“Accept a job I was offered there, that’s what.”
“But in Scotland?” her mom said, leaning over to wipe the counter beside Kristin. “That’s a terrible idea. Scotland is cold.”
“Sometimes,” Kristin agreed.
“And wet.”
“Yes, often it is.”
“And it’s not near your family. That’s terribly risky. What will you do if something happens to you? Kristin...” Her mom spread her arms. “Something will come up for work here in Vermont. You’ll see.”
“I’m sure it will, Mom.”
“But how is that safe to just pick up and leave?” her mom insisted.
“Because I’m safe,” Kristin replied.
And she was. Her adventure had taught her that she could take care of herself. She didn’t need to stay in Vermont and hide behind anybody else’s views that weren’t her own.
Next, she needed to call Malcolm and tell him she was coming.
She also needed to tell him that she loved him.
She went home and picked up her suitcase. On the way out of town, she stopped again at Cookie’s Place, since by now school was over and she knew she could find Lily there, too.
To both Stephanie and Lily, she said, “I love you, guys. I’m going to make sure you come and visit me. I will send plane tickets for both of you in the summer, you just wait.”
“Um, Kristin,” Stephanie said. “When is the last time you stopped by Aura Botanicals?”
“Nine o’clock this morning, and by the way, it’s not called Aura Botanicals anymore.”
“I think you should get over there, right now, before you go anywhere else,” Stephanie said.
“And why is that?” Kristin asked.
Stephanie smiled. “Because somebody is over there showing around a group of new investors.” She leaned closer with a wink and whispered, “I’m told he’s a very handsome Highlander, with the best Scottish accent you’ve ever heard. And guess what—his name totally isn’t George Smith. Who would have guessed?”
Kristin’s heart nearly burst in her chest. “He’s here? Malcolm is here!”
And she dropped her suitcase and raced across the street to the plant.
She didn’t have her employee badge anymore, so she banged on the window until somebody saw her and let her inside.
Malcolm had gathered the other managers inside Andrew’s old conference room. Kristin heard Malcolm’s voice before she saw him. Her heart soared.
“With your help,” Malcolm was announcing to them, “I’ll keep the Aura plant open for the specialty Born in Vermont line. These are the investors who are buying the plant, under my direction.” He indicated three men, all wearing suits, standing behind him.
Barely able to keep from squealing aloud, Kristin squeezed into the audience beside Dirk.
“Hey, Kristin,” Dirk said. “I thought you quit your job.”
“I did.” But she hadn’t quit Malcolm.
* * *
MALCOLM SAW KRISTIN, and his voice actually wavered. Slowly he let out his breath. He’d really had no idea what he would find when he’d returned with a group of investors interested in buying the Born in Vermont brand. He’d hammered out a deal where his uncle would get twenty percent in exchange for the use of the brand name and formulations, and a large reduction in rent on the factory.
He’d just finished telling everyone the news, when he’d noticed her face in the crowd. He’d wrapped up his talk as quickly as he could, then went over to her.
“Malcolm.” Her face was ablaze with happiness.
Calmness settled over him. He had absolutely done the right thing.
“May we talk in your office?” he asked her.
She bit her lip as if she had a secret to tell him, too, and grinning, said, “Let’s go.”
It was all he could do to keep from pulling her to him. But he had to be sure that his solution was right for her, so, stoically, he just nodded. With his breath held, he followed her down the short, familiar corridor, past the old break room, the coffee machines that made the loud noises, and into the tiny corner office tucked in the back, where he was sure he would find a space heater and a table spread with engineering drawings.
The door was wide open. He followed her inside.
But...her space heater was gone. The table was empty. The bookshelves with her personal things cleared off.
“Kristin?” he asked. “Did Andrew let you go? Because I’m telling you, he no longer—”
She pulled him to her. With her foot, clad in a high heel, she nudged the door closed. “I quit, Malcolm,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “I quit this morning.”
“You...” He shook his head, not comprehending. All he could think about was how beautiful she looked. With his thumb he caressed her cheek, nudged her hair from her face. He drew her closer to him, wanting so badly to kiss her that he could taste the longing.
“Malcolm, I was traveling to you,” Kristin said.
“But I—I...” He shook his head, remembering. This had to be her choice. He could not dictate to her what to do. “You’re welcome to whatever job you would like...in Scotland or Vermont, or both or neither.”
What was he doing? “No...scratch all that. Kristy, the most important thing I came here to tell you is that I love you. I want a relationship with you. Long-term. A commitment where I promise to never tell you what to do, or to...what word did you use? Trample you.”
Laughing, Kristin nibbled on his ear. “It’s okay if you want to make suggestions once in a while, Malcolm.” She kissed him, teasing at first, and then tender, with a sigh. Her eyes grew moist, and she wiped the corner with the heel of her hand.
“Kristy?” he murmured tenderly.
“I’m thrilled with what you’ve done for Born in Vermont, and for my hometown. But I know what I want, Malcolm.” She paused. “Take me back to Scotland with you, please,” she whispered.
“Honestly? That’s really what you want?”
She nodded, blinking harder now. “I love you, Malcolm.” Her face seemed to crumple with happiness.
“Say that again, love.”
“I love you.”
He threw back his head and laughed with joy. Of all the sweetest hours. This one topped them all.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from CAUGHT UP IN YOU by Beth Andrews.
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CHAPTER ONE
EDDIE MONTESANO SQUIRMED on his seat like a fish on a hook and sighed. Hell, a few minutes in his son’s classroom and he’d somehow regressed to the second-grader he’d been twenty-five years ago, uncomfortable on the hard chair, anxious to get away from the rigid rules and expectations.
Terrified the teacher would call on him to answer a math problem she’d written on the chalkboard. Or worse, ask him to read aloud from their reading book. It’d been torture, speaking in front of so many people—even if they had been his classmates. Humiliating to have them all witness his struggles sounding out simple words.
He hadn’t been able to sit still then, either. He’
d always been moving—tapping his fingers, shaking his leg or wiggling his ass. He’d been lectured, plenty of times, about not fidgeting, but it hadn’t done any good. He’d had too much energy, like a live current zipped through him, making his thoughts race, pushing him to move, move, move.
Though he’d taught himself to be more self-contained, to focus on one task at a time, he’d still much rather be doing than sitting. Especially when sitting made him feel like that restless, nervous kid again.
He stretched out his legs. His left knee whacked the bottom of the desk, the steel toe of his work boot hit the chair across from him, shoved it out a few inches.
What was with this setup? The desks were in groups of four so that half the class faced the blackboard, the other half the teacher’s desk. It didn’t make any sense to him. The kids were staring at each other, two by two. Seemed like a distraction.
Then again, the teacher was a woman, and a lot of things women did made no sense to him.
He checked the time. Eight minutes until his meeting with Mrs. Kavanagh, Max’s teacher. Not that Eddie was in a hurry to see her again, but he would like to know what was behind this whole parent/teacher thing. Max had assured Eddie he wasn’t in trouble, and Eddie hadn’t received any calls from the principal so far this year about Max’s behavior.
But the note Mrs. Kavanagh had sent home requesting a meeting had been vague enough that Eddie wondered if he’d gotten the whole story from his son.
Max had a habit of keeping his thoughts to himself. Especially if he’d done something wrong. And while Eddie agreed it was better, safer, to keep your thoughts in your head, he wished his son would just admit when he’d messed up so Eddie could tackle the problem, fix it and move on.
He glanced around the room. Shelves filled with row after row of neatly lined-up books took up the entire wall behind the teacher’s desk. A white wooden rocking chair was tucked into the corner in front of a circular rug next to the chalkboard. Artwork, graded papers, a huge calendar and equally large schedule covered the walls, along with bright banners and posters—most sporting a cartoon or picture of a baby animal—encouraging the kids to read, imagine and go for the gold. Assuring them they were a team, books were treasures waiting to be discovered and that with hard work, anything was possible.
A nice sentiment, that last one. Complete bullshit, but nice.
He was all for doing one’s best, putting in full effort and sticking with a job until it was done. But believing that if you worked hard enough, long enough, you’d achieve your goals no matter what, was setting these kids up for disappointment.
And possibly years of therapy.
Eddie had worked his ass off to save his marriage and look where it got him. Divorced, raising his son on his own and constantly trying to be everything to Max. Hoping he was doing enough. Being enough.
Worrying that most days he didn’t even come close.
But he’d keep trying, doing his best to make up for failing at his marriage and not being able to keep Max’s mother in their lives. And not because he was staring at a poster of a kitten at the end of a rope—literally—telling him to Never Give Up.
He’d do anything for his kid.
“This is the drawing I told you about,” Max said, shoving a picture in Eddie’s face.
Eddie leaned back, the hard edge of the metal chair digging into his shoulder blades as he took the paper. He raised his eyebrows. It was good. Damn good.
His kid never ceased to amaze him.
“It’s Pops’s pumpkin patch,” Max said. He pointed at the cottage in the background. “See? That’s his house.”
“It looks just like it.” Right down to the curtains in the windows and brick walkway winding its way from the back door to the garden.
Green vines tangled around fat, bright orange pumpkins. Beyond the cottage, trees in all their autumn glory of copper, red and auburn covered the rolling hills. And standing to the left, a hoe in one hand, his other hand tucked behind his back, was Big Leo Montesano. Max had perfectly captured Eddie’s grandfather, from the top of the straw hat on Pops’s balding head to the tips of the black rubber boots he wore when gardening.
“It’s great, bud,” Eddie said.
Shifting from foot to foot, Max beamed. “Mrs. Hewitt said it was the best one out of the whole second grade.”
“Mrs. Hewitt?”
“She’s the art teacher.” Now Max hunched his shoulders. Chewed on his thumbnail. “I forgot I’m not supposed to tell anyone that.”
“You’re not supposed to tell anyone she’s the art teacher? Is she some sort of spy?”
Max frowned as if Eddie was the one not making sense. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone she said my picture was the best.”
Eddie’s heart swelled. Christ, but he loved his kid. Max was tall for his age and stocky, with Eddie’s hazel eyes and dark hair, and Lena’s light coloring and nose. Shy around everyone but family, when he opened up, he was funny and entertaining as hell. Max went full throttle from the time he woke until he hit his bed and slept like the dead, recharging for another nonstop day.
He was Eddie’s greatest joy. The best thing he’d ever done.
“We’ll keep it between us.” Eddie mussed Max’s hair, making a mental note to get him to the barber sometime this week. “But I bet she’s right.”
Max stopped gnawing on his nail long enough to send Eddie a small, proud smile. “She is.”
Eddie grinned. That was his boy. “How about we make a frame for this and give it to Pops.”
“Yeah. He’ll love it. He loves all my pictures. But we can’t take it now. Not ’til Mrs. Hewitt says so.”
“Okay. Maybe you should put it back, then.”
Max did some sort of galloping walk over to the wide windowsill where the rest of his classmates’ drawings were laid out. Afternoon sun streamed through the glass, raising the temperature in the room a good ten degrees. Sweat formed on Eddie’s upper lip, along his hairline. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the sweatshirt at his shoulder blades and tugged it upward. Only to realize he was stuck, his lower back pressed against the chair holding the shirt in place. He scooted forward and rammed his stomach into the edge of the desk. He grunted. Banged his elbow when he tried to straighten.
“Shit,” he muttered, his funny bone tingling painfully.
Someone cleared their throat, the sound delicate, feminine and, if he wasn’t mistaken, subtly chastising.
The back of his neck heated with embarrassment. Standing, Eddie shoved the chair back. It toppled over. He sighed. Some days a man just couldn’t win.
He yanked the sweatshirt off, avoided looking at the door while he tugged his T-shirt down, then righted the chair. Smoothing his hair—and realizing Max wasn’t the only one who needed a trim—he turned. Scanned the curvy blonde in the doorway.
Harper Sutter—now Harper Kavanagh—didn’t look much like the perky cheerleader she’d been in high school. Then she’d been petite with light brown hair that fell to the middle of her back. Now her hair was several shades lighter and at least six inches shorter, her face, hips and breasts fuller.
His gaze flicked to her chest.
Much fuller.
A tickle formed in the back of his throat. Interest—basic and purely physical—stirred. Ignoring it, he shoved his hands into his pockets, focused on her face. Same high, pronounced cheekbones and gray eyes that turned down slightly at the corners. Same full, heart-shaped lips.
He’d had a few fantasies—brief, insignificant fantasies—about her mouth.
Then again, he’d been seventeen. Sexy dreams had pretty much been a nightly experience.
Those lips curved into a bright smile. She switched her coffee cup to her left hand and offered him her right one. “Hello, Eddie. It’s so nice to see you.”
With a n
od, he shook her hand. Though he’d known her since kindergarten, he’d never touched her before. Her palm was warm against his. Soft.
Awareness bolted through him. He acknowledged it was partly due to the remnants of the teenage fantasies playing in his head. Accepted it as a man’s instinctual response to an attractive woman.
Acknowledged it, accepted it. Then let it—and her hand—go.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” she said.
“You didn’t.”
He wasn’t sure if she’d meant it as a real concern or a reprimand for his being early. He gave a mental shrug. Didn’t matter to him either way. He’d had a break at work so he’d taken off. No sense finding something to do for a few minutes so he could arrive precisely at four o’clock.
“Max,” Harper said, sounding surprised when Max sidled up to Eddie, pressed against his side. “Still stuck here?”
Max lifted a shoulder.
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a drag. I can’t wait to leave at the end of the day. Hey, would you do me a favor?” Before Max could even blink, she continued in her rapid-fire speech. “Could you walk—and by walk I mean that slow movement of putting one foot in front of the other that is not running, hopping or skipping—to the office to check if I have any mail?”
Seemed she knew Max well. He didn’t do anything slowly. Except talk.
While Max headed toward the door, Harper gestured for Eddie to follow her as she crossed the room. His gaze fell to the sway of her hips. She had on tan pants and a long sweater the color of rust that molded to her ass. A wide brown belt accentuated the indentation of her waist and he wondered, briefly, what it would be like to set his hands there.
He stumbled, bumped into a desk.
She glanced over her shoulder at him.
His face burning, he stared resolutely at a spot somewhere above her head. Maybe he hadn’t fully let that earlier awareness go.
“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.” She set her cup on the desk. “Although, I have to admit, I was hoping to speak with you alone.”
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