He swirled the milk in the jug and poured it into the cup, ending on a love heart.
“That’s lovely, thank you.”
“I’ll leave you to drink your coffee in peace.” It was either that, or have another shower, or turn Georgia in his arms and kiss her until he swallowed her moan and things would proceed as nature intended. Nope. Better to be professional and hoof it out of the kitchen.
“I’ll be back in thirty. I’ve got work in the yard to do.”
She jerked, turned, and blinked. Yep, just as he’d thought, hard nipples. It wasn’t that cold in here with the furnace coming to life at five a.m. He’d programmed it for her stay.
She put down her coffee. “I’ll check if the bread man has stopped by.”
That was his cue to leave. Georgia moaning in his kitchen with butter dribbling down her chin was too much for a grown man.
Well, this grown man.
Your corporate girl is flying this coop in seven days or less.
He stopped at the fridge to stuff his pockets with snacks for Delilah.
Fuck off, conscience.
He mucked out his goat’s stall while she shuffled around him, looking for the treats she knew he had. He laughed when she nipped his hand. He fed her carrots, apples, and half a head of lettuce. He put some corn and chaff into her bowl, scattered feed for the chickens, and found eggs. When there was nothing left to do, he made for the house, his breath steamy in the cold air.
After putting the eggs in containers to take down for Ainsley to make Scotch eggs later, Callum headed into the kitchen to grab a coffee and a slice of bread from the loaf Georgia had already hacked into. Her cutting skills left much to be desired.
She sat at the table, munching bread and playing with her phone.
A thought struck him like a blow to the chest. What an idiot he was for not thinking of this sooner. “How much do you know about Scotland and her people?”
Her stubborn chin rose. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. Besides, if you had internet, I could Google everything I need to know about Scotland.”
He folded his hands across his chest. “It has everything to do with it, Corporate. Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
Chapter Ten
Georgia stared out at the countryside. Cows and sheep dotted the hillsides like little commas with their heads down, and a weak sun filtered through a gray sky. At least it wasn’t raining. They’d slowed for a passing car, tractor, and a herd of cows. Callum nodded to the motorists, who nodded back, then stopped to chat with Leonard while he led his cows across the road.
“It’s nice that you do this,” Georgia said when they got back on the road, “but I don’t see how it has anything to do with my plans for your hotel.”
“Today is my Meals on Wheels run day. There are some people I want you to meet.”
The meals were in huge canvas containers inside plastic tubs, with lids even Delilah couldn’t chew through. The goat shoved her head out the back window instead of trying to make trouble, seeming to enjoy the wind in her face.
Callum had sideswiped her earlier. Sure, she’d ogled him in his sleep like a stalker, but holy hell the man was built. What she’d expected under the layers of clothes had proven her assumption correct: Callum MacGregor indeed pulled trees from mountains. Ripped shoulders with cords that stood out. Silky skin covered his body. But her gaze had drifted down to his stomach. Muscle stacked upon muscle greeted her, and her mouth had dropped open at the line of dark hair that snaked down to below his pajama pants where he’d been very much awake.
She’d heated like a furnace from the inside out. She knew about males and human biology, and for guys it was a morning thing. But to say the man was built… She let her mind wander. She’d gripped the doorframe harder to stop herself walking across the floor, straddling him, and kissing him awake before she draped herself over his body and whispered take me. She knew she’d sound all guttural, and like a cat in heat. So she’d tightened her thighs, gripped the doorframe hard enough that a splinter had worked into her finger. Reality had kicked in at that point, and she’d fled like the stalker she was, staring at the poor man who was asleep.
Ugh.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Callum asked over the jaunty sound of trumpets coming from the Jeep’s sound system.
Ah, no. No. No. No.
If she turned and faced him, surely he’d see the lust in her eyes, and what her mom would say was her “sexy aura.” She squirmed at the pulse that had started a slow, steady beat between her legs.
She pulled her hair over one shoulder. “What’s with the trumpets and classical music?”
“I find it soothing or invigorating, depending on my mood. Always have.”
That’s not all that’s invigorating. Her cheeks heated and she kept her face firmly turned away.
“Want to tell me what’s really on your mind?”
Nope, not looking. She turned her head. “That’s what was on my mind,” she lied.
“You’re a shite liar.” An amused smile was on his face.
Her eyebrows arched upward. “Well, that’s rude. A girl doesn’t share everything that’s on her mind. I bet you don’t, either.”
Again, with the mischievous sideways glance. “Were you thinking about this morning when you were standing in my doorway admiring the view, openmouthed?”
She turned and gaped at him, fire beating in her cheeks.
Busted.
“I was not admiring the view. I was concerned that you’d be cold without covers on.”
She sounded pathetic even to her own ears.
Time to end the conversation.
“Where are we going?” she snapped, embarrassed and flustered.
A painted sign beckoned them to “Come in for a wee chat,” and they turned off the main road onto a narrow road that turned into a track. A stone cottage came into view.
“Damn,” Callum muttered. “Fire’s out.”
He stopped the Jeep by the front door, opened the back, and took out the containers. Delilah jumped down and trotted up to the front door, followed by Callum. Georgia brought up the rear, pulling her phone from her back pocket, hopeful for a signal.
Not her day.
Callum banged on the door. “Robert, it’s me…Callum.” Without waiting for an answer Callum opened the door and walked inside, leaving Georgia to follow.
“You’ve brought a wee lassie.”
Sitting at a table was an elderly man, his face a road map of lines, and his bright-blue eyes shining. Delilah laid her head on his lap, and a cat immediately began to curl around the goat’s legs.
“You’re a good goat,” the old man said, patting Delilah’s head. Seemingly done with her greeting, the goat and cat trotted toward the kitchen and presumably the back door.
The old man looked Georgia up and down. “A bonny wee lassie at that. Is this the lass that you married up at The Grotto?”
Callum’s grin blinded her. “News travels fast. Robert, this is Georgia. She’s visiting from the States.” He headed to another part of the house with the containers in his hand. “Keep him company for me.”
“Come, take a load off ya feet, girl.” Robert pushed a full mug across the table with shaking hands. “You’re much better looking than Callum. Have his tea.” He went to lift the teapot, but Georgia beat him to it.
“Here, let me.”
“Thanks, lass.”
Sipping tea, she glanced around the room. Gorgeous oil paintings hung from the walls. She was no expert, but everything down to the exquisite carving of the table felt old and cherished.
Antiques Roadshow would have a field day.
The old man soon had her entranced. She’d been delighted to learn that Robert was a descendant of Robert the Bruce, both revered in this part of the world. He’d lived in the same house all his life, never having found his lass.
“I thought I had found her.” His voice shook.
From age or sorrow Georgia couldn’t
tell. She set down her cup. “You did?”
“Turns out she was a Selkie.”
She must have had a blank look on her face, because he carried on.
“Most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She stared at me with regret in her big eyes then turned back into a seal, and I never saw her again. I stayed on Orkney for a year waiting for her.”
“Oh,” Georgia said, having no idea what to say about paranormal seals.
Unfazed by her lack of enthusiasm, Robert then warned her that if she saw a pony with a dripping mane it would be a Kelpie, a supernatural water horse that would carry her to a watery grave.
Callum arrived back in the room, stripped down to a T-shirt, carrying bundles of wood he’d chopped. Sweat on his brow, the damp cotton was plastered to his skin. When he leaned to fill the large copper basket by the fireplace, the shirt rode up, gifting her a slice of his back and the band of his underwear.
She ripped her guilty eyes away.
They drank more tea, and Robert told her stories of the Blue Men of Minch who searched for boats to sink and people to drown.
“They sound like psychopathic Smurfs,” she said as Callum joined them, carrying a ploughman’s lunch from his pub’s kitchen. He opened a bottle of beer and poured it into a glass for Robert.
“Aye, they do.”
After Robert finished eating and more stories were told, Callum lit a fire while Georgia cleaned up in the kitchen. Callum then stocked Robert’s fridge with a covered plate for his dinner and another plate filled with Scotch eggs that had Georgia drooling the whole ride over.
While he checked the cupboards, Georgia wiped down the bench. A lovely Picasso sketch on the kitchen wall caught her eye.
Robert had followed her. “Do you like the picture, lass?”
Georgia cast a glance at the Picasso sketching. “It’s lovely.”
He walked to the print and inspected it. “Not my cup of tea. More of a Rubens man. You should take it.”
She smiled. “I couldn’t, but thank you.”
It was a gorgeous sketch, and she made a mental note to look for a print when she was back in the States. It would look great hanging on a wall of the Airbnb she’d be staying at.
Another room in an endless loop of rooms. Her vision blurred for a second and she rubbed at the unexpected ache in her chest.
I must be coming down with something.
“Well, anytime you and your husband want it, it’s yours.”
She smiled at the old man. “Robert, we’re not really married. We drank water from the well, and said our names.”
Shrewd eyes met hers. “Did you kiss?”
Did they kiss? Yeah, they’d kissed!
“By that blush you did, so aye, lass, by the folklore here, you’re married.”
No point trying to get him to change his mind. As far as he was concerned they were married. Although, not to pat herself on the back, but adding in the photo of her and Callum at the back of the presentation packet handed to potential clients was a genius idea. He hadn’t seemed too happy about it. Was it her Callum wasn’t happy about, or that she’d used the shot as publicity?
She waved to Robert and promised to return and hear more of his stories. She wanted to hear about the Loch Ness Monster, or Nessie as he referred to her affectionately, and then the legend of Sawney Bean. He’d shaken his head and said a young lass like her wasn’t to hear about Sawney Bean.
Georgia snapped in her seat belt. “What a charming and delightful man.”
Delilah had her head out the back window again, bleating her good-bye.
“Aye, he is.” Callum’s eyebrows pinched together.
“You’ve got some awesome, gruesome history here in Scotland. As soon as the internet kicks in, I’m checking out Sawney Bean.”
“I’ll save you the worry. Alexander Sawney Bean, along with his wife and forty-six children and grandchildren, killed and ate over one thousand people before they were captured and executed.”
Georgia’s stomach turned. “That’s fiction, right?”
He shrugged. “It’s a legend. No one knows.”
“Do you have any cute stories, or is it all psychotic Smurfs and cannibals?”
“We have Robert and his stories.” His voice was clipped.
She turned to him. “I don’t get it. This charming old man with a sign that invites people in for a chat is a huge asset for this area. You’d have people flocking in.”
“Aye, and therein lies the problem.”
“How?” Exasperation leaked from her voice.
“Robert would give you the shirt off his back.”
Her hands went up in the air. “Clearly. And?”
He looked daggers at her. “He’s also close to a billionaire. The furniture in the room is all original. Same for a lot of the artwork. He doesn’t believe in banks…” He let the line hang there like a spear to her head.
Her stomach dropped, the gravity of what the old man had offered her sinking in. “He would have let me walk out with an original Picasso that was hanging in his kitchen next to an out-of-date calendar and an expired coupon for oatmeal?”
“He would,” he said, his mouth a thin line.
She gripped her seat belt. Dear God. The man had a sign inviting people in. He’d practically gifted her artwork worth millions. His house was crammed with oil paintings, the cabinets with thick pottery and paper-thin tea sets. A large bronze sculpture of an entwined man and a woman sat on the table.
She turned to Callum in a panic. “You have to take down the sign. Stop people coming in.”
“He’ll put it back up.”
“Can’t you make him stop?” Her voice hitched.
“He’s as stubborn as they come.”
She swallowed over the ache in the back of her throat. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked, knowing why he did, but she wanted to hear it from him.
He stopped on the shoulder of the road. “People will take advantage. We protect him. If they see the Rubens on the wall or the Picasso or the Chippendale furniture, don’t you think he’s going to be stripped in a couple of months?”
Her heart threw in a sluggish beat. They had to find a way to protect this lovely man who’d invite strangers into his home and make them tea, while some people would rob him, hurt him, or worse.
No.
“The whole town looks out for Robert,” Callum continued, his voice tight. “We have a system in place. Seven of us visit each day and bring three meals. Thursday’s my day. We installed a sensor across his driveway. The seven of us, including Ainsley, have a designated time to arrive. If the sensor is triggered outside of those times, Robert’s neighbors step up and check out who’s coming. Everyone has a roster.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Robert is a living legend around these parts and we’ll do everything to protect him, especially from himself.”
In the short time she’d known Robert, so would she.
Callum gave her a meaningful look. Apparently, she was missing something. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“We paid for the sensor on his driveway.”
“That was really nice of you…?”
He shook his head. “We’re all working people, Georgia. Farmers, publicans, cooks… Frank, the greengrocer. Hamish, whose family farms beef. Tom, who reports and prints the local paper. James, who runs the local grocery store. And Mavis, who knits hats, scarves, and one-of-a-kind tea cozies. The people in the pub you see every night. The mums, dads, and dart players. All of us. We have a phone tree.”
Georgia frowned. “This all sounds great. I don’t understand the problem.”
Callum studied her, his expression grim. “If the sensor is tripped every twenty minutes, none of us will be able to do our own jobs. We love him enough that we’d always come running, but once word got out and busloads started arriving, we’d all suffer, including Robert. He’s too proud to admit that he needs help, so we all drop in with food, saying we had too much or were passing by.” He blew out a b
reath. “He isn’t an eejit who doesn’t know what we’re doing. He prefers to think we were passing by.”
Oh. “I see.” And she did, with stinging clarity. All these people would drop their lives to check on their neighbor. Along with saving him, they were saving his dignity by pretending they were in the neighborhood. Her heart stuttered. These were working people who cared about one of their own and would do anything to protect him. She looked down at her hands.
She’d be part of the problem.
The ache in the back of her throat built, and little seeds of doubt took root in her mind. She couldn’t let harm come to Robert and the townspeople protecting him.
There had to be a way she could fix this. Not inflict damage on the town and its people, but come up with a mutually agreeable solution.
Maybe it was time for her to get to know the locals. To take the night off.
Whoa.
She never took time off, to just be Georgia Paxton, and a sneaky bit of her heart wanted that here, in this town. She wanted to hang out with Callum, to not talk about work for just one night, but be two people attracted to each other without agendas. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d gone out for fun.
And after she was done kicking back, Georgia needed to figure out what to do about what she’d learned today. It would kill her to think her actions would hurt Robert and the people here. Everything about this town was magical, from the pub to The Grotto to Robert and his stories, to Delilah and Hello Kitty, not to mention the man sitting beside her.
She’d been here four days. In six days, she’d be gone. Usually, she’d be counting down the minutes until she could get away, but instead, the weird lump in her throat got bigger.
She stored that little thought in the “not today” file that also held his cryptic idea that she was lost.
So yes. She’d work out something for Robert, but now she was curious where they were going.
“So, Sofa, where are we off to next?”
“We’re off to meet my mum.”
…
“Wait. You want me to meet your Mom?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Georgia smoothed down her hair, pulled a tube of gloss from her pocket, and started outlining her lips.
Ten Days With the Highlander Page 9