“Donna you really? No’ two days ago you told me that you hadna wanted the engagement to end, aye?”
“I didn’t want it to end, but it did. And I’m not going to go back to him just because he came all this way. I don’t trust him.”
Galen felt out of place suddenly. He didn’t know how to talk to her about this, or even if he should. “Just be honest with yourself,” he said. He meant to leave it at that, but Sloane’s face darkened and she pushed his hand away.
“Do you want your money, or not?” she asked curtly.
The question was a mental slap across his face, and it stung like hell. “By God you’re a stubborn woman,” he snapped.
“I’m not as stubborn as you.” She plunged her hands into the water.
“No,” Galen said. “Go home now. I donna need your help.”
“Like hell you don’t—”
He took her by the arm and pulled one hand free of the water. “You’re no’ my girlfriend, do you hear me? You’re a fling, a lark, but beyond that, you’re nothing more to me. Donna think otherwise.”
Sloane looked stunned. It was a lie, a horrible lie, but Galen didn’t know how to back down from it. He didn’t know how to make her do what she needed to do.
“It’s all make believe,” he said, his voice calmer. “It has been all along, aye? You’re playing a part and you’ve got yourself caught up in it. But I canna let this thing interfere with my business.”
Wide-eyed, she gaped at him, so long that Galen’s pulse began to race. He didn’t want to hurt her, but God, she made it so fucking difficult.
Her gaze fell away. She picked up a bar towel and methodically wiped her hands. “You’re right, as usual, Braveheart.” She gave a funny little laugh, shook her head once, and walked out from behind the bar. She didn’t look back, but started for the door.
“Sloane?”
She hesitated. He saw her shoulders rise slightly, as if she took a deep breath to steady herself before turning about. When she did, he said, “You have to break up. Break up, or I will.”
She touched her hand to a chair back as if to steady herself. “Can I ask you something? Did the last few days mean anything to you? Anything at all?”
He felt a squeeze of his heart. Galen swallowed. He couldn’t find proper words to tell her what the three days had meant, how she had opened up a door that had been swollen and battered shut by the storms in his life. There was no way for a man to describe that life-altering sensation. He clenched his jaw.
“Thought so,” she said, and walked out of his pub.
Chapter Thirteen
When Sunday rolled around, Galen set Lazlo up in the bar—the lad tended the place for him on Sunday afternoons, when business was the slowest—and grabbed the whisky his mother had asked him to bring. He stuffed a bottle into the saddlebags on his motorbike and drove across the village to his mother’s house.
He was surprised by the number of cars and bikes out front of the neat little house with the large garden. His mother, who had once been mayor of the village, always had a hodge-podge of guests, but usually not this many.
Galen walked into the lounge, with its lace curtains and wood-burning stove, so crowded that it felt as if the entire village had squeezed in. He made the rounds, greeting all his mother’s friends and his own acquaintances, making his way through until he found his mother. She was busy in the kitchen, wearing a worn apron she’d had since he was a boy.
“Ah, my bonny son,” she said gaily, and rose up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. “Oh love, I’ll buy a razor for you if canna afford one,” she said and patted his cheek.
“Funny.” He kissed her cheek.
“Your brothers are in the garden,” she said, and bustled past him in her apron, carrying a tray of crisps and crackers.
He continued on through the dining room, where he found Reeny stirring something in a large pot, the savory scent from which made his stomach rumble. “Galen, lad! Where’s your bird?” she asked, trying to see around him.
Galen seriously doubted Sloane would come. “I donna know, Reeny. I thought you’d have the hounds on her by now.”
Reeny laughed and swatted at him with her wooden spoon as he went by.
Owen and Malcolm were in the garden among family friends. Malcolm stood up and offered Galen his hand. “It is true what they say, lad? Will we hear the kirk’s bells ringing a wedding chime?”
The men who gathered around his brothers laughed, and someone put a bottle of beer into Galen’s hand. “Your wife has a wild imagination,” he said, accepting the beer.
“Aye, that she does,” Malcolm cheerfully agreed. “But what’s this about a girl?”
“No girl,” Galen said, and took a long swig of the beer.
The men fell into talking about the usual things—the closing of the mechanic shop on the east side of town, the cows that had scattered up the road toward the Torridon mountains, how Geoff MacBee broke his leg during a football match. Galen was numb to the chatter, chiming into agree with what anyone said, his thoughts an ocean away from them all.
He was tired. He’d spent a sleepless night, thinking about Sloane. About the last week. He didn’t like how adrift he’d felt since she’d walked out of his pub, how confused about things that he’d not been confused about only a week before. How suddenly uncertain about what he wanted. He was so lost in thought, in fact, that he didn’t feel the stir and the rustle among the men until Owen nudged him and said, “The eagle has landed.”
“What?”
“The Americans.” He clapped his hand on Galen’s shoulder, and leaned over him. “They’re all bloody bonny, are they no’?”
Galen stood up and turned around. Sloane and her friends had come out into the garden behind Reeny and had paused to admire his mother’s roses.
She was wearing a pink dress, and her hair was down. On her feet, the new white trainers. Galen could feel a smile spreading through him. Somewhere along the way, the buttoned up girl had truly let her hair down. Maybe that’s all this was, he mused. Maybe he’d played some unwitting part in her finding her footing after a break-up. Maybe it had nothing to do with him at all.
He put down his beer and moved toward the women.
“Hello, hen,” he said to Sloane.
“Hmm. Hello, Braveheart,” she said coolly.
“Ladies,” he said, nodding toward her friends. He thought they said hello in return, but they were quickly swallowed up by the men in the garden, who jostled around introducing themselves, and somehow pushing Sloane and Galen to the edge of the group.
“I’m sorry,” he said, nudging her with his elbow.
“For what? Being an ass?”
“Aye, exactly that.”
Sloane’s lashes fluttered. And then she groaned. “Oh God, don’t be sorry,” she said gloomily. “I had it coming. You were right, I’ve been playing at make believe for way too long and I was avoiding him.”
Galen’s heart sank a little. He couldn’t help himself—he touched her hair. “Aye, well, seeing him made me think of what you’re missing.”
“I’m not missing anything, silly. And there you go again, telling me what I need to know.”
“If I donna do it, who will? You’re so wrapped up in your fear that you canna see what’s before you.”
Sloane slowly turned toward him. Her gaze narrowed. “You know what’s before me? A guy who is even more wrapped up in his fear than I am. Tell me why a guy like you isn’t married or dating. What are you hiding from?”
He didn’t have a chance to answer that, because Maread appeared on the decking just outside the house. With Fentress. Seeing them together confused Galen.
Sloane noticed them, too. “Well, well,” she clucked. “You know what, Galen? As long as we’re being completely honest and telling each other what we should do, that girl is in love with you. If you’re not going to marry me, then for God’s sake, you should marry her.”
The word marriage on Sloane’s
breath stunned him—it was not something that had crossed his mind. “I’m no’ marrying, Maread,” he said curtly, as Fentress spotted them and waved.
“Okay. Then die old and alone,” she said. “Die clutching your last bottle of whisky in a pub with dated decor and a musty smell and a bathroom in desperate need of an overhaul and with cows leaving their calling cards around your carcass in the yard and see if I care.”
“Hello, hello,” Fentress said as he reached them, as if they were old chums.
“Hello, Adam,” Sloane said. “I see you’re making new friends.”
He glanced back at Maread, who was speaking to Reeny, but with her gaze on the three of them. “What’s a guy to do?” he asked cheerfully. “I met her this morning and she gave me a ride over.”
“I’m going to get a drink,” Sloane said and walked off before either Galen or Fentress could stop her.
Fentress sighed. “This is awkward.” He chuckled. “She’s mad at me, you know,” he confided. “She doesn’t like surprises.”
Neither did Galen.
“Okay, buddy,” Fentress said. “We obviously both think Sloane is special.”
Galen looked at her. Reeny was introducing her to his mother, and Sloane was laughing at something his mother had said.
“She’s obviously had a good time here,” Fentress continued. “Last night, she was talking about sheep, of all things.”
Galen’s belly clenched slightly. He didn’t want to think of her talking to this guy about anything.
“But, you know, she won’t be here forever.”
“Pardon?”
Fentress’s pale blue gaze locked on Galen. “I’m man enough to admit I did her wrong,” he said quietly. “I should never have let her go.”
“Aye,” Galen agreed. Frankly, he couldn’t imagine a world where Adam Fentress could do better than Sloane.
“I was so fucking stupid,” he said. “I guess I got cold feet, you know? I started thinking about the rest of my life and…well.” He shrugged. “But Sloane and I had a great life in Chicago. I have the means to make it up to her. Our families are there, our jobs. She and I could do a lot of good together. She doesn’t really want to be a Scot, or a barmaid, or whatever it is she’s pretending here. Even if she doesn’t accept it now, things will change when we get home. So I guess the question on my mind is, are you man enough to let her go?”
There was something that clanged so wrong in what Fentress had just said, but Galen got it. He didn’t need Fentress to tell him that Sloane belonged in Chicago.
He suddenly felt spent. Exhausted. Part of him wished he’d never met her. Part of him was already withering just thinking of her leaving. This was all so absurd, this little quagmire he found himself in, and he knew he had to end it. Sloane wouldn’t. He would have to do it, and he would have to push hard.
Sloane appeared just then with a beer. “So what are you two havering about?” she asked.
“What?” Adam asked laughingly.
“Oh, the usual,” Galen said, and put his arm around Sloane and pulled her into his side so firmly that some of her wine splashed out of her glass. “I told your friend here the truth.”
Sloane stiffened. She seemed slightly alarmed. “The truth?”
“Aye. That I canna let you go.”
Sloane blinked at him with surprise. Fentress laughed nervously. “Come on, pal.”
“And she canna let me go either, is that no’ right, love?”
Something glimmered in Sloane’s eye. “Aye,” she said, eying him shrewdly. “You’re the perfect man for me, Galen Buchanan. A real Jamie Fraser. That’s what I’ve been saying. Put a kilt on it, and voila, the man of my dreams.” The glimmer in her eyes turned wicked; she suddenly kissed him on the cheek.
“Ah, lass, if you’re going to kiss me, then bloody well kiss me,” he said, and cupped her chin, turned her face to him, and kissed her. He did not hold back. He didn’t care that Fentress was gaping at them. He kissed her with the yearning he’d felt for her the last few days, bending her backward with the force of it.
“Get a room,” Paige said, her voice coming from somewhere behind Galen. He lifted his head and looked at Sloane, warning her with a look. Her cheeks were stained with a blush, but she smiled at him like a cat that had just eaten a fucking canary.
“What the bloody hell?” Malcolm asked, pushing into the circle.
“Malcolm, meet Sloane Chatfield—the girl for me,” Galen said.
“She may be your girl while she’s on vacation,” Fentress said, laughing as if it were all a joke. “But it won’t be the same when she goes home to her friends and family, I suspect.”
“No, of course no’. That’s why I’m going to marry her,” Galen said.
His remark was met with stunned silence from everyone around him. Sloane’s brows dipped into a vee of irritation, but Galen held her gaze. He’d warned her that he would end it if she didn’t—but not a fiery end as she’d expected.
Fentress tried to laugh it off, but Malcolm clapped a heavy hand on Galen’s shoulder. “Are you mad, Galen?”
“Mad?” He put his arm around Sloane’s waist again. “No’ at all. She wants to help me with the pub. She has some great ideas.”
“That’s right,” Sloane said cheerfully. “Someone has to have the great ideas to turn that dump around.” She reached her arm around his waist and pinched him. Hard.
“What’s going on?” Dylan asked, arriving to the group.
“He says he’s marrying Sloane,” Paige said, sounding shocked.
Dylan laughed, but no one else did.
“Galen?” His mother was here now. “What’s this about marriage?”
“Aye, Mum. You know what they say. ‘What’s for ye’ll no’ go by ye.’”
“What does that mean?” Tori demanded, pushing in between Paige and Dylan.
“I think it means what’s supposed to happen is going to happen,” Dylan said in wonderment.
“Aye,” said Galen. “You believe in love at first sight, do you, Dylan?”
“Yes,” Dylan said as Sloane kicked him in the ankle.
“No!” Paige cried.
“Lad, you donna mean this,” Malcolm said angrily. “Donna tease her—”
“You stop, Malcolm,” Galen’s mother said. “Maybe he means it. He’s a grown man and he may do what he likes. And besides, it’s high time he settled down.”
“With an American?” Malcolm exclaimed.
“Hey!” Paige said.
“I mean, no’ a Scot,” Malcolm said with a wave of his hand.
“Aye, with an American,” Galen confirmed. “But Sloane’s no’ said yes.” He smiled down at the woman trapped in his hold of her waist. He was certain this would be the end of it. She would say no, because what else could she possibly say? “I’ll make you a happy wife, Sloane Chatfield. I’ll always put you first. First behind the bar, until we get a proper dishwasher. I’m afraid you’ll need to wash a wee bit ’til then.”
“Jings, he’s mad,” Mr. Beattie said softly.
Maybe he was, because Galen sorely underestimated Sloane’s reaction. He expected her to call him on his bluff, but she didn’t do that. She laughed and said, “This is perfect. I accept your proposal.”
God damn it, he wanted to throttle her as everyone around them broke into shouts. Some of anger, some of happiness, some just confused.
“Sloane, for God’s sake, if you are doing this because of me—” Fentress started.
“Get over yourself, Adam,” she said as she smiled up at Galen. “I’m doing this because I found my perfect guy,” she said, making Galen’s heart skip a beat or two as she patted his chest.
“I think she means it,” his mother said, her voice full of delight.
“Mum, for Chrissakes, can you no’ see how daft this is?” Owen said loudly. “He hardly knows her.”
“Oh, I know her well enough, lad,” Galen said. “She’ll do.”
“She’ll do?” Paige echoed a
ngrily. Maread, Galen noticed, shook her head and backed up a step or two as if she were suddenly repulsed by him.
“Don’t worry, Paige,” Sloane said to her friends. “He’s rough around the edges, but I’ll spruce him up…just like I’ll spruce up that watering hole he calls a pub.”
“That’s even worse,” Paige exclaimed.
“We should celebrate their engagement,” Beattie said. “A proper ceilidh. An engagement ceilidh.”
“Aye, we must!” Galen’s mother cried, fully on board. “But when?”
“Friday,” Sloane shouted at the very same moment Galen bellowed, “Friday!”
Chapter Fourteen
Galen’s surprise proposal effectively ended the Sunday gathering at Mrs. Buchanan’s house; the fuss wouldn’t end until he left to close the pub.
Right behind him, Paige, Victoria, and Dylan, with Adam in tow, dragged Sloane away from the alternating toasts of happiness and loud speeches of disbelief and skepticism.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this,” Paige kept saying as Tori drove them to the cottage.
“Is it a joke?” Tori kept shouting into the rearview mirror, trying to meet Sloane’s gaze.
“Will you guys stop?” Sloane insisted. Her head was still spinning, her heart still pounding. She had never, in her wildest dreams, imagined Galen would do what he did. Oh, but she knew exactly what he was doing—he was trying to force her to end her farce in front of God and everyone. But he’d been the one to fall on his sword, and Sloane should definitely have taken the out he’d handed her, but damn it, he’d made her so mad.
Moreover, there was that thing, that feeling swirling in her that maybe, just maybe, in some dark untouched corner of his soul, he’d meant what he’d said. Maybe Galen really wanted her to stay.
Squeezed in the back seat next to Paige and Adam while the debate about her mental stability raged in that little car, Paige put her hand on Sloane’s knee. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
Paige was Sloane’s oldest friend. They were like sisters. But this time, Sloane couldn’t tell Paige everything that was in her heart. Because Sloane wasn’t sure she even knew what all was there. And she definitely couldn’t think with the many conflicting thoughts pinging around in her head. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
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