She blushed, ridiculously pleased with that compliment. “Well…thank you. But I know I can be a little uptight.”
“Aye.”
She smiled. “You’re not supposed to agree.”
“Aye, lass.” His eyes were shining. “Go on, then, donna leave me hanging. What happened then?”
“Then? I poured myself into my family’s foundation,” Sloane said. She told Galen that she sat on the board, and worked with some of the projects they’ve funded. She’d begun to devote her attention to raising money. She was very focused on her career; she kept her eye on the prize, which she hoped would include running her own nonprofit charity some day—an idea she’d given up when she and Adam got engaged.
“Why did you give it up?”
“I was stupid,” Sloane muttered. “But since things ended with Adam, I’ve just wanted to work. I’ve wanted to make a difference somewhere to someone. Unfortunately, my best friends are convinced I’ve fallen into some weird depression. It’s a best friend’s duty to be there in times of crisis. Best friends don’t let best friends go without getting laid, you know.”
Galen laughed. “I wish I had best friends like that.”
“So they’ve set up dates with guys that are so not me. Like the muscle-head who commented on every bite of food I put in my mouth. And the accountant who liked the Lord of the Rings movies more than is reasonable for a grown man. And the icing on the cake was the guy who thought I’d be the perfect distributor for the protein powders he was selling. Maybe if it had been chocolate, I would have seen him again, but no. Protein powder.” She snorted.
Galen chuckled.
“So that’s when I came up with Jamie Fraser. Seriously, you have to Netflix Outlander.”
Galen rolled his eyes. “Let me guess—he wears a kilt?”
“Of course.”
She told Galen how she’d put her friends off by teasing them she was in love with the fictional hero, and how they’d ended up coming to Scotland to find her a Highlander of her own. “And they will, Galen,” she said emphatically. “They will spend every moment trying to hook me up with some poor unsuspecting man. Like Ned.”
He laughed.
“So I thought, I’ll go early. I will pretend to find some guy and fall in love, and by the time they get here, we will have broken up. Because you know they won’t press it then, not if I have a broken heart, right? But when I called to tell them, Dylan said they were coming early. They’ll be here on Thursday! And…well, you know the rest.”
“Aye.” He said nothing for a moment. “How’d we meet?”
“What?”
“You and me,” he said, glancing at her. “You didna tell them you procured my services, aye? So how’d we meet?”
Sloane blushed. “Umm…”
“In the pub,” he said, nodding.
In hindsight, that would have been the smart thing to have said. But no, Sloane had made it an improbable meet-cute, just like the movies.
When she didn’t respond right away, he eyed her suspiciously. “What is it?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Bloody hell, what have you done now?”
“Nothing. I just said that we met when I was hiking and I twisted my ankle, and you…you appeared, coming out of the mist, and saved me. And that you were perfect for me—you like art and books and dogs.” She glanced over her shoulder into the bed of the contraption. “At least I got the dog right.”
Galen groaned. “That sounds like the pages of a romance novel.”
“I know you disapprove of my methods,” she said quickly. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I donna understand at all. Even if they believe I found you in a thick fog and carried you to safety,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “they’ll only want to try again after a time, aye?”
“Yes,” she acknowledged. “But who knows what will have happened by then?”
He looked out the window a moment, then at her, then turned his attention to the road. “Sloane…”
It was the first time he’d said her name and she couldn’t help it—she loved the way it sounded in the lilt of his deep brogue.
“Does it no’ seem a bit strange to you that you’d go to such lengths to keep from meeting a man? Have you thought that maybe you’re a wee bit too scared of it?”
Something sharply familiar shot through her—a recognition of hurt she wanted to rush past and ignore. “You just don’t like the plan.”
“Of course I donna like it,” he scoffed. “What is it about women that nothing is ever black and white? Let me tell you, men like things as uncomplicated as possible, and women are incapable of uncomplicated.” He looked at her and said, “Women complicate everything.”
“I don’t know what you’re grousing about,” she grumbled. “I’m the one who has to live with it. All you have to do is stand around and look sexy and collect your money.”
Galen suddenly grinned. “You think I’m sexy, do you?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“Aye, you did. And you’re blushing.”
“No, I’m not,” she said and swiped the palms of her hands against her cheeks in a futile attempt to erase it.
“Maybe I’ll give your friends something to talk about.” He flashed her a smile as he pulled off the road, starting up a single track that ran into the hills. Molly hopped up and started barking, turning in great circles of joy. Galen had to slow down for sheep once more; they scattered like so many pillows, and he drove deeper into the glen. Up they went, the valley getting narrower.
Just when Sloane believed the road would disappear into one huge rut, he pulled in through an old stone gate. At the bottom of the drive was a small cottage, a barn, and a few farming implements.
Galen came to a stop and honked the horn. His dog jumped out the back and shot toward the barn just as two black and white dogs appeared, racing toward her, their tails wagging.
“Here we are,” Galen said.
“This is it?” Sloane asked, looking around.
“Were you expecting a Highland castle?” He opened his door.
She wasn’t expecting a castle, but she was at least expecting a house that looked as if it were bigger than one room. Still, the place had a certain charm about it.
Outside of the Jeep, Galen grabbed the bags. Sloane followed him up the walk and through a small gate—at least his brother believed in fences—and opened the door of the cottage. “After you,” he said.
She paused and leaned forward, peering into the darkened room.
“Go on, then. We’ve quite a lot to do,” Galen said, and slapped her butt to make her move.
She tossed a glare over her shoulder and noticed he was grinning at her squeal of surprise. Her heart lurched in her chest at seeing the first full smile on his face. Damn, that man was gorgeous.
She suddenly realized that she’d be spending the night in this tiny box of a house. With Gorgeous. Alone.
Chapter Four
Galen was not surprised to see that his brother had left the place a mess—the bed was unmade, dirty dishes were in the sink, and various articles of clothing had been dropped and left on the floor. That was Owen, and as Galen moved through, picking up the discarded clothing, he wondered for the thousandth time how he could lean toward being a perfectionist and his brother could be such a slob. They had the same DNA, the same upbringing—but his brothers were as different from him as night was from day.
He stuffed dirty clothes into the empty clothes bin and went to the cupboard to see if there were any clean sheets. Thank God, there was one clean set. He tossed the clean sheets on the bed to make up later. He glanced back at Sloane.
She’d put her bag down and with her hands on the curve of her back, she was taking the place in—the pictures on the wall, the books stuffed haphazardly into the shelves, the couch laden with papers and bike gear and a fishing rod.
“I will apologize for my brother,” he said. “He’s no hous
ekeeper.”
“He lives here by himself?” she asked and picked up a blackened banana peel between finger and thumb.
“In the summer, aye,” he said, and took the peel from her and tossed it into the rubbish bin. “In the winter he works at a printing press in Glasgow.” He did not add that Owen was the least ambitious of the three Buchanan brothers, the one of them who had always been content to take whatever odd job came his way as opposed to pursuing any passion. That was because Owen’s passions ran to sports, and the more time a job allowed him to indulge his need for physical activity, the better.
This bit of land had belonged to their uncle. Owen had bought it with the wee bit their dad had left them, and then leased it to shepherds in the summer.
“Well,” she said, looking slightly alarmed as she surveyed the cottage, “he seems to have many varied interests.”
Galen almost laughed. At least she was trying to find the positive.
“It’s cozy,” she added uncertainly.
“Aye, it is that. It suits him. He’s young. It’s only him and the dogs for the most part, and that’s when he’s no’ in Gairloch sleeping on my couch.”
“What shall we do first?” Sloane asked brightly.
“We’ll take a pair of horses down the glen to repair a fence,” he said. “It’s a stone fence,” he added, in an attempt to warn her of the work ahead. “It’s hard work, Sloane. A lot of carrying stones here and there, you know.”
She was nodding, as if she’d repaired many stone fences. He gave her a dubious look. “What?” she said, casting her arms wide. “I’m a good worker, Galen. It’s a fence. How hard can it be?”
He did not chortle aloud as he had the urge to do. “Do you have something proper to wear?”
“I brought some riding clothes as instructed.”
She smiled as if she were proud to have followed instructions. He could just imagine her as a schoolgirl, with pigtails and big green eyes, a shirt buttoned up to her chin and her hand going up, eager to clean erasers for the teacher. “I’d put them on, were I you. Those jeans are too tight for a lot of bending and squatting.”
“They’re not that tight,” she muttered. “Where can I change?”
And this was where the fun began. “You’re my girlfriend, aye? Did you no’ ask for authenticity?”
The lass blanched. “Girlfriend on paper,” she quickly reminded him. “Isn’t there a bathroom?”
“It’s out back.” He shrugged. “Afraid the place is a wee bit small for hiding.”
She looked wildly about. “O-kay,” she said uncertainly. She dipped down to pick up her bag and, glancing around, put it on the bed. She hesitantly turned her back to him and pulled her T-shirt from her jeans. “Are you going to stand there and gawk?”
“Are you shy?”
“I’m a little modest,” she admitted.
Galen settled back against the little kitchen bar and shoved his hands in his pockets, enjoying himself. “It’s only me—your boyfriend.”
“Yeah, right. I can hear you smiling, you smug bastard,” she said.
Galen didn’t deny it. He was too busy watching her pull the shirt over her head, then admiring her slender back, her smooth, pale skin.
“Are you still there?”
“Aye.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze flicking over him. “Enjoying the show?”
“Immensely.”
“Good God,” she said irritably, then proceeded to tantalize him by wiggling out of those tight jeans.
She was wearing thong panties, and her hips were like two ripe pieces of fruit. He wanted to put his hands on them, bite the flesh of them. His pulse picked up a little; he was getting hard. “I’m going down to the barn to find some proper boots for you,” he said, straightening up. “By the way, the loo is just there, behind the green door.”
Sloane gasped. “You said it was out back!”
“I lied. Come out when you’re ready.”
“Pig!” she shouted as he went out.
Galen laughed.
He’d let the ponies out into the paddock and had saddled one when Sloane finally emerged from the cottage. Galen had to swallow down a bellow of laughter as she walked to where he was, but he couldn’t manage to keep the chuckle from escaping him—Sloane was wearing jodhpurs and an equestrian shirt.
“What’s so funny?” she asked with a frown, her hands finding her hips. “You said we were riding.”
“Aye, but no’ a steeplechase,” he said, unable to keep the grin from his face. “We’ll be trotting across the glen on Highland ponies.”
“Then I’ll be comfortable,” she said and shifted her weight onto one slender hip. She’d finally let her hair down and had braided it down her back. It was longer than he would have guessed. She had no hat or gloves, naturally. Galen tossed a jacket to her, which she caught, and an old stained ball cap of Owen’s. “Put the bill in back so you donna lose it,” he advised her and set a pair of rain boots before her. “They’ll be too big, but they’re the best I can do.”
Sloane didn’t argue—she removed her soft boots and put on everything he’d given her. The jacket hung to her knees, and the boots were so big that it looked as if she were wearing clown shoes. “Don’t you have a helmet?” she asked as she fit the stained cap on her head.
“No.”
She gaped at him. “Oh my God, don’t tell me you ride without a helmet.”
“I ride without a helmet.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? There are so many statistics now about head injuries—
“Are you coming?” he asked, interrupting before she could launch into a lecture about horse safety, as if he’d been raised in tenement housing in Glasgow instead of the Highlands.
She made a sound of exasperation, but she didn’t argue as he pointed to the smaller of the two ponies. She stroked the pony’s nose, cooing to it.
“Come on, then, we’ve too much to do for you and the pony to exchange numbers. Can you ride this saddle?”
“I can ride any saddle.”
He didn’t believe that for a moment, but the day was wasting, so he cupped his hands to help her up.
She looked at his cupped hands and put her hands to her hips. “So, no mounting block I take it.”
“A mounting block?” He shook his head. “No, we’ve no mounting block here at our humble little cottage. Only a pair of hands. So if you would kindly fit your foot into them, I’ll help you up.”
Sloane stuck the oversized boot into his cupped hands. He vaulted her up and she settled easily onto the saddle and leaned over the horse, patting its neck, dragging her fingers through its mane.
He laid his palm on her thigh. “You’re all right?” he asked uncertainly. He didn’t know why, but he had in mind that Americans liked slower horses and big saddles with horns to hold onto. “For God’s sake, if this feels too much to handle, tell me now. Neither of us has time for a broken arm, aye?”
“I’m fine,” she said, and pushed his hand away. “Worry about mounting your own horse without a block.”
He reluctantly put himself on his horse. But when he’d gathered the reins and turned about, Sloane was trotting her pony in a little circle, the dogs tracking behind. “Which way?” she asked.
He pointed down glen.
She did precisely what Galen guessed she’d do, if she could indeed ride—but hoped that she wouldn’t do—and that was to take off, charging through the paddock gate across the fields, galloping away from him.
All right then, the lass could ride. And the three traitorous dogs were right behind her, loping happily along. The braid of blonde hair flew out behind her, and as much as he didn’t want to see it, as much as he told himself to look away, he watched the delightful bounce of her bum on that old saddle.
The last bum he’d been entranced with belonged to Ileana, the waitress he’d had a fling with in Edinburgh several months ago. It had been nothing but a quick fuck, nothing to be pro
ud of or even remember, other than that Ileana had a heart-shaped bottom that had excited him as he’d clung to it in the throes of sex.
But now he was reminded of just how long it had been. Jesus, a very long time. So long that he was riding across a Highland meadow admiring the crazy American’s bum as she and the pony churned up the ground with an abandon that Galen admired.
How odd that he hadn’t noticed how truly pretty she was until today. He’d seen only the endless buttons, the laptop, the slender fingers drumming on his bar as she waited for her bloody tea. But today he was seeing the woman underneath the cardigans, and he was alarmed that he was feeling a wee bit beguiled.
He tried to make sense of his attraction until he realized how far ahead of him she was. He would not have that. Galen spurred his horse and rode to catch up with her.
Sloane slowed the pony when he caught up and he heard her laugh as she glanced at him over her shoulder. But just as he reached her, she bent over the horse’s neck and spurred it on with a shout and a dig of her boots. She was racing him, and by God, she did know how to ride.
Galen grinned.
He’d grown up with two brothers and a healthy competitive spirit. He reined his horse to the right, cutting across a meadow and a stream, emerging from the woods just ahead of her. The broken fence was just ahead, and he veered the horse into the meadow, scattering a few cows.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her. She was bent over the horse’s neck. The cap was gone. She was determined to win, and by some miracle, as they reached the fence, Galen reined to a hard stop, pulling the horse up with all his might and shouting at Sloane to stop.
He saw the other pony sail over the fence, its legs tucked up beneath it, and Sloane, damn her, shrieked with glee. Or maybe that was the sound or terror—he wasn’t quite sure.
She and the pony landed on the other side, and only then did she rein up and bring the horse around, trotting back to the fence, gasping for breath.
“Happy?” Galen said.
“I won, didn’t I?” she asked with exuberance.
“Aye, and you might have broken your neck.”
The Perfect Bargain Page 6