A Highlander is Coming to Town

by Laura Trentham

  A present. He hadn’t even thought about that. Another thought bolted through him. What if she left before Christmas? What if he didn’t even have a chance to ponder a gift? “I wouldn’t know what the young’uns are up to. I spend my days with goats and cows and a murderous tomcat.”

  Ms. Meadows took another dual bite and nodded. “You’re lonely.”

  “That’s not what I said.” The denial came out with a vehemence that insinuated the opposite. Did the old woman have the sight? “I mean, sure, I miss my parents.”

  She made another throaty sound, this time with more disgust. “Don’t know why you’d miss your father. The rascally whippersnapper.”

  Hearing his sixty-something deacon of a father called a whippersnapper tickled his funny bone. A laugh rumbled out of him, and Ms. Meadows’s lips quirked into an answering smile.

  Feeling more comfortable, he launched his own probe. “Will you have family coming by for a visit during the holidays?”

  “No.” Her smile turned upside down, and she focused on her beans.

  Jessie Joe and Jessie Mac had said she’d left teaching after getting married. Holt searched his memory banks for tidbits of gossip about Ms. Meadows’s family, but all he recalled was that she had been a widow for as long as he could remember.

  “My parents are planning to spend Christmas in Florida this year. I haven’t talked to Claire, but the three of us should spend Christmas together. What do you think?”

  “I think…” Ms. Meadows stirred her stew with an unnecessary vigor, and Holt prepared himself for a resounding rejection. “I think that would be very nice.”

  “What would be very nice?” Claire’s voice from the kitchen door made him pop up like a jack-in-the-box.

  She leaned in the doorway wearing her usual black combat-style boots with the kilt. Her brown eyes were rimmed in a smudgy black liner that emphasized their caramel notes. The hard edge of her makeup and boots with the traditional kilt matched her personality. She was gorgeous when she was natural and windblown, but he couldn’t deny her sultry side was sexy as hell.

  “You look—” His voice cracked like he was a teenager on his first date. He cleared his throat and dropped into a husky baritone. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks.” Worry flickered over Claire’s face and she leaned over the back of Ms. Meadows’s chair. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “I’ve lived on my own for longer than you’ve been alive, girl. I’ll survive another evening,” Ms. Meadows said between bites. “I’m going to finish eating and take myself to bed to listen to my books.”

  “You leave the dishes for me to wash up later,” Claire said.

  The irritation in Ms. Meadows’s narrowed eyes was ruined by the start of a smile. “Yes, ma’am. You young’uns skedaddle and have fun.”

  Claire hovered as if she was tempted to give the old lady a hug, but in the end she merely nodded and said her good nights, leading Holt back outside.

  As Holt opened the truck door and handed her into the passenger seat, he said, “Are you worried about anything in particular?”

  “Not really, but sometimes she seems frail and unsteady. It’s only age, I suppose.” Claire snapped her seat belt home then glanced over at him. “There’s nothing to worry about, is there?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” He closed her door and circled the truck to swing himself behind the wheel.

  “She was having a hard time when she advertised for help.” Claire continued to pick at her uneasiness like a scab. “Apparently, she took a tumble last summer.”

  “You leave her to go into town. Hell, you walked up to the farm this afternoon.” He cranked the truck engine but kept it in idle.

  “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense but … everything seems scarier at night.”

  He shifted into reverse and maneuvered to the main road. “Even if Bigfoot wandered out of the woods hungry, he wouldn’t eat Ms. Meadows. She’s a tough old bird.”

  Claire let out a small laugh. “I’m not worried about monsters in the dark. I’m worried about ones closer to home. What if she falls again? What if she breaks a hip?”

  He wasn’t sure what assurances he could offer. “Have you told her yet?”

  “Told her what?”

  “That you’re leaving Highland.”

  She turned her face toward the window, but her green-tinged reflection from the truck instrumentation was pensive. “She knows I have to leave eventually, but we haven’t agreed to a date yet. I thought I would talk to Preacher Hopkins to see if he can find a replacement.”

  “By the way, how did he find you?”

  She squirmed a little. “It was fortuitous. I had just told the blokes I was done. They left me in the parking lot, and I had a mini-meltdown because I had nowhere to go. He offered me a ride, and we got to talking. Next thing I knew, I was meeting Ms. Meadows.”

  “He’s a good man.” What were the ethics of pumping a preacher for information?

  “Honestly, it would be better for her to have someone who can drive anyway.”

  “I don’t know that she would agree. She seems fond of you.”

  “I’m fond of her too.” The shock in her admission made Holt shoot her a smile.

  “You’re surprised?” he asked.

  “I’m dumbfounded. I never meant to get attached. To anyone.”

  Ouch. Her dig hit him somewhere in his chest, dangerously close to his heart. “You can’t help who you care for. It’s natural to want to belong.”

  She shifted toward him. “You mean like in a family?”

  He half shrugged. “Sure.”

  “There is nothing natural about my family. We are a strange bunch, and I’m the strangest of all.”

  It was difficult to suss out her relationship with her family. Sometimes it sounded like she resented them, and other times she obviously shouldered regrets. “Families can be weird. Sometimes on the farm, a mother will reject her calf for no reason at all.”

  “Does it die from neglect?”

  “No. Another cow might step in, especially if she has recently lost a calf. Or we’ll bottle-feed the calf until it’s old enough to survive on its own. If your parents were off skiing all the time, who took care of you?”

  She was silent for so long, he wondered if she hadn’t heard the question. “They weren’t gone all the time, but when they were, Dennison looked out for me. He was a … friend of the family.”

  “What about friends from school?” The kids he’d gone to school with like Anna and Izzy and Big Eddie had known him practically since birth and formed a safety net of connections he’d relied on through the years.

  “I have a feeling our school experiences were different.”

  “Are kids different in Scotland? Were you picked on or something?”

  Her regard was blistering in the small space of the cab. He was being weighed and judged in her eyes. Would he prove worthy of her trust? With a sigh, she seemed to come to a decision. “I attended a boarding school.”

  Boarding schools were so out of the realm of his experience, he could only pull on movies and books for perspective. One thing they had in common was rich people. What sort of life had Claire run away from and why? Instead of asking her what he really wanted to know, he stayed with a less aggressive line of questioning. “Was the school harsh or fun?”

  “Both on occasion, but it was mostly fun. It was all girls. You can imagine the self-inflicted drama.”

  “Did you have lots of friends?”

  “I thought I did, but none stuck.”

  “Why is that?”

  She made a pensive humming sound and stared out the windshield. “The same social hierarchy that ruled our parents’ world extended to us in microcosm. It was a game I was never willing to play. Most of them went off to university and I didn’t. Our lives diverged.”

  Speaking of games, he wondered if he’d already lost with her. Claire had spent her entire life not letting herself care too much about anyo
ne and moved on before it became a possibility. He wasn’t likely to change her mind, much less her heart.

  And yet … Ms. Meadows had wormed her way behind Claire’s defenses, and she’d insinuated he had too. Was there hope?

  “You followed your dream. That’s something to be proud of,” he said.

  “Yeah, that’s what people keep telling me, but I wasn’t being brave. I was—am—a coward. A bloody coward.”

  Holt swallowed, unable to find a reassuring platitude. He’d chosen the safe path and stayed home on the farm. It hadn’t been easy, but he loved the work and couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Did that make him brave or cowardly? He didn’t have anything reassuring to tell himself either.

  Instead, he took her hand in his and linked their fingers. They might not build a lasting connection, but they could connect here and now. He half expected her to pull away, but she clutched his hand as if he offered a lifeline.

  They made the turn onto Main Street and Claire gasped, sitting forward on the seat. “It doesn’t even look like the same street at night.”

  Holt was used to the over-the-top decorations, but through Claire, he appreciated them through a fresh perspective. Every streetlight was wound with twinkling lights, and Santa or Rudolph or Frosty outlined in lights hung from the tops.

  Most of the businesses had strung icicle lights across the awnings and outlined their windows in tinsel. Red-and-green-tartan bows decorated the wreaths scattered through town, and the life-sized blowup Santa in a kilt playing the bagpipes had starred in plenty of tourist selfies.

  The tree in the center of Main Street took up the alcove, its branches extending into the sidewalk. Jessie Joe and Jessie Mac had done a spectacular job on the decorations. While it wasn’t anything compared with the Rockefeller Center tree in New York City, it had become the focal point of Highland’s downtown during the holiday season.

  “Highland is a wacky little town, but I love it,” Holt said.

  “It stands to reason I would pick the wackiest town to lie low in.” Her grin eased the tension pulsing from her.

  He found a parking spot toward the end of the street. The mild clear day had turned into a chilly clear night. Without jackets on, they walked briskly down the sidewalk toward the pub.

  Claire took his hand and tugged him to a stop in front of the tree. A tartan ribbon and bows glowed in the string of lights winding around it. The star at the top was heavy enough to bend the branch. The imperfection only added to its charm.

  “My parents had professionals decorate our house for Christmas,” she said softly. “It could have been a magazine spread.”

  Her small admissions were slowly filling in the portrait of her childhood. She had grown up with plenty of money and not enough attention. He gave her hand a squeeze. “I assume you didn’t bake Christmas cookies with your mom either.”

  “The only time I ever saw her in the kitchen was to give the cook a menu request.” Claire got them walking again, but slower now.

  “A cook? Boarding school? Professional decorators? Ski vacations? How rich is your family?” He regretted the questions when she tensed, her arm strung taut against his. “You don’t have to answer that.”

  “I don’t usually talk about the way I grew up. People can get weird.”

  “Like they try to get close to you for your money?”

  “To be clear, I don’t have any money. I refused to take handouts once I left.” Her laugh was tinged with self-mockery. “That makes me sound way more self-righteous than I am. I almost crawled back before the Scunners took off. I mean, the band never got rich or famous, but we started booking paying gigs at festivals. It was enough to live on, and that’s all I cared about back then.”

  The door to the pub opened and even from the distance, music and laughter poured out along with a half dozen twenty-somethings he didn’t recognize. Once he and Claire went inside, any meaningful conversation would be impossible.

  He couldn’t let this moment pass. Drawing her under the awning for the antiques store, he faced her. Her gaze remained on the middle of his chest. “You’re not a kid anymore. You’re a grown woman. You don’t have to hide from your family. They can’t make you go back to Scotland. Can they?”

  She ruffled her hair and tipped her face up to meet his eyes. “Did you ever consider bailing on the farm and doing something completely different with your life?”

  “Of course it crossed my mind.”

  “But you didn’t bail. Why not?”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it. If he wanted her truths, then he needed to give up his own. “It would have broken my dad’s heart.”

  “But would they have let you go if you had wanted to be a doctor or lawyer or something else?”

  “Of course they would have.” In his heart was the confidence of a child with endlessly supportive parents.

  “Because you love them, and they love you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Not every kid has parents like yours.” Even though he had a few years on her, she was older and wiser than him by a country mile. “Mine have expectations. And not just my parents. I have obligations that I can’t walk away from. But I’m here now. With you.”

  His heart squeezed. He would have to be content with whatever she could offer him, and he wasn’t one to let opportunities pass him by.

  Christmas lights twinkled all around them. The romantic vibe penetrated even his practical nature. He lowered his head as she rose on her toes. Their teeth clashed. She let out a little yelp and covered her mouth, laughing.

  He ran his tongue over his teeth and smiled. “Is the mood deader than one of Vlad the cat’s offerings?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Holt had a way of putting her at ease even in her most awkward moments. His smile warmed her despite the chill sneaking under the hem of her skirt. She snaked her arms back around his shoulders. “Not dead. In need of mouth-to-mouth.”

  His eyebrows waggled as he lowered his head. She kept still this time and let her eyes drift closed as his lips touched hers. From the outside looking in, the kiss probably appeared chaste. His lips toyed with hers until she was breathless and ready to beg for more. He didn’t give it to her, merely sucked her bottom lip between his and gently nipped it before pulling away.

  She lay the side of her face against his chest. Was that his heart or hers pumping as if recovering from a sprint? He stroked a hand over her hair and down her back.

  “You ready to have some fun?” he asked.

  She was more than ready for some very adult fun that involved his huge bed and less clothes. He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her to the pub’s door. A drink and music would have to do.

  After the intimacy outside, the noise and warmth and scent of the pub were jarring. But the atmosphere also held a welcome she had missed. She had played countless pubs, and the rhythm was the same anywhere in the world. She took a deep breath and felt instantly at home.

  Holt’s name reverberated from patrons scattered in different groups around the pub. Of course he was well known and equally well liked wherever he roamed. With his hand on her lower back, Holt weaved through the crowd, exchanging handshakes and pleasantries and making introductions. Her cheeks were growing sore from smiling.

  From the far corner of the pub, Iain Connors snagged her attention. He stood half a head taller than most men, talking to someone much shorter with a sliver of red hair visible. Holt had been drawn into a debate about the state of the dairy market. She caught Holt’s gaze and pointed toward the corner.

  “I’ll join you in a sec,” he said.

  Claire made her way toward Iain and Anna, forcing herself not to look back at Holt even though her neck grew hot. Maybe she was afraid he wouldn’t actually be looking.

  Iain spotted her first, giving her a spare lift of his chin in greeting, although he didn’t take his eyes off her when he whispered something in Anna’s ear. The petite redhead turned with a wide smile and closed the
distance between them, looping her arm through Claire’s and steering her toward the seclusion of a back table.

  Various musical instruments sat on chairs or leaned against walls, and a pang like homesickness reverberated like a dissonant note in her chest. The most she’d done since her last performance with the Scunners was sing in the shower.

  Turning her attention to Anna, Claire was struck by the difference a few days had made. In their previous meetings, anxiety and worry had drawn circles under her eyes and stolen her smile, but the storms had cleared and left behind a glowing serenity.

  “I assume you and Iain have everything worked out?” Claire asked.

  Anna and Claire settled into a niche behind a table strewn with empty beer bottles. The hum of conversation cast a net of privacy.

  The light that came into Anna’s eyes was brilliant. “I’m having the baby. Marriage wasn’t on my radar, but we both knew it was going to happen eventually anyway. It makes sense for us to go ahead and get married. It will make Iain’s immigration easier anyway. Lots of pros.”

  Claire’s sharp intake of air was from surprise and happiness and the tiniest hint of jealousy. Claire didn’t begrudge Anna her happily ever after. She had earned it.

  Claire feared not only hadn’t she earned one, but she didn’t deserve her own happily ever after. Any relationship with Holt would be growing on top of a fault line of half-truths. It would only be a matter of time before it crumbled.

  Claire’s smile grew tremulous. She was thankful Anna was so caught up in her own delight, she didn’t notice. “When is the big day?”

  “I’m not sure when we’ll get married, but probably before the baby comes. That would make Mom happier. She’s old-fashioned.”

  “Do you want a big wedding?” Claire asked.

  Anna rolled her eyes with a shake of her head. “I’ve never wanted a fancy church wedding. Even if lightning didn’t strike us down at the altar, I’m not sure I could look Preacher Hopkins in the eyes while I repeat my vows if I’m visibly pregnant. The man taught me in Sunday school when I was eight.”