Ten Days with the Highlander (Love Abroad)

by Manning, Hayson

  “I think I might need one later on.” The pulsing between her legs coupled with a twist to her heart left her trembling. “It’s the whole wand thing I struggle with.”

  “Ah. Tricky things, wands.”

  “Will you show me later?”

  “Aye.” He pulled his satellite phone from his back pocket and grimaced. “Ma’s asked if I can bring Delilah, which translates to she’s not having a good day.” He scrubbed his hands over his face.

  The coffee soured in Georgia’s stomach. “Is there anything I can do? Come along and keep her company?”

  “She doesn’t like people to see her when she has a turn.” He grabbed her hands and brushed his lips against hers. “But I appreciate you wanting to help. It means a lot.”

  She leaned into him and settled in close when his arms wrapped around her. Everything about Callum was perfect. He loved his mom and everyone in the town, cared about Georgia’s feelings, and knew her body like he’d mapped it.

  He’s the dream I gave up on, the dream I can’t have.

  He released her and she registered the loss of warmth and security, leaving her both alone and lonely, which didn’t feel good at all.

  “I’ll go straight to the pub after. Unless you want me to swing by and collect you?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll meet you there.”

  He planted another kiss on her lips, grabbed his keys, then was out the door.

  The only sound was the old clock counting down time. Feeling a little stir crazy—and far too giddy at the thought of seeing him again later—she opened her laptop, and froze.

  She should have been on a conference call with her boss an hour ago. Instead, here she was, playing house with a gorgeous Scotsman who told her she was beautiful and melted her bones, and before she knew it, she’d forgotten about the people relying on her to bring in this deal.

  What is wrong with me?

  Her world was unraveling, that’s what. The left side of her brain high-fived her. She loved this town, and was falling for Callum. The right side of her brain tsk’d. You’re not staying. Your career, your lifestyle, means everything. You’re not a stick-around girl, Georgia Paxton.

  She ran to the old phone, sent a prayer to the gods of communication, picked up the heavy handset, and dialed her boss’s mobile. Soon, they were deep in conversation. Yes, she was confident that the acquisition was going to go through. (Lie.) The place was perfect. (Truth.) Only three days until her boss could see the town. (If Georgia could pull off the deal.) The whole team was excited.

  Every word out of her boss’s mouth was like a stone to Georgia’s heart.

  She let out a long breath that did nothing to loosen the tightening in her chest. What if she couldn’t sway Callum? What if she failed?

  No. Georgia did not fail.

  Tonight, she’d remember who she was and why she was there, and knock Callum’s socks off with her presentation.

  …

  When the door to the pub banged open, Callum’s heart rate hitched, then dropped. No gleaming head of brunette hair, bewitching smile, or lips that could drop a man to his knees. He’d been unnerved after the visit to his mum, whose tremors were worse. Maud had telephoned the doctor, who had a word with Callum on the way out. The doc knew about the marijuana and agreed that it had helped her muscle spasms. He’d told Callum that she needed rest—no cooking or cleaning, no visitors, and definitely no palm reading. He’d slapped Callum on the back and said he was a good man.

  Callum didn’t feel like a good man. He felt like shite. He shouldn’t have taken Georgia to meet his mum, but he’d wanted to show her his world, and by doing so had hurt one of the most important people in his life.

  Ainsley stopped in front of him. “Can I have a word?”

  He nodded to his other bartender and walked into the kitchen, breathing in the familiar aromas of garlic, spice, and cinnamon—and came to an abrupt stop. On the counter before him sat an open laptop and a clipped-together presentation. Ainsley, looking shy but confident, took up position in front of the display.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Georgia got me thinking,” she said. “People here can’t get enough of my Lovesick sauce. Apart from tasting fantastic, people like that it has been handed down to the oldest female going back centuries, that a Gaelic ritual is whispered into the sauce, and it’s mixed only ever a certain way.”

  Callum folded his arms across his chest, knowing where this was going and not liking it.

  Ainsley swept her hands down her apron. “I contacted a few commercial kitchens in the area, and made some inquiries in London and the U.S. They were intrigued by the idea and asked if I could send some samples.” Ainsley’s eyes shone with pride. “I’ve put together some designs, and it will take me a while to put it together, but I think I’ve got a shot at making this something big for me.”

  Callum stuffed his hands into his pockets, and his gut twisted. “Why now?” he asked more harshly than he meant, and the glimmer of confidence in Ainsley’s expression dropped.

  The only sound was the murmur of the people in the pub, punctuated by a bout of laughter.

  “It’s been really hard since Alistair died,” she said. “I’ve been existing, going from day to day, week to week, month to month.” Sadness washed over her face. “We were supposed to grow old together, watch the grandkids… I know I’ll never have that love again, but this is the first time since he died that I’ve felt a spark of excitement.”

  Oh shite.

  He walked to his friend and hugged her, resting his head on hers. “I know it’s been hard. I’m sorry, Ains.”

  She pulled away, sweeping a tear from her eye.

  “I’m happy for you.” Not having Ainsley around would be hell, but he understood her need to move on. Ainsley and Alistair had the insta-love you only saw in movies.

  She gave him a sad smile. “No, you’re not. You want this town to stay the same, to protect it and the people in it, and I understand between Robert and your mum, some people would exploit them, but some of us want to show off our little town. Our proud town with our quirky neighbors, wandering goats, and the Haggis and Hair of the Dog night. Not all people are bad.”

  He pushed his hands deep into his pockets “Why are you telling me this since you’ve made up your mind?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “As a courtesy. Once this is up and running, and if it’s successful, and that’s a big ‘if,’ it could draw tourism to the town to see where the secret Lovesick sauce is made.”

  His heart crashed against his ribs. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  Some days it felt like all he did was lose people. His mum to a shite disease, Alistair to a needless death, his father to his career, and soon he’d lose Georgia to a life he could never lead.

  Ainsley leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You’ll never lose me. We’ve been friends too long. You were Alistair’s best man, his best friend.”

  He blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

  He wanted the best for Ainsley. If he opened a bottle and sat himself down for a drink, Callum knew he swooped in and played white knight, but damn, this town and these people meant the world to him. Being put under a microscope, laughed at, cut him deep, but it went deeper than that. He was scared of losing everything and everyone he cared about. The village hadn’t changed in years. Where the world wasn’t shite, when people cared and looked out for each other. What would happen when everything crumbled?

  “Callum?”

  Ainsley was one of the strongest women he knew. Her jutted chin, her determination, her love for him and this town, blew a cold wind through his soul.

  “How can I help?” It wounded him saying those words, but he couldn’t deny Ainsley her dream.

  “You can hold my hand when I’m scared.”

  “Done.”

  Out of sorts, he wandered back into the pub, scanned it for Georgia, and tried to shake off the feeling of disquiet that ricocheted around his body like a pinba
ll, hitting vital organs—his heart in particular.

  Hours later, he called last drinks, and cleared up with Ainsley and Hamish, who were arguing about Ainsley’s idea. Seemed that Hamish was not on board if Ainsley should move. Callum shook his head. Hamish had taken his time, waited two years since Alistair’s death. Seemed the man was done waiting in the wings.

  Ainsley stormed out the front door, Hamish hot on her heels. Callum was right behind them, worried about a woman haunting his every moment. He cursed that there wasn’t cell service. He’d tried the hotel phone, but that had been engaged, then decided he was acting like a stalker. Maybe she needed time after last night. He’d let her be, but hotfooted it to the hotel, the rain having eased off earlier, leaving a Macbeth mist hanging in the air.

  He pushed open the door to the hotel to find Georgia fast asleep, her laptop open, the screensaver showing different countries. He studied the screen. All the photos showed Georgia shaking hands, a beaming smile on her face, holding a contract.

  She was one successful businesswoman, judging by the many images.

  A gentle snore brought him back into the room.

  Now she was a passed-out woman.

  He gathered her in his arms.

  She startled, then tried to wriggle out of his arms. “Presentation, Sofa, I’ve got it covered.” She yawned. “Give me five for a coffee and I’ll set up.”

  He held her tighter. “We’ll do it in the morning.”

  She yawned again. “We could do it in ten?”

  He chuckled. “Let’s go to bed. I’m tired and so are you.”

  There’d be plenty of time to shoot down her plan in the morning.

  Dawn filtered through the window. Callum woke to the sound of the late, great Mr. Marley belting out “No Woman, No Cry.”

  Wasn’t that the truth?

  With that thought, he detangled their limbs and slipped from the bed. He checked with Maud on his satellite phone that his mum had a good night. Delilah was restless, though, Maud said, so Callum said he’d be over to pick her up. First, he had a guest to attend to. He made toast, two coffees, then headed back to his room.

  He kissed Georgia awake, then passed her a coffee and the plate of toast.

  “You read my mind,” she said, going right for the toast. “Thank you.”

  He tucked her wild hair behind her ears. “Pay me back later.”

  A blush tinged her cheeks. “I will.”

  She scooted to the side, peering around him at the window. “Hey, it’s not raining.”

  “Aye,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “It’s a lovely day out. Do you want to go out and see more of the sights?”

  “Maybe later. I have something I have to show you.” She pointed at him with the toast. “Something I think will blow your mind.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Her green eyes were warm. Damn, if that didn’t spear his heart.

  “I can’t wait.” He hoped it was Georgia in his bed where she belonged, wearing only a sheet he’d take his time unpeeling from her gorgeous body. There’d be plenty of time to kiss every inch of her skin until she was breathless beneath him, his name spilling from her lips.

  “Neither can I.”

  Christ, he was already hard.

  Damn, it would have to wait.

  “I’ll be back. I’m checking on Ma and picking up a restless goat.”

  “Awesome.” She sucked jam off of her thumb. “Be prepared to have your mind blown.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and adjusted his cock, which was trying to burst out of thick denim.

  Georgia’s gaze followed the movement and she blushed, then snagged her bottom lip between her teeth.

  If he didn’t leave now, he wouldn’t be leaving for hours. But would Delilah really mind another hour at his mum’s? He moved toward Georgia—

  The knock on the front door jarred him out of his lust-induced stupor. No one was booked in. At his front door stood a group of local shop owners. Frank, Tom, James, and Mavis. She handed him a tea cozy in the shape of a sheep. He knew better than to not accept it and offend her deeply, so he graciously accepted.

  “The thing is,” Frank began, “we’ve discussed Georgia’s plan, and we’re on board with it.”

  Callum went back a step. Whoa. “What?”

  “We think the increased tourism would be good for the town.” Tom stood tall. “The additional advertising in the local paper would boost revenue, and is that a bad thing?”

  “No, it isn’t,” James, who owned the local supermarket, said, hands on hips, his stance wide, just like his rugby position before he went into a scrum.

  Mavis’s hand landed on his forearm. “I quite like the idea of my scarves and hats on a swanky New Yorker, talking to them, and knowing they’re reading the note I’ve sewn in after getting a feel of what they’re missing in their lives.”

  Callum knew full well that’s not how it would go. Even if a boutique in the city expressed interest, he very much doubted New Yorkers would have the time or the inclination to find out what was missing in their life from a Scottish woman, then wait for her to stitch her special brand of wisdom into a beanie.

  She squeezed his arm. He looked at the excitement in her eyes and briefly closed his. He didn’t have the heart to tell her.

  “Callum?” Frank asked.

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “What about our way of life? The town, Robert, my mum? What about no locked doors, everyone looking out for everyone? You want all that to change so you can bring in more money?” He didn’t try to hide his exasperation.

  “We could work out a plan with Robert and Mary. Bring them down to the pub during certain hours. I think Robert would be on board. He loves to tell his stories. I believe he can be persuaded to take down his sign, and talk to people, which would give additional revenue to you.”

  He pulled his hand through his hair. “It isn’t about money.”

  “It is for us,” Mavis said. “You’ll always have a business, Callum, but have you thought about us?” She took a breath. “I meant what I sewed into your beanie. ‘Give way and life will take you on an unexpected journey.’”

  He paced away from them, his thoughts wild, turned, then marched back to them. “I don’t need an unexpected journey, and of course I’ve thought about you. I’ve thought about all of us.”

  James crossed his arms. “You don’t need to protect us, son.”

  Jesus, didn’t they see how their lives would be torn apart? He’d seen firsthand what development did to people. He’d been part of it. He’d canvassed streets convincing pensioners and new parents to sell their houses for development. Dollar signs had popped in their eyes, signing on the dotted line, until he’d met the one couple who’d undone him. The elderly man and woman wouldn’t sell because their pets were buried in their garden. His heart had gone out to the couple. They’d tearfully explained they couldn’t leave their family. He’d shaken their hands, told them he understood, and had reported back to his father that they needed an alternate plan.

  He’d seen his father in a different light two days later when he’d informed him that they’d signed. He’d asked what he’d done with the skeletal remains of the pets. His father’s bitter laugh would forever echo in his soul. He’d lied to the couple and told them they’d exhume their pets and rebury them at their new home. Their business plan wouldn’t be stopped by an old couple and their ridiculous sentiment to dead animals. A bulldozer would take care of the bones.

  Oh, yes. Money changed people.

  Mavis adjusted one of her scarves. “You’ve always been a white knight, Callum, riding in to save the day. You’ve been doing it since you were a wee lad, and you’ve done right by this town and us, building the pub up from nothing, making it a community again, but we need this.”

  He’d scare a cardiologist with his current heart rate, but he took in the determined faces of his neighbors, his friends, and turned away. “I’ve got to go.”

  He jumped into h
is Jeep, threw the protesting vehicle into gear, and spun out of the courtyard.

  Was he being a selfish prick? He’d left his father’s firm to avoid becoming just that.

  What if he’d gone and done it anyway?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Georgia smoothed her hands down her jeans. She’d gone over the presentation a million times, and she couldn’t wait to show Callum. She sat in his reception area, laptop open, Hello Kitty at her feet.

  At the raised voices this morning, she’d crept down the stairs and eavesdropped on the conversation Callum was having with some of the local business owners. She agreed with them—their town did need the energy and vibrancy her offer would bring. If only Callum could see what good it would bring instead of the doom and gloom he anticipated. She’d worked fast to incorporate the villagers’ ideas into her presentation. She already had photos of them she’d taken earlier. A tweak here, an upload there, and it looked fantastic, even if she did say so herself.

  Callum walked in the door, his shoulders hunched, his forehead creased, a storm brewing in his eyes.

  I have my work cut out for me.

  Well, she didn’t have the highest success rate in her company for nothing.

  She patted the seat beside her but he ignored her, instead bracing his legs and crossing his arms. Georgia fidgeted with her laptop, nerves trapped in her fingertips. His broodiness and silence filled the room. She cleared her throat. “Ready?”

  He nodded once.

  Slides of before and after her renovation slid in smooth procession across the screen. The pictures of the current rooms that were taken in substandard lighting. A terrible shot of the bathroom that made it like something out of the sixties, which it was, versus bright light and sparkling photoshopped vanities, showerheads over baths replaced with square boxed showers. She’d enhanced the bedrooms, adding a sleeping Hello Kitty to one of the beds. She’d purposefully left his room as it was. Shots of Delilah, chickens in the yard, the pub. Mavis holding one of her scarves and a close-up of her original handwritten wisdom. Ainsley stirring a pot of her special sauce, her tilting smile filled with pride. Frank surrounded by fresh produce, and her pièce de résistance: The Grotto. She grinned at his sharp intake of breath. Their faces were pressed together, both smiling. The caption underneath read: Drink the water from this ancient well, say your intended’s name while he says yours, and then get married by the fairies at The Grotto. Success rate to date is 100%, but no guarantees.