everyone dresses up for Comicon!" She sounded both scolding and scandalized.

  "I don't know," I said. "I don't think the Jamie fans are your usual Comicon fans."

  "Maybe not. But they love dressing up like the characters," she said. "Trust me. I did my research. Have you seen all the pattern books for how to knit or crochet Elinor's shawls and cowls?" She nodded along with herself. "I checked out their Facebook fan group pages. Those ladies love dressing up. And you are going to outshine them all."

  Impulsively, I spun around and hugged her with the back of my dress hanging open. Beth was only five four to my five ten. I towered over her, as I had since I was twelve.

  "I still can't believe you managed to get me tickets to Comicon so I could go see my favorite show's stars live. Comicon sold out a month ago."

  She hugged me back and laughed. "Anything is possible when you're determined and you know the right people. Well, almost anything. If I could have, I would have gotten you the special VIP package, which includes autographs, photos, and a private party with Connor and Sam. But even I don't have the power to do that. Those packages are really, sincerely sold out."

  "I love you," I said.

  "I know, Blairest." She smiled at me. "I love you too. I miss my sis every day, but she gave me you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, baby girl. Never forget that."

  I got tears in my eyes. It wasn't like her to be gushy.

  She blinked back tears too, and then got a devilish look in her eyes. "Tomorrow when you go to Comicon, be sure and catch the camera's eye. You know the evening shows and the news will be there. You can pay me back by showing off my creation on local TV."

  Chapter 3

  Austin

  Connor Reid's eyes went comically wide. He made a look of exaggerated horror as he tugged at his jacket. He and I were dressed nearly identically in our black leather jackets, kilts, and boots. If we'd been women, this might have been a big deal, a real tragedy. Instead, I glanced down at my outfit, waved my hands over myself like a showroom model emphasizing the selling points of a product, and shrugged good-naturedly.

  The crowd of women had followed his line of sight to me. The bar went quiet for a single beat. The void was immediately filled with murmurs of speculation and whispering. Women covered their mouths and spoke behind their hands to their friends.

  Yeah, here I am, ladies, a real Connor clone.

  They were all wondering, who is this hot, kilted man, this new arrival? Connor's American cousin?

  I say all this without being arrogant. Connor's hotness was widely acknowledged.

  Connor's eyebrows shot up. He pointed from me to him and back again, laughing, and waved me over.

  He stood as I approached the table. The sheer force of his personality was as impressive as his physical presence. "Here he is! My twin brother from a different mother."

  He pulled me into a bear hug and slapped me on the back heartily. "Your lads told me I had a twin." He tilted his head in that characteristic cock of his as he looked at me from hooded eyes. "A double. But I didna believe them. I hear that a lot, you ken, by men that are hopeful."

  His Scottish accent was much less pronounced and more modern than his character's on the show. But it had the same effect on the women around him. They were flushed. And it wasn't from the heat of the bar.

  He was a tall, solid, well-muscled guy, about my height. Six two or three. His hair was a very natural dyed red to the auburn I was born with. Up close, his eyes were nearly the identical color of green to mine, too. It was almost like staring into a mirror.

  Dylan scooted over to make room for me. "We mistook him for you, Austin. On first glance."

  "That's right," Connor said, nodding. "They did. I had to buy them a drink to convince them I was no' you."

  I stared down the guys. "I buy rounds all the time."

  "Cheap beer!" Jeremy raised an old-fashioned glass sparkling with booze. "Not kilt lifters made with premium scotch."

  "My mistake," I said, eyeing the cocktail. "My Scottish granda always referred to attractive women as kilt lifters."

  "Aye," Connor said to me, and winked at the ladies. "There are a bunch of those around here, too."

  In person, Connor was one of those people with natural charisma and charm. And good humor. The women surrounding us were about to swoon into a faint just listening to him speak. But when he winked at them…

  A few of them looked like they were willing to give it a try. If they could have timed it to go down one at a time so he could catch each of them…

  Connor pulled a phone from the pocket of his jacket. "Come on
, twin. Take a selfie with me. We'll post it to Twitter and my Facebook page and give the ladies who aren't here something to talk about, aye? Double trouble, that's us."

  I leaned into him and smiled.

  He snapped the picture and posted it with a few clicks. "There we go. Now you're famous." He grinned and turned back to the guys. "You're right, lads." He glanced around at the women. "He looks even more like me in person. Doesn't he, lasses?"

  Cam answered for them. "You have better legs."

  Connor grinned and lifted the hem of his kilt an inch or two. "Show them some leg, Austin." He turned to the ladies as I mimicked his move. "What do you think?"

  His question was met with a squeal of delight. Before he could get another word out, he was swarmed by a nearby group of women crowding in for their turn to ogle the celebrity.

  I was surrounded, too. Reflected glory only. Second best. But I had to say, the feeling was heady. Absolute celebrity could so easily corrupt absolutely.

  I leaned over and yelled to Connor, "Are you enjoying this crowd?" I shot him a look of desperation. There was no way we could plan Comicon out here among the women and noise. And the aura of Connor's fame.

  I managed to make my way next to him and whisper in his ear over the noise of the bar. "They have private tasting rooms here. I know the owners. They owe me. I can get us one."

  "I've done my fan time," he whispered back. "Get us that room."

  Mark and Cary, the guys who owned the joint, were behind the bar, watching all the commotion and basking in the fame their little distillery was accumulating.

  I'd saved their butts by solving a problem with their website. They were great friends of our buddy Lazer. I got their attention over the heads of the women and pointed between myself and one of the private rooms in back.

  Cary caught my drift and nodded. If he had any reservations about putting his main draw out of sight, he kept it to himself. They were going to be able to live off the fame Connor had already brought to the bar for years to come.