“No plans to go back on the road with your band?”
The question surprised her, because she had let go of the Scunners months earlier without regrets. Already, the boys felt like summer camp friends whom she was fond of but wouldn’t keep in contact with. “No. I’m done with touring.”
“Really? Because you seemed like you loved singing onstage.”
“I did, but I got tired of that life. When I quit, I think everyone was relieved. They’ll find a new lead singer or maybe they won’t. A couple of the boys have girls back in Scotland. I won’t be surprised to hear they’ve settled down.”
“Why did you stick around Highland after the festival?”
“Because I decided I could get lost here.”
“Who’s trying to find you?” His questions probed for the truth like it was a splinter and they were uncomfortable. “An ex?”
“No.” None of her relationships had inspired that kind of devotion.
“Family then?”
“Yes, family.” Her parents and Lachlan were wanting to find her, no doubt.
“When you say you’ve been running since you were a teenager, did you run away from home?” His questions were boring too close to the truth.
No Glennallen came into their inheritance until they were twenty-five. It was expected, if not encouraged, that young Glennallens would sow some wild oats before returning to the fold, sober and wise and ready to take up the mantle. Lachlan’s big adventure was a semester abroad during university in Switzerland delving into the banking system. Not exactly a rebellion. Claire, on the other hand, had taken her temporary freedom to extremes. “I was legally an adult when I left. It was less running and more shirking my duty.”
“Have you spoken to your parents since then?”
“I check in every so often,” she said defensively, not adding it was through the occasional stilted email or a brief call with her family’s solicitor.
Dennison had been like a kindly, albeit distant, uncle her entire life. She trusted him, although even he had tried talking her into coming home sooner rather than later. She hadn’t spoken to him since leaving the Scunners and doubted he was savvy enough to track her down, but he’d always been full of surprises. Like the candied lemons he’d slipped her every time he visited the house.
“That kind of distance would break my parents’ hearts,” Holt said.
Had he meant that to sound judgy? She squared off with him and propped her hands on her hips. “Believe or not, we don’t all have bloody perfect parents like you apparently do. I’ll wager you’ve never spent the Christmas holidays alone because, of course, my parents would rather go skiing in Austria than pretend their little girl had been good enough for Saint Nick to visit.”
Her words had come fast and furious and she was breathing hard by the end of her diatribe.
“Your parents left you alone for Christmas to go skiing in Austria?” His eyes had widened.
Hell and damnation. She’d given him too many clues in her emotional response. Trying to remedy her mistake, she tried on a smile. “I mean, not alone alone. I wasn’t the star of a classic Christmas comedy gamely foiling inept robbers or anything.”
His slow exhale didn’t signal the start of a smile. He looked unusually serious. “This Christmas will be different.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you have me.”
Her heart inflated with a puff of helium and rose into her throat.
Holt added, “And Ms. Meadows and Anna and Iain. You have friends in Highland whether you want them or not.”
Was he putting himself into the friend group despite the previous evening’s activities? Her fledging courage stood on the edge of a cliff. Did she dare leap? “Is that what we are? Friends?”
Holt uncrossed his ankles and braced his legs apart. Hooking his fingers through the belt loops of her jeans, he tugged her forward until she was framed between his thighs. He slipped his hands under her tied jumper to her hips, the warmth sending a tingle through her body.
“I hope we’re friends, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want more. As long as you give me the green light.”
“Do I need to steal one of the traffic lights in town?” She looped her arms around his shoulders.
“They are bigger than they look from the ground, as I found out in high school. And way more expensive than you might think.” He lay a kiss on the tip of her nose. The sweetness of the gesture made her ache.
“And what if I’m not ready to give you the green light?” Her body was more than ready to flash a giant neon right-this-way arrow, but her head was urging caution.
“Then I’ll woo you until you are. Believe or not, I can be charming when I put my mind to it.” His smile was slightly lopsided.
“I believe it all right.” Claire hadn’t counted on getting involved with a man during her time in limbo. “So we’re clear, I’m leaving Highland. I can’t stay forever. Speaking of my parents, they’ll need me home soon.” Too soon.
“As you’ve informed me several times now.” Holt seemed unworried by the news, which should have been a relief but wasn’t.
“You don’t mind?”
“I didn’t say that, but I understand. As long as both of us know going into this what will happen, no one will get hurt.”
“Right. No one will get hurt.” She had the urge to shake on it.
Instead, she leaned into him and lay her head on his shoulder. Holt had a strength that went beyond the physical. He was like a tree that weathered storms and remained standing, tall and proud, offering its shade and protection freely.
“Speaking of parents abandoning their children for Christmas…” he said leadingly.
“Are yours skiing?”
His laugh vibrated from his chest through her pleasantly. “The closest my parents would get to the slopes is in a chalet by a roaring fire with a good book and whisky. No, as of this morning, they’re parked in Florida, enjoying the warm winter down there.”
She lifted her head. “Down there? It’s warm here too compared with Scotland.”
“Wait a day and the weather will change. Today’s sixties could drop to the twenties tomorrow.”
“Better than the fog and drizzle of Glasgow.”
“Do you get homesick?” he asked.
“Not really.” It was the truth, yet the truth was much more complicated.
She missed the harsh beauty of the real Highlands. She missed following the cobblestone paths her ancestors had tread. There were times when she even missed her parents. Or at least, the security of her family name, but if she were being honest, she mostly missed what had never existed—a normal childhood.
“Do you miss your parents?” she asked.
“Terribly. We video-call every week, but it’s not the same. I thought I’d like the independence—after all, I’ve lived on the farm all my life—but independence means I have to make tough decisions about the farm by myself. It means I can’t walk up to the house to have dinner with my parents. I guess I didn’t appreciate them like I should have until they were gone.”
Did her parents feel that way about her? They hadn’t given her any clues in their emails, but then again, the Glennallens were expected to project confidence and equanimity. She had missed out on those particular traits. Could she get a stiff upper lip surgically implanted?
A noise drew her attention back to the animal pens. “They’re at it again.”
Holt lightly slapped her bottom and shifted out of her hold. “Speaking of getting at it again, I have chores to finish.”
“Do you need help?”
“I can always use an extra pair of hands. You good with animals?”
“We-e-l-l-l … I don’t have a huge amount of experience.” Or any experience at all.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He strolled toward the fornicating goats. “Unless you spook an animal from behind; then they might kick you. Or if you spook an animal from the front, they might bite you.”
She followed a safe distance behind him even though the goats were fenced. Holt stood on the bottom rail of the fence, leaned over, and flapped his cap at the goats to separate them. His shirt rose enough for her to get a glimpse of taut skin above his low-riding jeans. His thick blond hair was damp with sweat and curled at his nape. She quit paying any attention to the animals.
“Get off him, Rufus. You’re embarrassing the lady.”
“Wait a tick. Are they both boys?”
He ran a hand through his thick blond hair and put his cap back on. “Yep. They must be bored without Mom here. The goats are her pet project. She wanted to try yoga with them.”
A dark-brown-and-white-spotted sheep trotted over from the corner of the next pen they approached. Holt picked a carrot from the bucket sitting at the post and held it out to Claire.
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.” She deserved a bigger eye roll than he gave her. “Oh, it’s for the sheep. Of course.”
She took the carrot by the top and dangled it within reach of the brown-and-white sheep. “Here, sheepie, sheepie,” she said in her best singsong, don’t bite my hand off if you please voice.
The sheep raised its head and opened its mouth, exposing an intimidating set of teeth. She let out a little gasp and dropped the carrot. The sheep munched happily, not minding eating off the ground.
She rubbed her hand down the front of her jeans. “Obviously, ‘Scotland the Brave’ was not written with me in mind.”
Holt poured the contents of the bucket into a trough, and the other sheep lined up like schoolchildren. “Seems like it fits pretty well, if you ask me. You set out on your own and conquered the world.”
She let out an inelegant snort. “Conquered? More like survived. So far, anyway.”
He lay his arms over the top rail and watched the sheep. “I’m kind of jealous.”
“Of what?”
“You’ve traveled. Experienced and seen things I’ve only read about in books.” He tossed her a glance. “I’d like to explore London. Go see the White Cliffs of Dover and the actual Highlands. Maybe even travel to Europe.”
She had been to all of those places. She’d seen most of the UK, Western Europe, and even driven up and down the East Coast of the US playing festivals the previous two summers. While Holt was envious of her, she was just as envious of him.
He had a family. He had a place to call home. A place calling him home. No matter where he went, he belonged in Highland. He belonged to Highland.
She had never belonged anywhere. No one had ever claimed her. “Seeing all those places was amazing, and it was fun but—” She bit her lip and stubbed her toe against a weed struggling to survive.
“But what? You got to fly wherever whenever you wanted.”
“What I really wanted was somewhere to land.”
The animal snuffling and crunching didn’t make the silence that fell between them any more comfortable. Finally, he whispered, “I’m an idiot.”
Her laugh was shaky with poorly repressed tears. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone in years, and now Holt had seen her in such a state twice. “No, you aren’t, but I’m not sure you realize how great you have it here. Anyway, there’s nothing stopping you from traveling. You can see a lot in a week or two.”
He nodded then nudged his chin in the direction of the red barn. “Speaking of sightseeing, want to gaze at some cows?”
The veer away from weighty emotional topics was appreciated. “Is it true the brown cows give chocolate milk?”
“Har-har.”
As they strolled, Claire cast glances at him from the corners of her eyes. They were exploring new territory, and she was filled with the same fear and trepidation and excitement of any explorer.
“Most of the cows are grazing or in the milking house. The gals in here need a little TLC,” he explained as he herded her through the door.
The cow in the first enclosure had big brown eyes with feathery lashes to make any supermodel jealous. Claire remained on the non-kicking side of the stall while Holt replaced a bandage on the animal’s injured foreleg. He was gentle yet firm in his ministrations.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
“This is a working farm. We don’t name the animals.” He didn’t look up.
Movement at the far end of the barn drew her gaze. A tabby cat squeezed through a narrow gap of a stall and sauntered to the middle of the barn, stopping to give its privates a good tongue lashing. “Not even the cat?”
Holt finished with the cow and joined her outside the stall, wiping his hands on a work towel. “That nightmare of a cat does have a name. A well-earned one at that. Meet Vlad the Impaler. A more bloodthirsty brute you’ve never met. He believes in leaving rodent sacrifices where his humans can properly appreciate them.”
She didn’t have to fake a shudder. “Charming.”
Holt checked his phone. “A couple of the boys will be here shortly to help with the milking. Then I’ll need to clean up, but how about I pick you up and take you out tonight?”
“More bingo?”
“No bingo tonight. I thought we’d head downtown.”
“Highland has a nightlife?”
“At least until they roll up the sidewalks around ten. It’s actually kilt night at the pub. How about it?”
“What does that even mean?”
“A free whisky shot for men wearing kilts.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Are you going to wear a kilt?” The pitter-patter made her wonder if she needed to book herself an EKG before she actually saw Holt up close in a kilt. Her obsession with him during the summer games had taken place at a safe distance.
“Of course I am. I don’t get a chance to wear one often enough.”
“All right.” She croaked her agreement out.
“I’ll pick you up around six.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Can I give you a ride back to Ms. Meadows’s?”
“No. I’ll walk.” Hopefully, by the time she got to Ms. Meadows’s house, her imagination would calm and she would cool off.
“If you’re feeling brave, you could cut through the woods behind the cabin. It’s a straight shot over the stream to Ms. Meadows’s house versus going around on the road. A road with no shoulder.”
From here, the woods were a long dark monolith, and the thought of entering them made her feel jittery. “I’ll take my chances on the road. See you tonight.”
He didn’t protest even though she could see it was killing him to let her go.
A white pickup with splattered mud turned onto the graveled drive, and she moved over into the grass by the fence. Two men around her age eyed her on the way by. She ignored them and continued on.
Could she sleep with Holt and not become emotionally involved? The question was moot. It was too late. She was attracted to him, but even more she liked him. A lot. If she had a single cautious, logical bone in her body, she would have refused him and put distance between them.
Unfortunately, based on her past decisions, she’d been born without caution and was bereft of logic. She wanted Holt and she would have him for however long she could.
Chapter Ten
Holt shuffled a hand through his damp hair and pulled on a pair of lace-up brown boots to go with his green-and-blue-tartan kilt and forest-colored Henley. He didn’t have a sporran or the fancy dress shoes he’d seen Dr. Jameson wear with his kilts.
A frisson of anticipation had him heading to his truck early. He wanted to butter up Ms. Meadows. Her opinion mattered a great deal to Claire. While he’d managed to get his foot in the door without getting shot and they’d broken cornbread together, he’d like to gain her enthusiastic blessing.
But another reason niggled at him. After Claire was gone from Highland, Ms. Meadows would need looking after until she could find another live-in helper. Guilt at the way his father had treated Ms. Meadows made him want to settle the feud and be a good neighbor.
Claire gone. The two words stifled his excite
ment at their step forward. He couldn’t fault her for being honest with him. At least about the duration of their relationship. He wasn’t as confident she had been as honest about other things.
So what? He would live in the present instead of spending his energy attempting to excavate her past for the pieces of the puzzle she didn’t want him putting together. He could do that. Right?
He made the turn down the narrow lane to Ms. Meadows’s house and was at the door in record time. Claire answered his knock, and for a moment he stuttered for words.
She wore a version of a kilt herself, except shorter and much sexier than his. It was a traditional Christmassy green-and-red tartan shot through with gold. Dark-green tights encased her lithe legs. He tried—and failed—not to think about them wrapped around his hips. Her long-sleeved black T-shirt wasn’t fancy but hugged her lean curves. Her auburn hair was semi-tamed into attractive waves around her face.
He was acquainted with her amazing body, but she held him rapt because of something less tangible. Her magnetism onstage had made her the center of attention with the Scunners. She’d done her best to hide under the ripped jeans and layers of shirts the last several months, but now she’d unleashed it, and he had a feeling every eye would be on her tonight.
“You’re early. Come on in.” Her gaze trailed down his body, lingering on his kilt and legs with what he hoped was an appreciative gleam. She gestured him into the kitchen. “Keep Ms. Meadows company while I finish getting ready.”
Ms. Meadows was eating a beef stew with a wedge of still-steaming corn bread. She blew on a spoonful while regarding Holt with a tranquility he didn’t feel. “Heard you burned dinner.”
“You heard right. It was a total disaster.”
Ms. Meadows smiled before blowing on another spoonful of stew. “Didn’t sound like she minded, and here you are again to take her out. You two getting serious?”
Had Claire talked to Ms. Meadows about her plans to leave Highland? If not, he didn’t want to be the one to deliver the news. “No. Just having fun over the holidays.”
Ms. Meadows made a disbelieving harrumphing noise before taking a bite of stew and corn bread. “I thought you young’uns broke up to avoid being stuck with someone through Christmas. There’s all sorts of pressure to buy a present.”
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