Some Like It Scot (Crescent Cove Book 1)

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Some Like It Scot (Crescent Cove Book 1) Page 12

by Marlie May


  “I was hoping I could talk to you about something,” Dad said, hefting lumber.

  I nodded, a coil of tension springing up in my belly.

  “Your mom and me have an anniversary coming up.”

  “Yup.” Six boards this time. Four wasn’t wearing me out anywhere near fast enough.

  “Would you be willing to sound her out for me about an idea I have?”

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself?” I said as I started inside. Up the stairs. Drop the boards. Go back for more.

  Dad grabbed my arm before I could lift another 2x4. “Hold on a minute, would you? Can you talk to me for a second?”

  My sigh escaped my lungs as I turned. “What?”

  Dad’s face shifted as if he’d expected a more enthusiastic response. Seeing that look loosened something inside me, a sensation I didn’t like. I tightened my limbs. Did Dad really think I wanted to hang out and chat? After all that had happened in our past, that was the last thing he should expect from me.

  Dad inhaled and plunged on. “See, I was thinking about one of those Alaska cruises where they take you past the glaciers and you eat salmon for every meal.”

  Since I wasn’t fond of seafood, a week of salmon sounded like a nightmare to me. But Mom loved fish. Dad did, too, if I remembered correctly. I didn’t like remembering specific details about my dad, because it implied I was…softening. No. I refused to soften.

  Dad gushed on, “You think she’d like to do something like that? It might be fun to see those glaciers before they melt.”

  “Imagine it would be.”

  “I could spring for a big cabin with a balcony. Then we could sit outside and watch the scenery as we float by.” He braced his palm on my shoulder. “Would you sound her out for me about it?”

  “Sure.” No harm in that. I was confident Mom would be thrilled. “You’re not planning it for your anniversary week, are you?”

  “Yeah.” Dad’s solemn eyes settled on mine. “I heard September’s a nice time of year up there in Alaska.”

  “Why not make it October or November?” Why was I helping my father? The sulky teenager inside me bent on revenge suggested I let Dad go ahead and book the trip, only to find out he couldn’t spring his surprise because of the secret, bigger event she planned.

  But that would be mean. And…I guessed I didn’t have it in me to be mean, no matter what I thought of my father. “I can ask her, but I bet she’d love a cruise.”

  Dad nodded, staring at the pile. “I want to do something special for her. We’ve had our ups and downs, but thirty years is a long time. It’s something that needs celebrating.”

  “Yeah.” I turned away before Dad gave in to his urge to gush more enthusiasm. His excitement wore away at my guards. Lifting some more boards from the pile, I stomped toward the house.

  I drove home later, and even though my muscles ached and my brain felt relaxed, I couldn’t drum up enough enthusiasm to work on my book. Instead, I wanted to sit on my couch and dream up ways to please a woman who should not be named.

  The late afternoon arrival of Charity’ son, Timothy, created the perfect reason to call her. When Timothy was born, I became an unofficial uncle and very rare babysitter. So rare, this was my first time.

  “Uncle Dag.” The three-year-old tugged on my shirt while I sat at my computer rereading the scene I’d just written. “Uncle Dag. Uncle Dag. Uncle Dag.”

  “Hmm?” Duncan had just scaled the back wall of Lenore’s father’s castle in order to see her one last time before she was sent to live with relatives in southern France.

  If I was Duncan and, say, Paisley was sending Lark to live with relatives in southern France to keep her away from me, how would I feel?

  Angry. Sad.

  Desperate.

  Now, there was a new one for me.

  When Charity dropped Timothy off, she said she’d be back to get her son by seven. She also told me Timothy would be happy watching cartoons until she returned.

  She lied.

  “Uncle Dag. Uncle Dag. Uncle Dag.”

  I hauled my eyes away from my computer screen. “Yeah?”

  “Can I have a popsicle?”

  Did I have any in the freezer? Maybe behind the hot dogs I’d bought…when had I bought them? If a popsicle lurked in the recesses of my freezer, it’d be from last year. Freezer burned. Not something you offered a kid.

  “We can get some.” I patted him on the head like I’d seen Kevin do. When Kevin did it, Timothy gave his dad a smile so sweet he looked well on his way to wings. The look Timothy fed me made me worry the boy was headed in the opposite direction.

  “When, Uncle Dag?”

  “In a little while?” Why was I asking a question, like I needed permission? This was a solitary child, not a rabid pack of them. “Why don’t you go watch cartoons?”

  “Don’t wanna.” Timothy jutted his chin, projecting a look of defiance so perfect I needed to write it down to use in my next scene. His lower lip trembled and he sniffed. “I want one now. Mommy always gives me one when I ask.”

  “I doubt she does it always.” Or did she? Hell, how would I know? Most of our interactions were limited to family gatherings. It was anyone’s guess why Charity thought I could handle Timothy for more than ten minutes. Obviously, Gunner was her favorite cousin.

  Timothy slumped on the floor and kicked the desk leg. “I’m bored, Uncle Dag.”

  Duncan stared at Lenore through the glass, memorizing her features. She moved slowly, sadly, as she sorted through her possessions, putting some aside for a servant to pack. When—

  “Uncle Dag?”

  When…? I’d lost my train of thought. “Yes, Timothy?”

  “Let’s do something fun.”

  “In a little while.”

  “That’s all you ever say, Uncle Dag. In a little while.” His face crumpled. If I guessed right, tears were next on the agenda. Timothy kicked the desk again, then winced. “Ow, that hurts.”

  After saving my document, I shut the computer down. I swung around and faced Timothy, who whimpered and clutched his foot. “Are you okay?”

  “No. When I’m hurt, Mommy always gives me ice cream.”

  If I’d bought ice cream, I would’ve eaten it already. “How about we go get some?”

  The impending waterworks stopped faster than they’d been turned on, confirming I’d been played by a three-year-old. Timothy jumped to his feet. “When, Uncle Dag? When?”

  “Let me make a phone call first?” I lifted my phone to show I’d do it right away, not in a little while.

  “Yay!” Timothy raced around the room singing, “We’re gonna get ice cream.”

  I called Lark. “Hey,” I said before she could get out hello. “I need your help.”

  “Is it about the pony rides? If so, Jane called. Whatever her ponies ate that gave them the runs seems to have run its course. Let me tell you, I was worried. I’m willing to do a lot to see this event a success, but I draw the line at giving kids rides on my back.” She whinnied.

  I shook my head and grinned. God, she made me laugh. “It’s not about pony rides.” Although, I’d be willing to step up and give kids rides if it made Lark happy.

  “It’s the cabers then, isn’t it?” Lark said. “Damn, I knew it. We never should’ve gone with Alice’s brother’s logging operation. That man drinks so much, we could light a fire with his breath. Did he deliver nine-foot poles instead of nineteen feet long?”

  “It’s not the cabers.”

  “The hammer throw?”

  “Nope.”

  “The cheese roll? Is that creamery balking about the five-pound wheels?”

  “Everything’s set for the heavy games.”

  “Okay.” I could picture her tapping her chin. “What is it, then?”

  “It’s something…personal.”

  Her pause went on too long for my floundering ego. It had only been a few days, but obviously, absence hadn’t made Lark’s heart grow fonder.

&nbs
p; “I don’t do housekeeping.” Said with firmness, but her laughter leaked through.

  Okay, that was a low blow, but she had a point. My lawn had looked bad. My house. My back yard that still needed tackling. All joking aside, I hadn’t given her the impression there was more to Dag Ross than the undependable man who skimmed the surface. I’d fed her the image I showed everyone else because it had never mattered to me if a woman saw farther.

  For the first time, I wanted to share more of who I really was, if Lark would let me in.

  “Och, now, lass.” Huskiness stole into my words, a reflection of my growing feelings. “Is that the way to talk to a man who’s only offering ye a treat?”

  That brought out her full laugh. “We're back to that again, are we?”

  “Sweetheart, I've just started.”

  “You're not giving up.”

  “Do ye really want me to?”

  Weighted silence clicked through the line. “I, umm…”

  “I hear yer hesitation there, lass.”

  “You do not.”

  “Do too.”

  “Dinnae,” she groaned. “Shit. Now you've got me talking that way.”

  “Look, Charity asked me to take her son for a few hours.” Which felt like an eternity already.

  “He’s three, right? That’s an easy age. Send him into your back yard to play. Or park him in front of the TV. Time’ll fly, and Charity will be back before you know it.”

  I scratched the back of my neck. “Send him outside like a puppy?”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you tie him to a tree.”

  I hadn’t been either. Maybe. “What if he wanders off?”

  “Isn’t your backyard fenced?”

  “Part of it.”

  “The part that’s not falling down?”

  I growled. “None of my fence is falling down.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  “Can’t you help me? Please?”

  “Why?”

  “Because…you’re a woman.”

  She grumbled. “And that means?”

  “Not what you’re thinking.”

  “You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

  She was right. “I didn’t mean it that way.” I couldn’t keep the panic from my voice. I needed to see her. I shifted my phone to my other ear, and said, “Look, I’ve never done kids.”

  “He’s family.”

  “I’ve never been alone with him.”

  “You make him sound like a wild animal.”

  Pretty much the same thing, wasn’t it? Something told me life would go smoother if I didn’t mention that, however.

  “Don’t any of your friends have kids?” she asked. “You must’ve interacted with them.”

  “Uncle Dag. Uncle Dag.” Timothy raced up to me and yanked on my arm. “We gotta go.”

  I waved the boy off. “I’ll just be a little longer.”

  Timothy’s lower lip trembled. “Mommy would go now.”

  I was sure Mommy would. Could anyone blame her?

  “Please?” I asked Lark. Okay, I begged.

  “What do you want specifically?”

  “Timothy wants ice cream.”

  Timothy propped his hands on his hips. “I want chocolate and strawberry and vanilla and sherbet and cookies and cream. With carmel and chocolate sauce and nuts. And whipped cream and three cherries on top, ‘cause I’m three.”

  Sounded like an antacid moment to me.

  “Meet up with us, Lark,” I said. “Make all my dreams come true.”

  “It's just ice cream.”

  “My point exactly.”

  She paused. “Okay. The place downtown, across from the park.”

  “It’s a date.”

  “I’ll be there in ten.” I could almost hear her mind cranking. “Oh, and Dag? It’s not exactly a date.”

  “I didn’t even mention that cursed word.”

  She snickered. “Did too.”

  “Then I didn’t mean a date.”

  Sort of.

  Lark

  “The last thing I should’ve done is agree to meet up with Dag,” I said to Paisley as I stalked around the living room, trying to locate my purse.

  “Ah, Dag!” Her eyes twinkled. She sat on the sofa, thumbing through a magazine. “Nice to hear you’re seeing him.”

  Stalled, I propped my hand on my hip and frowned. “I’m not seeing him.”

  She chuckled. “Okay. Just meeting up with him.”

  “It’s only for ice cream.”

  “Very official stuff, ice cream.”

  I huffed out a breath, making my hair shoot upward. “I don’t have time for anything like this.”

  Paisley tossed her magazine onto the coffee table. “Everyone has time for ice cream.”

  “I’ve got too much to do today. Jolene’s lawn needs mowing. And if I don’t vacuum, the carpet’s going to sprout a forest. Between training, my Highland Games duties, and working at the diner, I’m surprised I find time to sleep.”

  “I kind of wondered about that one. You went to bed after me last night and got up with the sun.”

  “I needed to weed Marge’s flowerbed.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “At crack-ass-of-dawn?”

  “Someone needs to do it.” Maybe not that early in the morning, but it was the only available moment I had in my schedule. It looked one-hundred percent better, and—

  “It doesn’t always have to be you. Would it hurt to slow down and enjoy even one second in life?”

  Indecision battling with duty in my mind, I fiddled with the tie on my sundress. This outfit was too…date-like. Should I change into shorts?

  “I’ll vacuum,” Paisley said, standing. “Heck, I’ll even cook dinner. Go get ice cream with Dag.”

  I wanted to spend time with him. No use denying the fact. I just wasn’t sure I trusted myself enough to let things go further.

  “It’s only ice cream,” Paisley said softly.

  “Not a real date.” Worry came through in my voice.

  She rounded the coffee table. Taking my hands, she stilled my fingers before they knotted up the tie. “Would it be that bad to call it a date?”

  My eyes flew to hers, which were more solemn than they should be. “I made a vow.”

  “Break it.” When I started to protest, she held up a finger. “Instead of trying to control things that haven’t already happened, enjoy this one day in time. It’s the only moment you’ve got.”

  My shoulders slumped. “You’re right.”

  She grinned. “Always, am I right?” After snatching my purse up off the kitchen counter, she stuffed it into my hands, handed me my truck keys, and pushed me out the door. “Go. Have fun. But be home before midnight or I’m comin’ after you with a shotgun!” Her cackle rang out as the door swung shut behind me.

  Petunia protested with a few bangs when I turned the key, but her grumbles smoothed out as the vehicle took me into town. I parked and strolled to the ice cream place, where Dag and a little boy waited underneath the awning.

  Dag wore his kilt. Of course.

  My knees trembled, suggesting they weren’t sure they could carry me the rest of the way without collapsing. Damn, but he looked hot.

  “Hi.” Dag’s mouth curled into a soft smile. His eyes drifted down my front and his smile widened. “Wonderful to see ye again, lass.”

  “Hi.” My voice squeaked. Heat warmed my face. Why was I feeling shy? We were just friends meeting up to have ice cream.

  You just keep telling yourself that, ‘lass’.

  The boy peeked around Dag’s side, and I bent forward, offering my hand. “I'm Lark. You must be Timothy.”

  With a hesitant smile, he took it.

  I straightened and slid my gaze down Dag’s front. Without a doubt, his bare legs were cute. Knobby knees, but they only added character. Just enough hair to make me wonder how it would feel underneath my fingertips.

  I needed to lasso my libido before it raced with me to the o
uter pasture.

  He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. His words whispered down my spine. “You like what you see?”

  It was disconcerting that he could read me so well.

  Flustered by his nearness, I rubbed my belly—which had decided ice cream sounded yum. “Maybe we should go inside?”

  He waved to the front door. “After you.”

  Inside, we crowded near the counter, where I turned to Timothy. “I always get raspberry chocolate chip. What do you want?”

  “I want a sundae with everything. Whipped cream. Cherries. Chocolate.” His brown eyes grew wider with every word. “Even peanuts, which I always thought were yucky, but I don’t anymore.”

  “Timothy, I’m worried all that junk will make you sick,” Dag said. “How about a cone instead?”

  The boy’s lower lip quivered. His eyes joined in on the game and watered.

  I held in my laugh.

  “Okay, a sundae.” Dag scowled when Timothy’s waterworks shut down as fast as they’d started. “With everything?”

  Timothy pointed at the glass case. “There’s green and pink and blue and orange. I want them all.”

  Knowing my belly would rumble if I dumped anything like that into it, I shook my head. Better Dag’s car for the bumpy ride home, than mine.

  The woman behind the counter couldn’t take her eyes off Dag. Not that I blamed her. My own eyes were glued to his broad shoulders. His legs. Okay, even his butt.

  “My treat,” Dag said when I tried to pay for my cone.

  We took seats out front beneath the awning. A light breeze played with my hair, and the sun felt toasty on my bare legs below my sundress.

  “Interesting choice.” I lifted my chin toward his cone. “Two scoops of vanilla-bacon, topped with a maple coating and a ton of chocolate sprinkles?”

  He tipped his waffle cone my way. “Try it. You’ll like it.”

  The heat in his eyes shouted, try me, you’ll like me, but I chose to take his words on face value. “You’re mixing perfectly good bacon with chocolate. You could get arrested for something like that.”

  “And maple.” He licked his tongue up one side, making sprinkles rain down his chest. “Dinnae forget the maple, lass.”

 

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