The Perfect Bargain

by Jessa McAdams

  But he was absolutely livid that he’d allowed himself to get tangled up in it.

  When he thought of the consequences of those few nights with her, his gut twisted. It wasn’t just the shame of wanting her money to repair the refrigerator. He’d get over the shame. It wasn’t that he’d let himself relax with her instead of keeping her at arm’s length, and had opened up to her instead of keeping his feelings under an internal lock and key as he ought to have done. He’d shore himself back up.

  It was that he’d set in motion the idea of an engagement, and in true Gairloch fashion, the whole village wanted to be part of it. And because she was so bloody stubborn, he would have to assume the role of the bad guy.

  How could she not see how totally wrong she was for him? Or for Gairloch? Did she think they sold fancy high-heeled shoes on High Street? Did she think that she could dash out for lunch or duck into a coffee shop and make a call? Did she truly think she could do any sort of fundraising from here? It was so bloody obvious that she was meant to be with a bloke like Adam, in a city like Chicago, planning big splashy charity events and wearing expensive clothes all without sheep dung on her heels. It was madness! Only numpties and children believed love could conquer all.

  No, Galen was certain he was right about this. It was better he forced her out now, before she came to the same conclusion a few months down the road…when he feared he’d not be able to let her go.

  He rubbed absently at the pinch in his chest. All right then, she’d forced his hand. He’d have to leave her at the make-believe altar to get her to leave Gairloch once and for all.

  He had to do it. His phone had been exploding for two days with either congratulations or questions about his sanity. When it was all said and done—and it would be, come Friday—he’d be forced to explain to every Tom who walked into his pub that it had all been a joke.

  What a fucking disaster. He wished he’d never laid eyes on Sloane Chatfield.

  Galen gathered his things and stuffed them in a backpack, put enough food in Molly’s bowl to feed her for a week and hoped to hell she didn’t eat it all at once, then rode his motorbike to his mother’s house.

  His mother was puttering around her garden, pruning rose bushes with her two Scotties following her about, when he pulled into her drive. She looked up with a beaming smile, but the moment she saw him, her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “What?” he asked, confused. “I told you—the refrigerator is stone cold dead.”

  His mother didn’t say anything, but she studied him closely.

  “Thank you for finding the lorry.”

  “Aye. Callum Henry owes me quite a large favor. How long will you be gone?”

  “Two days. Maybe three, if I can’t find what I need in stock.”

  “Three!” she exclaimed. “But the ceilidh is Friday! You canna miss it—everyone is coming—”

  “No’ everyone. I’ll no’ be there, Mum. I told you—it was a joke.”

  “You donna mean that.”

  “I do.”

  His mother put her shears down on a table. “All right, then, out with it. What’s wrong?”

  His head was beginning to ache. He didn’t have time for this. He had too much on his mind. “Nothing is wrong. I’m leaking money, I’ve got to get a proper refrigerator—”

  “I’m no’ talking about the pub. I’m talking about you, love. Why did you say you’d marry the lass if you didna mean it?”

  The ache turned to a steady throb at his temple. He shook his head.

  His mother nodded. “I guess Malcolm is right then, aye? You donna love her.”

  He could add a burning in his chest to his throbbing head. Perhaps he was taking ill. No, he didn’t love Sloane.

  Or was he suffering from his own foolish fantasies? It was impossible that he could feel so strongly after a few days with a person, in a way he’d never felt for another woman in his life. “No. I donna love her,” he said, and swallowed down the painful lie.

  His mother’s gaze narrowed shrewdly, and she shrugged. “Well, there’s no reason to cancel the ceilidh, is there? It’s good for business.”

  “I suppose.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go, Mum.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  He moved, intending to leave, but she put her hand on his arm. “Did I ever tell you how your father and I met?”

  Bloody hell, another of his mother’s charming and longwinded stories. “Aye, many times. I’m off—”

  “I met him at the Highland games. He was with his cousin, Rudy. Oh, but he cut a fine figure of a man,” she said, her eyes shining. “I can see him in every one of my sons.”

  “Mum—”

  “He took a fancy to me, too—”

  “I know this,” Galen said impatiently.

  “Aye, but do you know that we were engaged after only a month?”

  He sighed. He knew what she was trying to do. “It was a different time then.”

  “No’ so different, laddie,” she said, lifting her chin. “Do you think your generation is the first to know love?” She stepped closer and put her palm to his rough cheek and smiled. “Sometimes, the heart knows if someone is the right one straightaway. Now, I’m no’ saying this bird is the one for you. But if she is, donna let her get away because you think it canna be right if it’s not dragged out for months, aye?”

  Galen’s head felt as if it might explode. He gently pulled his mother’s hand from his face. “I love you, Mum, I do. But please donna turn this into a fairy tale.”

  She chuckled softly, patted his cheek, and dropped her hand. “I canna turn this into a fairy tale, son. Only you can do that. All right, then, off with you. Safe travels.”

  Galen grabbed his backpack and put himself in the lorry. But as he drove away, he saw his mother in her garden, watching after him, shaking her head.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Friday morning, when Victoria returned from her morning run, she said breathlessly, “It’s a gorgeous day, perfect for a party! Oh, and someone set up an arbor in the pub yard,” she added as she walked into the bathroom.

  “Oh shit,” Sloane said weakly.

  “It will be fine,” Paige said. “And if it’s not, we’re out of here first thing in the morning, all right? You’ll never have to see him again. We’ll go back to Chicago and you can count on us to find you a good, red-blooded American.”

  Sloane wanted to scream.

  There had been no sign of Galen, and while her friends were trying to keep their hopes up for her sake, Sloane knew that he wasn’t coming.

  The sad thing was, she really couldn’t blame him. It was true she’d developed some amazingly strong and enduring feelings for that stubborn Scotsman, but she was also rational. She had insinuated herself into his life, had dragged him down a twisting road. Even then, he’d tried to hand her an end that would allow her to walk away unscathed, but she’d refused.

  No wonder he couldn’t abide her. No wonder he’d stayed away.

  Sloane had realized at three a.m. there was only one thing to do. She’d have to take the out he’d given her. Only she wasn’t going to do it like he thought—she was going to own it. For the love of God, she was going to tell the fucking truth.

  As it was a special occasion, Sloane wore her pink dress, her wedges instead of the sneakers she loved, and her pearls. She hadn’t worn the necklace all week. Nor had she donned a single cardigan or a buttoned blouse. It was as if a whole new Sloane had emerged from the trappings of Chicago. She hoped she could keep this new her. She liked her. And she was going to need this stronger, grounded persona when she returned to Chicago.

  Sloane’s friends had dressed in their finest, too, and together, with their arms linked, and not one of them wearing teetering heels, they walked down to the pub.

  It was a brilliantly bright, warm summer day in Gairloch and, as Paige pointed out, with nothing else to do, the entire village had come to the ceilidh.

  “No, that’s not it,” T
ori said as the four of them paused to survey the crowd gathered in the pub’s garden, which some kind soul had cleared of weeds and droppings. “This is what they do.”

  There was a band in the corner, complete with bagpipes, flutes, and guitars. Mr. Beattie’s old cow grazed only feet away, occasionally looking up to peer at the crowd. There was indeed an arbor that had been wrapped in plastic flowers and the mouth-watering scent of barbeque filled the air.

  “This is so fun,” Dylan said, delighted. “Isn’t it fun? If I ever get engaged, I want it to be like this. Oh, I made this for you,” she said, and out of her hemp cloth bag, she pulled a garland made of little yellow flowers and green leaves.

  “What’s this?”

  “For you,” Dylan said, and set it on Sloane’s head.

  “Dylan, I love it…but I don’t think it’s going to be that kind of occasion.”

  “Yes, it is,” Dylan said firmly. “He’ll be here.”

  Dylan always did hold out hope until there was no hope left.

  They moved into the crowd, greeting people they all knew. Reeny grabbed Sloane and kissed her cheek. “Have you seen Galen? No one’s seen him.”

  “No,” Sloane said, sighing.

  Reeny blinked. “Well. He’s probably quite busy with the refrigerator.”

  “He’s not coming, Reeny.”

  Reeny’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said quietly and bit her lower lip.

  Sloane felt so empty. He wasn’t coming, but the whole village had, and she could feel her cheeks burning with shame as people said hello, kissed her cheek. She had brought them here under false pretense, and now she must tell them the truth. She’d be humiliated, and worse, she feared her heart would shatter into tiny little pieces all over this little village when she did. They’d ship her back to Chicago in a plastic bag, only pieces left of the woman who’d arrived almost a month ago.

  He’s not coming. The words ran ’round in her head, over and over.

  She couldn’t bear it. She grabbed Ned’s arm when he passed. “I have to speak,” she said.

  “Aye, lass, tell me anything,” he said, grinning.

  “No, to everyone. I need to speak to everyone.”

  Ned seemed perplexed. But he glanced around them and pulled one of the rusted iron chairs around. “Here. Stand here. I’ll hold it so you donna fall.”

  “What are you doing?” Tori asked.

  Sloane ignored her. “Everyone! Everyone, may I please have your attention!” she called, gesturing grandly with her arms.

  The crowd began to quiet, turning toward her.

  She cleared her throat. Her palms were damp—probably because she’d been clenching her hands so tightly against her nerves. She opened them and rubbed them against the sides of her legs. “Um…thank you all for coming,” she said.

  “Speak up, lass! No one can hear you!” Someone shouted from the back.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said, again, only louder. How exactly did she explain this? “I, ah…I wanted to explain that when I came to your lovely village almost a month ago, I, um…I asked Galen Buchanan to help me play a little trick on my friends.”

  “To do what?” Paige said loudly.

  She didn’t dare glance at her. As it was, everyone was looking at her curiously.

  “He didn’t really want to do it, but he was a good sport and he played along.”

  “Sloane,” Dylan said. “Sloane.”

  “But that’s all it was, really—a little trick. And I took it too far.” She drew a breath and clenched her hands. “I am responsible—”

  “Sloane, for God’s sake, are you deaf?” Dylan grabbed her elbow and tugged her around.

  “Dylan, do you mind? I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” Sloane hissed down at her.

  “Look,” Dylan said. She pointed to the arbor.

  Sloane turned her head. Her heart dropped. She was suddenly all warm and gooey inside. So gooey, in fact, that she swayed a little, and Ned steadied her with a hand to her back. She could feel a smile as bright as the sparkling sea curve her lips.

  It was Galen. He’d come. He was standing at the arbor. And he was wearing a kilt. A fucking kilt.

  “My God, he looks like Jamie Fraser,” Dylan said dreamily.

  “That’s because he is,” Sloane said. “And he’s all mine.”

  Galen’s gaze locked on her as his purposeful stride closed the distance between them. “What I think the Sassenach is trying to say is that she asked me to help her play a trick on her friends…”

  “I told them that,” Sloane said anxiously. “I was telling them the truth, I swear it.”

  Galen reached her, his gray eyes shining. “But she didna guess I would fall in love with her.”

  Several people around her gasped, and quite honestly, Sloane couldn’t draw a breath. “What did you say?”

  He lifted his hand to help her down. When she had somehow managed to come off the chair—quite a feat given that she was floating above herself—he brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it.

  “What are you doing?” she asked under her breath, her voice shaking. “Don’t do something you’re going to be mad about. You know how you get.”

  His smile deepened. “Well, I—”

  “You didn’t have to come,” she said, stepping closer. “I was going to tell them. I am telling them. Why did you come?”

  “If you’ll stop nattering on, I’ll tell you.”

  She glanced nervously around her. Her friends were staring at Galen, wide-eyed. His family had pushed through the crowd, and while his brothers looked on with concern, Reeny and his mother wore identical, irrepressible grins as they pushed closer to hear.

  “You started a fire—”

  “That I can’t put out,” she said, nodding adamantly.

  Galen tilted his head and looked curiously at her. “Did someone give you a book of Scottish proverbs? Aye, lass, you started a fire, and now it’s raging out of control. The thing is, I donna want to put it out. Do you?”

  Sloane’s blood began to rush as she shook her head. “No. Not for a moment.”

  “I’d like to fan the flames a wee bit and see what happens.”

  “Like…see if it will incinerate us or burn the village down?”

  “Aye,” he drawled in a sexy Scottish brogue that could torch panties. She could listen to this man say aye for a lifetime.

  She was afraid to ask, afraid of the answer, but she needed to know why here, why now. “What made you change your mind?”

  He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “A brush with death,” he said, with a bit of a sheepish smile. “I was loading the refrigerator onto the lorry and lost my footing. I damn near dropped the thing on top of myself.”

  Sloane gasped.

  “That was the moment, lass. I canna explain it, but I thought what a bloody rotten way that would be to die, crushed by a refrigerator. I’d rather risk having my heart crushed by a barmy American.”

  Sloane blinked. She could feel the crowd closing in around them, everyone straining to hear. “I could never crush your heart,” she said. “Not in a million years.”

  “Perhaps no’ intentionally. Look now, I know Gairloch isna the sort of place for someone like you.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Let me say it, aye?” He glanced around at the people of Gairloch, who, Sloane noticed, looked back at him hopefully. She realized they wanted this for him, too. “You’ll never be away from Ned’s roaming hands, I suspect. And you’ll be scraping dung from the bottoms of your shoes every day. The Highlands can be a sodding mess in the winter, I’ll no’ lie about that. The closest movie theater is two hours away, and the best shopping you might hope for is Mrs. Linds on High Street. She carries boots and aprons and down jackets.”

  He sighed, raked a hand through his hair, and looked out toward the sea for a moment. “No one in Gairloch will pretend there is anything exciting or convenient to our little fishing village, aye? But there�
��s something more important than all of that. These people are my friends. They’re my family. Neddie would give me the shirt off his back.”

  “I love you, lad,” Ned called out.

  “Mrs. Linds doesna carry fancy knickers, but she knits sweaters for the kinder class. These people,” he said, casting his arm around him, “come ’round to the pub in the dead of winter for an ale so I willna starve.”

  That sounded wonderful to Sloane. It sounded like a place a girl like her could one day call home.

  Galen took her hands in his and gazed down at her so heatedly that butterflies began to swarm in Sloane’s belly. “I’ll be here to keep you warm, lass,” he said. “I’ll keep you warm at night and willna complain if you put your ice cold feet on me.”

  There was a murmuring of laughter from the crowd.

  “I’ll let you build the fence you’ve been nattering on about since you arrived on my door. You’re no’ a bad fence builder, aye?”

  Sloane smiled. “I am a good fence builder. I’m also a pretty good duster of blinds.”

  He smiled fondly at her. “The pub will never make us rich, you know that, do you? But as much as it pains me to admit it, you’ve got a good idea or two.”

  “I think I’m in love with that refrigerator,” she uttered in amazement. She was grinning; her smile was so wide it felt as if it were splitting her face. She could feel her heart swelling in her chest, filling up the cavity, pressing against her lungs and making her breath shallow. She was giddy. She was absolutely giddy.

  “And if all else fails, I might make a wee bit of money kissing you. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for us.”

  Sloane laughed. “We’ll be negotiating a new contract,” she said confidently. “But you have my permission to bankrupt me.”

  “What’s this about paying for kisses?” a woman behind her asked.

  “It’s an American thing, Diana,” said another woman with great authority.

  Galen and Sloane laughed. “I love you, Sloane Chatfield,” he said. “If I’ve no’ said it, hear me now. I love you with all my bloody heart.”

  Well, that was it—her heart stopped beating altogether and she could now die of utter happiness. She could hear her friends squealing and clapping, could hear the shouts of attaboys from the crowd.