Some Like It Scot (Crescent Cove Book 1)

by Marlie May

  Yanking my shirt over my head, I laid it beside Cally. “I’m sorry, honey.” With infinite care, I moved her onto it, making sure I didn’t jar her leg. Cally yelped, tearing my heart apart. Walking slowly, I carried her toward our home.

  Paisley met us at the door. “The vet said she’d be there in ten minutes.” She held out her arms. “Let me take her. This is my fault.”

  “Don’t say that. It happened. If anyone’s to blame, it’s the driver.” My voice broke. “They didn’t even stop to see if she was okay. How could they do something like that?”

  Cally whimpered and strained to lick my face.

  “It’s okay, honey,” I said. “Stay still.” Cally looked up at me as if I could bring the world to its knees. You’ll help me. I know it. “I’ll take her. Start Petunia for me?”

  Snatching the keys off the hook, Paisley darted outside. Silence followed for far too long. She returned, panting. “Won’t start.”

  “I’ll run to the vet.”

  “You can’t,” Paisley said. “Each step will hurt her.”

  “I can do it.” I had to.

  Paisley cupped my shoulders and rested her forehead against mine. “Not this time. We’ll ask for help.”

  “Who? Jolene takes enough Xanax to sedate an elephant. And I doubt Marge sleeps with her hearing aids in. She won’t hear us banging on the door until sometime tomorrow.”

  “There must be someone we can ask.”

  There was. Someone I knew I could trust, no matter what. “I’ll call Dag.”

  Paisley sat on the sofa, and I laid Cally in her arms. After tossing on another shirt, I scrambled through my purse, locating my phone. I sent Dag a text, praying he was still awake. I need your help.

  His reply came through in seconds. Tell me what I can do.

  Cally’s been hit by a car, and my truck won’t start. Can you take us to the vet?

  Be there in five.

  He did it in three.

  By the time I’d stepped onto the lawn with Cally in my arms, he’d run around the front of the car and had the passenger door open. He helped me buckle and then shut my door. After tucking himself into his seat, he shifted into reverse, peering over his shoulder. “East Main, right?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know you can call me anytime.”

  That fact was solidifying in my brain.

  We said nothing during the ride, both listening to make sure Cally kept breathing, hoping each breath wouldn’t be her last. I stroked her head, and the dog licked my hand.

  The vet met us at the door. “In here.” She directed us down the hall. “On the right. Lay her on the exam table, please.”

  I lowered Cally onto the hard surface, and she sighed as if she’d braced herself during the bumpy ride but could now relax.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” the vet asked.

  Trying not to cry, I explained.

  “Hmm. Okay. Yes.” The vet looked up from where she bent over the dog. “I think it’s just her leg, but I’ll have to take films. Why don’t you sit? I’ll be back once we’re finished.” Lifting Cally, she carried her from the room.

  There were two chairs, each parked in front of a different wall. A poster of a cat with its body parts identified hung above the chair I slumped into.

  Dag screeched the other chair over beside mine. Sitting, he slid his arm around my shoulders and tucked my hand into his. “Cally’s a trooper. I know she’s going to be okay.”

  “Thank you for being here with me.” Exhausted, I leaned into his side, absorbing his warmth and comfort. What would I have done if I’d been alone? I wouldn’t have been able to bear it.

  Forever later, the vet bustled back into the room, her arms as empty as the look I gave her. But her grin couldn’t be denied. “What a relief. It was just her leg. I worried…well, that doesn’t matter now. Cally will be fine.”

  I jumped to my feet, a burst of energy awakening my brain and my senses. But I kept hold of Dag’s hand.

  “I’m afraid her leg’s broken in two places,” the vet said. “I’ve given her a sedative and some pain killer, and will realign and cast it once you’re gone.”

  “Can I stay while you do it?” I asked.

  “Go home. I’d like to keep her overnight. My assistant will be here soon to help.”

  “She’s really going to be okay?” I whispered. I kept picturing Cally’s crumpled body lying on the cold, dark pavement. The whimper she released when I touched her. The image would haunt my sleep tonight.

  “She’ll be fine,” the vet said. “While she’s in the cast, she’ll have to learn to get around on three legs, but you’ll be surprised how fast dogs pick that up. The biggest issue will be keeping her from chewing the cast off. I can give you a cone for her neck or a bottle of Bitter Apple. Keep the cast sprayed and the taste will be so bad, she’ll leave it alone. Most dogs do, anyway.”

  “How long will she need the cast?”

  “Five, six weeks. I’ll watch her progress, see how she’s healing. We can discuss that tomorrow.” She directed us to the lobby.

  Stopping outside, I took in long breaths of the cool air, but my head still spun. Cally would be okay. Trembling took over my body. I leaned against the front wall, and my tears wet my lashes.

  Dag pulled me into his arms. Not with passion, but with caring. Two friends sharing our relief that one little dog would be okay. He rubbed my back and murmured soothing sounds while his chin rested on the top of my head.

  This man. The things he’d do for me fragmented my heart into a billion pieces.

  Taking my hand, he directed me to his car and settled me inside. He buckled me when my limp fingers refused to cooperate.

  “I’ll be right back.” He paused before shutting my door. “You okay?”

  I nodded, and he ran back into the vet’s. He reappeared in minutes and climbed in beside me. “I’m glad she’s okay. She’s a tough little pup.”

  We drove across town, the small car bumping along the uneven pavement. The sky arched above, inky black, and cloud cover had stolen the stars.

  Dag pulled into my drive and shut off the engine. While I unbuckled, he got out and came around to my side. He helped me up to my front door, where he pulled me into his embrace again. I wrapped my arms around him and held tight. I didn’t ever want to let go.

  Even though I felt horrible about Cally, I couldn’t help myself. Dag’s nearness intoxicated me more than honeyed whiskey on a lazy summer’s day.

  Who knew what tomorrow would bring; I could barely hold onto today. But now. I could live for now. I reached up and pulled his head down to mine. The heat he always stirred in me rose as our mouths moved together. Moaning, I put all of my feelings into our kiss.

  He swept me closer, his tongue stroking mine, his hands moved on my back, urgent with need.

  Enough was a word I’d never equate with Dag. Stupid me for thinking I could deny what I felt for him.

  I lightened our kiss and stepped out of his arms. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

  He rubbed my shoulder. “Anytime.”

  “I’m sorry I got your shirt wet.”

  Dark spots stained the front of his blue tee. He rubbed his palm on the wetness and pulled his hand away to stare at it. “It’s okay. I’ve got other shirts.” His teeth flashed briefly. “You going to be okay?”

  Biting my lower lip, I nodded. I opened my door and closed it behind me as he drove away.

  After filling Paisley in on Cally, we went to bed.

  I chased sleep down a long, winding path through the woods, but it remained elusive. Rolling onto my side, I stared at the wall. Moonlight sliced through the gap between the curtains, and my body ached from working hard at the diner. Worse, the memory of Cally lying helpless on the road kept flashing through my mind.

  But those weren't the only reasons I couldn't sleep.

  I couldn't stop thinking about Dag and how wonderful it felt to be with him, to
hold him in my arms. How much I wanted to see him again.

  A little over a year ago, I’d gotten sick. High fever, rattling cough, and a body that felt like it had been flattened by a steamroller. Paisley had only been in remission a short time, but she’d helped me into the shower when I could barely walk without clinging to the wall. She’d read from my favorite books, raising her voice for Lenore and laying on a pretty decent Scottish accent for Duncan. She’d made me chicken soup.

  By then, I’d been with Ted for a while. I’d thought we were a couple. What had he done for me when I was feeling too crappy to die? He’d chewed me out when I asked him to turn the TV down so I could sleep.

  Why hadn't I kicked him out of my life then? Had I really let him convince me I didn’t deserve more than him?

  To think I was keeping Dag at arm’s length because I’d decided at our first meeting he was irresponsible. Responsibility wasn't doing dishes, putting away clothes, or mowing a lawn. It wasn't going to work from nine to five. Bank balances and credit cards, or picking up the restaurant tab, didn’t speak of true character.

  Responsibility was being there when someone needed them most.

  Dag had come over in the middle of the night. He’d held my hand and lent me his shoulder when I thought Cally might die. He’d wrapped his arms around me when I cried. He’d kissed me like he never wanted to let go.

  He made me laugh, and he teased me when I was feeling sad. He strode around in a kilt while faking a Scottish accent solely to convince me to give him a chance.

  It was past time to throw Ted to the curb permanently, along with my rules.

  And live.

  Dag

  I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever hear from Lark again.

  I’d hoped she’d come by to run with me the morning after we took Cally to the vet, but we hadn't made arrangements. To help myself feel better about her absence, I made up excuses. We’d been up late. Exhausted, she’d decided to run tomorrow instead. She was busy with Cally. She’d overslept.

  Had she found out I’d paid Cally’s vet bill yet? If so, had it pissed her off? I knew it was a high-handed thing to do, but I’d wanted to help.

  Antsy, I ran by myself. After three miles—more jogging than walking—I looped back to my house, showered, and threw on shorts and a tee. I parked my ass in my study chair and wrote the next chapter in my book.

  After picking up my phone and staring at Lark’s number for the fiftieth time, I gave in. Telling myself I needed to know how Cally was doing, which was true, I called Lark. “Hey, how are things? How’s the pup?”

  “She’s good. Jolene gave me a ride to the vet to get her.”

  “I’m glad Cally’s feeling better.”

  Silence. An awkward aura hung around me, tangible enough to touch, but I brushed it aside and plunged on. “I want to do something for you.”

  “Seems like you've already done me a favor.”

  Playing dumb might be my best option. “The ice cream.”

  “The vet.”

  Shit. Sprung.

  “I, uh, wanted to help,” I said.

  “And I appreciate it. Really. It’s just…” Her exhale leaked through the airwaves. “How much do I owe you?”

  “I don’t have the receipt right here.” I hugged the phone to my ear and scratched my arm. “Can we call it a gift? Payment for helping with my parent’s anniversary party? I wouldn’t have made a dent in that list without you.”

  “I don’t want you to do this.”

  “Why not?”

  She moaned. Not the cute, kiss-me moan that dropped me to my knees, but one with enough frustration to make me worry I’d made a no-going-backward mistake. “Because…”

  “We’re not official?” I finished for her.

  “I feel bad that you paid the bill. No, I feel upset when anyone pays my bills for me.”

  I could understand that. Everyone had their pride. While it was obvious Lark got by on her wages, one decent-sized bill could wipe her out. Had I stepped out of line paying the vet bill? I hadn’t done it to anger her. I’d wanted…What had I wanted?

  To be her hero.

  You’re not Duncan. The sooner you realize this, the easier it will be.

  The realization rippled along my spine like razor wire. What else was I supposed to do with my money besides spend it to make other people happy? I sure as hell didn’t need it all. The checks rolled in on a regular basis, but it wasn’t like I planned to jet my way around the world or buy a mansion on each continent.

  I’d locked away enough for retirement. Donated to so many causes my accountant cheered when she saw me coming. Why couldn’t I share some of my success with Lark? “I want to do it for you. Will you let me?”

  Her sigh lasted forever. “For now. But I owe you. Next time we…” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, thanks.”

  The next time we…implied she wanted to get together again, which made my chest swell to the point my shirt strained at the seams. “I like you thinking there’s a next time for us.”

  “Me, too.”

  Awesome. “You mean that?”

  “Yeah.”

  I tipped back in my chair. “Och, lassie, that’s just what I’ve been prayin’ to hear.”

  She chuckled. “I thought you might say something like that.”

  “About my other favor…”

  “Racking them up fast, aren't you? Keep in mind, I’ll owe you favors in return because that's how I roll.”

  As if I’d call them in? I liked doing things for Lark, whether she did something for me in return or not. “I’m okay with that.”

  “I'm sure you are.” Her voice deepened, and her clothing ruffled as if she sat forward in her chair. “But I mean it. No more paying for things for me.”

  “This next favor is free. Mostly.” I hoped she'd focus on the mostly part of this. “Roan and I want to come over and take a look at your truck.”

  “You seem to have a lot of free time. Don’t you have to work?”

  “I…take days off.”

  “You know it’s hard to pay bills if you don’t show up on the job.”

  “I get by.”

  “I imagine you do. I just worry about you, I guess.”

  She was worried about me? My grin wouldn’t stay off my face. One of these days I’d have to let her in on the fact that I wasn’t a real handyman. I could say I’d gotten a promotion, or that I had full-time work at my brother’s adventure park. Doing…who knows what.

  Why did I feel guilty as if saying something like that was lying to her? I’d never been bothered stretching the truth with a woman before.

  Until Lark.

  Did I dare share everything with her?

  “Roan, you said?” she asked. “What does a businessman know about working on trucks?”

  “His uncle’s a mechanic.”

  “And my cousin’s a nurse. That doesn’t mean I know how to take care of sick people.”

  “Roan worked every summer at his uncle’s auto shop, through high school and college.”

  “Hmm.”

  My grunt must’ve come through louder than I intended.

  “I’ve got a tiny control issue, don’t I?” She laughed. “Someone recently told me I was doing too much, that I had to let people help me every now and then.”

  “It’s hard to go it alone all the time.”

  The air ticked between us for a long moment. “Yeah.”

  “How about we come by around one?”

  “Okay.”

  After we ended the call, I phoned Roan. “Hey, you're still good with cars, right?”

  “I don't think that's something that ever fully goes away.”

  “It's been a while since you worked on them.”

  “Six years or so.”

  “Cars have changed.”

  He sighed. “What's the point of this, Dag?”

  “Can you come with me to look at Lark’s truck? Thing keeps crapping out on her.”

  “Paisley m
entioned that.”

  “You’re seeing Paisley?”

  “Nope, we’re just friends. But we’ve kept in touch since we met up at the Brew House.”

  “Ever occur to you that we don’t talk about stuff like that when we should?”

  “Haven't heard you asking.”

  Valid point. “I've been busy. Trying…to go out with Lark.”

  “Trying.” His chuckle made my skin itch. “You know with women it’s easier to do than try.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Roan’s recliner footrest popped up like he was settling in for the long haul. “Tell me all about it. I have time.”

  “The truck.”

  His footrest thumped down. “Okay, okay, I get it. I'll come get you.”

  * * *

  I climbed into Roan’s Uncle’s wrecker and handed him a package.

  He poked his finger through an air hole in the clear bag and wiggled it along the fabric. “You’ll explain why I need this, right? Because it feels like wool, which is…scratchy. Hot. Let alone odd.”

  “Trust me. You’re going to like wearing it.”

  “If you say so.” He dropped it onto the bench seat between us and put the wrecker in gear, backing out of my drive.

  “Needs a muffler,” I shouted.

  “What you say?”

  I cuffed my friend’s shoulder.

  “Don’t complain,” Roan said. “At least Uncle Jim let me borrow it.”

  We put the windows up, which helped with the noise. Rumbling up to the stop sign, Roan turned left. He threw me a smirk. “So, tell me about you and Lark. Something about trying to go out with her. Last I knew, you asked them out, they said yes, and you're good to go.”

  “Lark's been hard to convince.”

  Roan hooted. “You? Mr. Handyman himself?”

  I twisted my lips. “No one really calls me that.”

  “When a name that awesome fits, you keep it.”

  “It doesn’t fit.” Truly. “I just…don’t know where this is headed.”

  Roan’s hands tightened on the wheel, his joking mood gone in a flash. “I’m here to tell you. If you like her, go after her.”

  “She doesn’t seem to want me to chase her.”