Sadie's Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  Sadie turned to Alec standing silently behind her. “Would you—” Oh shit. He’s gonna explode.

  Alec stood with teeth bared and eyes narrowed to murderous slits.

  Sadie pressed a hand on his arm. A silent thrill pulsed through her as Alec’s rock-solid muscles flexed beneath her fingertips. “Remember our deal,” she whispered.

  Alec’s jaw flexed, his glare locked on Delia. “Best be quick about this, lass,” he responded in a strained whisper.

  “Quick about what?” Delia asked as she scooted back from the table and loosely crossed her arms while sinking into the creamy depths of a thick-cushioned leather couch.

  “I spoke with Abe, Seth, and Holly.” Sadie waited, watching Delia—preparing for what instinct and past experience warned her was coming. Her sister was a great deal like a cobra. If you watched her closely enough, you could usually tell when she was about to strike. “None of them knew about me joining the team.”

  Delia lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug and regally lifted a long-stemmed glass of sparkling water with a paper-thin slice of lemon floating among the ice. “I sent the memo. You’d think writers would also know how to read.”

  “Show me the memo.” Delia was lying, and it was almost disappointing that she was making this so easy. Sadie pulled the laptop around, typed in Delia’s password, then opened the email program. A quick scan of the sent folder revealed what she already knew. There was no memo. “If you’re going to lie to me, at least put some effort into it.”

  Delia smirked, chuckling to herself as she sipped at her water. “Getting brave, are we, little sister?”

  The luxurious hardwood flooring of the bus creaked as Alec stepped forward.

  Sadie turned and mouthed, No.

  Alec lifted his chin and forced his tensed arms into a tight fold across his chest as though holding himself back. He barely shook his head and swelled with a deep intake of breath, then slowly exhaled.

  Shit. Alec had reached his limit.

  “If the terms and conditions of our agreement are not met—” Alec said in a lethal, controlled tone.

  “I was not aware that allowing my sister to play with the screenwriters was part of our agreement.” Delia scooted to sit ramrod straight on the edge of the couch and slid her glass to the table.

  Alec gently set Sadie aside, moved past her, and thudded his fists down onto the table. Leaning over until he was nearly nose to nose with Delia, his voice rumbled low and dangerous, almost sounding like the throaty growl of an enraged beast. “Now ye ken that Sadie writin’ is verra much a part of our deal, aye?”

  Delia lifted her pointed chin, her sneer shifting to an imperious look of sheer boredom. “If you must know, I had planned on briefing Seth, Holly, and Abe at this afternoon’s meeting.” She shifted her smirk to Sadie. “I was just teasing you. You always get bent out of shape so easily.”

  Bullshit. Delia never teased. She’d shifted back into her defensive I was just kidding mode—the same excuse she’d always used when they were children and she was finally scolded for being even more cruel than her parents or the servants could ignore.

  “Abe said the script is finished. All the scenes are done and they’re only on site in case dialogue runs too short or long or needs to be amped up historically. If that’s true, then you know as well as I do that I’m not needed.”

  “Well, Abe is not the producer nor the owner of Realm Spinners and contrary to what he might think, he doesn’t know everything about this film.” Delia sank back into the cushions of the couch, curling her glass of water to her chest as though it were a cherished pet. A conniving gleam brightened her features. Delia looked like a cat about to pounce. “I had planned on contacting you this morning about your contribution to this project. We need some super-hot scenes for the film. You know as well as I do that sex sells tickets, and so far all we have are several lead-ins that all fade to black. I need some scenes that are guaranteed to make the women in the theater wet their panties and start lap-dancing on the men beside them.” Her gaze shifted to Alec, then moved back to Sadie. One thin brow arched a bit higher and she took a long, slow sip, then slid her glass back to the table. “Write some hot sex and bring the scenes to me. I want at least three—more would be even better. You’ve got two weeks. Think you can manage that?”

  “You want me to write these scenes without working with the other writers?” Sadie’s mind was whirling. This was a trap. She knew it was, but if she could pull this off…“Aren’t you worried about the continuity of the storyline since you’ll be filming while I’m working on these ‘hot’ scenes?”

  Delia rose from the couch, toddled across the room in her spike-heeled boots and too-tight pencil skirt, and pulled open one of the drawers of a large mahogany built-in. Pawing through the drawer, she frowned down into the folders. “I’ll give you a copy of the script.” Slamming the drawer shut with her narrow hip, she tossed the manila folder onto the table and shoved it toward Sadie. “And besides, you know as well as I do that films are pieces just stitched together. We’ll do the sex scenes back in LA’s closed sets. Better lighting from every angle. Then we’ll splice them in. It’s not like we’re making a constantly looping home movie.”

  Sadie scooped the folder up from the table, glancing at the pages as she thumbed through them. What choice did she have? It was either take Delia’s offer or not get a shot at her dream at all. “Two weeks?”

  “Two weeks,” Delia repeated. “And don’t forget you’re still responsible for Mr. MacDara here. I’m sure he’ll still insist on a very ‘hands-on’ approach to ensure we’re keeping to the contract.” The way Delia said “hands-on” left no doubt whatsoever as to what she was insinuating. Her smirk shifted to an even darker shade of insulting as she winked. “Who knows? Maybe he can help you with those scenes.”

  Alec lunged forward, slammed Delia’s laptop closed, then leaned on it until the machine crackled and popped. Its blinking lights flickered out, then it went silent beneath his fist. “What a pity. A bit of carelessness seems to have destroyed yer machine. Poor treatment tends t’do that, ye ken?”

  “Are you threatening me?” Delia hissed.

  “I ne’er threaten,” Alec coldly replied. “I merely keep to my promises.”

  Chapter 12

  The phone perched in the dashboard cubbyhole of the Jeep vibrated and pinged in rapid succession. Alec glared at the intrusive monstrosity. The damnable square of annoyance had to have been created by demons determined to keep men enslaved. He nodded toward the buzzing phone. “Would ye be so kind as to see who’s in such a panic? I dinna fool with the thing when I’m drivin’.”

  Sadie plucked up the phone and read the screen. “Looks like you’ve got four texts. Your mother, Grant, Ramsay…” Her voice trailed off and she peered closer at the phone, then looked up at him with barely contained mirth. “And Mammaw Bear?”

  Dwyn chuckled from the backseat. “Mistress Martha. From the bed-and-breakfast where ye stayed when ye first arrived in Brady.”

  Mistress Martha. Twin sister to Mistress Lydia, and nearly as meddling. “What does the text from Mistress Martha say?” He wasn’t as concerned about the texts from his mother and brothers. If there was a family emergency, Dwyn would immediately know and gather them together faster than any modern-day text from the irritating contraption his family insisted he carry.

  “Mammaw Bear says”—Sadie paused and shot him a teasing look before continuing—“your favorite pecan pie is ready and if you want it warm enough to melt the ice cream, you better hurry.”

  Perhaps a relaxing lunch at the bed-and-breakfast would help erase the bad taste this morning had left in his mouth. Alec’s grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. ’Twould be a sorry chore indeed to get through the next six weeks without throttling Sadie’s sister. “ ’Tis nearly time for the midday meal.” He peered at Dwyn in the rearview mirror. “Will ye be joinin’ us then?” Silently, he hoped the demigod would say n
o.

  The corners of Dwyn’s eyes crinkled with an understanding smile. “Thank ye, but I must decline. I’ve urgent business to attend to, and I also wish to check into the additional surveillance cameras I spoke about. If ye’d be so kind as to let me out at the corner, I’ll be about the rest of my day.”

  “Would ye be ready for a bite to eat?” Alec glanced over at Sadie as he slowed the Jeep, pulled up next to the curb, and let Dwyn out.

  Sadie waved to Dwyn as they pulled away, then turned back to Alec. “I could definitely go for a piece of pecan pie.”

  “ ’Tis settled then. Pecan pie it is.”

  Alec headed the Jeep up Main Street and parked in front of the grand Victorian house sprawled across a corner lot ablaze with the oranges, yellows, and deep burgundy reds of cushion mums in full bloom. A weathered sign with white letters outlined in gold swung from the front of the wraparound porch filled with wicker rockers, chairs, and love seats plumped and welcoming with throws and pillows quilted in autumnal colors: Brady’s Bed and Breakfast. Welcome to All. A grapevine swag decorated with miniature pumpkins and fall flowers hung around the brightly painted front door with panels of stained glass squared in its center.

  “I love this place. It feels like a big hug from a long-lost friend.” Sadie trailed her fingertips up the white banister as they walked up the front steps.

  Alec held open the door and smiled. “Aye. Mistress Martha is the grandest hostess the town of Brady has ever known.” He leaned in close and nodded toward the tiny gray-haired woman heading toward them. “And God help ye if ye make her angry,” he murmured.

  “I heard that.” Miss Martha thumped a finger to the center of Alec’s chest as she walked past him. “Keep that chatter up and this young lady will be the only one getting any pie.” She scooped up Sadie’s hand, tucked it in the crook of her thin arm, and gave it a friendly pat. “It’s good to see you again. Is my sister takin’ good care of you?”

  “Miss Lydia is fantastic.” Sadie and Martha’s voices melted into the companionable dinnertime noises of the busy bed-and-breakfast as they entered the dining room and Miss Martha led them to a table.

  Coming here was a good thing. Alec noted that Sadie had finally relaxed after the confrontation with her sister and those damn people—those writer folk that she seemed so intent on working with though for the life of him, he couldna fathom why. The lot of them treated her poorly, as though she were beneath them. Seth was the only one who’d been remotely civil to her. Why would she wish to be around them? And why did she stay with a sister who treated her like a despised servant?

  “Yay! Today’s special is chicken and dumplings.” Sadie’s face lit up as she held up the handwritten index card paper-clipped to the plastic-coated menu.

  Alec chuckled. He’d ne’er seen anyone so enamored with that Southern staple. “Chicken and dumplings for the both of us, if ye please. And then extra-large slices of pecan pie with yer homemade ice cream for dessert.”

  Miss Martha nodded her approval. “Comin’ up.” As she toddled her way toward the kitchen, she snapped her fingers overhead at the young girl bustling about the cozy dining room. “Two specials, then two MacDara-sized pieces of pie, Mary. I’ve got to check on tonight’s cakes. They should be ready to come out of the oven.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Mary bobbed her head, then hurried over to Alec and Sadie’s table with two glasses of ice water. “I’ll fetch y’all some sweet tea here in just a minute. Do you want biscuits or cornbread with your meal?”

  Alec smiled over at Sadie, who looked as happy as a child who’d just received a shining new present. Aye. ’Twas good they’d come here. “Whatever the lady wishes.”

  “Biscuits, please.” Sadie unfolded the cloth napkin beside her plate and put it in her lap. As Mary turned to walk away, she stopped her. “Oh…and a diet cola instead of sweet tea, please.” The morning’s tension returned to the set of her shoulders as she forced out a self-deprecating laugh. “Maybe that’ll neutralize some of the calories. Delia would be so proud of me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mary nodded and hurried away.

  “Why do ye allow her to treat ye so?” He couldna stand it any longer. He had to know why Sadie—a lovely lass with the warmest soul he’d e’er seen—would keep herself tethered to one such as Delia. “I ken she’s yer sister, yer blood, but that doesna give her the right to treat ye as she does.”

  “She’s not my blood.” Sadie propped her elbows on the table, folded her hands over her plate, and tucked her chin to her fists as though she were about to pray. “I’m adopted.”

  “Adopted?” That explained a great deal, but it still didna give Delia the right to behave so.

  “I was four years old when my new parents brought me back as a souvenir from an orphanage somewhere in Italy.” Sadie stared down at the table, lightly rubbing her chin back and forth across her knuckles as she spoke. “Delia was twelve, and not exactly thrilled when she discovered that what little time and attention she’d gotten from our parents in the past was now going to have to be shared.”

  Mary interrupted Sadie’s revelations with two steaming bowls of chicken and dumplings and a platter of biscuits. “Y’all need anything else?”

  He needed her to go away so Sadie would continue her story. Alec smiled up at the girl. “Nothing, thank ye.” As Mary bounded away, he nodded to Sadie. “Yer sister’s behavior seems to be a great deal worse than just a case of sibling rivalry. She’s a grown woman now. She should be over such childish jealousies.”

  Sadie took up her spoon, slowly stirring it through the rich, creamy broth as though searching for the right words amidst the fluffy white mounds of dumplings and chunky bits of chicken. “In Delia’s defense, I think she was ‘broken’ long before I came into the picture.” She looked up from the bowl. “Everything our parents did was carefully orchestrated for appearance’s sake. It was very important to them to look perfect to the outside world. I was blessed with four years in the presence of nuns who cared for children because they loved them. Delia never had that. All she ever knew was indifferent nannies and servants who only tolerated her because it was their job.”

  That still didn’t explain why Sadie stayed with Delia, working with the unbearable woman and suffering such abuse in silence. “Why d’ye stay with her? Surely, it canna be due to family ties.” Alec pushed his bowl aside. He wasna interested in eating.

  “Money.” Sadie scooped up a dumpling and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly as her gaze traveled about the room. She scowled off into the distance and swallowed. “And she has the keys to my kingdom.”

  “Kingdom?”

  “I want to be—” Sadie cut herself off and fisted her hands on either side of her plate. “I am a writer—a screenwriter—but I need Delia’s connections. She’s the best chance I’ve got for that ‘big break’ into the business so I can make my dream a reality.”

  “Yer dream is to make yer way into the world of movies and such by writin’ yer stories and plays.” It wasn’t a question. Alec was just struggling to understand how Sadie could tolerate such poor treatment. “There’s no other way ye can support yerself and ‘break into the business,’ as ye call it? Surely, there must be other options.”

  Sadie drew in a deep breath, sitting taller in the chair. “I’ve gone the route of holding down three jobs, living in a rat’s nest the size of a shoe box, and writing my stories on borrowed computers at the library and in fifty-cent notebooks. Trust me—dealing with Delia isn’t the worst stepping-stone leading to my dream.”

  He’d upset her. He heard the defensiveness in her voice. “Forgive me, lass.” He reached across the table and touched her hand. “I meant no harm or disrespect.”

  Sadie carefully slid her hand out from under his, saddening him further with a fake smile, then shifted her attention back to her food. “How ’bout if we just change the subject?”

  Change the subject. What the hell can I talk about to make amends? Writing. Scenes. Her love
of storytelling. “So tell me, how will ye go about writin’ those bits yer sister requested for the movie? Is it difficult to add to a story that was written by others?”

  Sadie looked up at him, her smile genuine this time—even forgiving. “I’m pretty familiar with the script already. I read it before Delia ever approved it. It’s a little shallow but not too bad. I’m sure that’s why Delia’s trying to bolster it up with sex.” She plucked a biscuit from the platter, tore it in two, and dipped it in the rich broth left in her bowl. Her brow creased in concentration as though sopping a biscuit were a complicated task. “All I really have to do to come up with the scenes is close my eyes and let my imagination take over.” She looked up at him and shrugged. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”

  Delia had said she wanted the scenes to be about sex. He distinctly remembered that part. Alec shifted in the chair, thankful for the white linen tablecloth draped across his lap. “So the people the movie is about—ye must envision them while they are…” His voice trailed off as words evaded him. He’d seen such movies—not many, but enough to wonder how the hell the couple had enjoyed each other as though alone. Whisky had to be involved. A great deal of whisky. Either that or the man and woman had a penchant for bein’ watched. He’d heard of such folk.

  A quiet giggle escaped Sadie. She lightly shrugged and winked, leaning back in the chair as Mary took away their plates. “Yes. I must envision them,” she answered with a wicked grin.

  “Y’all want ice cream on your pie, right?” Mary politely waited beside the table, balancing the tray of dirty dishes on one hip.

  “Nay,” Alec replied softly. “I’ll have whipped topping on mine. The kind ye squirt from the can—and lots of it.”

  Sadie stared at him, not blinking or moving. He noted her sharp intake of breath and saw the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. Her heart was pounding—nearly matching the rhythm of his. Aye. The lass knew what he was thinkin’ and she was thinkin’ it too.