Some Like It Scot (Crescent Cove Book 1)

by Marlie May

  He dropped gears as we approached an intersection. Staring straight ahead, he waited for the light to turn green. “Here’s the deal. I know you had a tough time with Victoria. And that what happened with your Dad made it hard to let anyone into your life. Hell, I’ve had my own issues with…well, you know. But you don't want to spend the rest of your life alone.”

  My friend was speaking of his own past, now. “I’m sorry about what happened between you and that woman you grew up with,” I said. “That…things didn’t work out.”

  “Thanks.” Roan’s voice had gone gruff.

  “But if a guy’s lonely, he can get a cat, right? Then he won’t need to watch TV by himself.” Scruff worked fine for me, most of the time. Lately, though, I kept thinking about how much I’d love to have Lark over for dinner and a movie. We could—

  “That’s not the point. This is about you caring about a woman, wanting to be a part of her life.”

  Opening my mouth, I got ready to refute that statement, but I shut up when I realized Roan was right. I did want Lark in my life, even if the thought scared the hell out of me.

  We turned into the trailer park.

  “Here's the thing you don't seem to get about this. You can’t waste today. Look what happened to your brother, Gunner.” Whose wife died of cancer. After her diagnosis, she was gone in no time, taking a huge part of Gunner along with her. Roan parked in Lark’s front yard and shut off the engine. “I know Gunner’s grateful for the time he had with his wife, even if it wasn’t a lifetime together. I’m grateful for what I had with…you know.” Eyes older than time drilled in on me, pinning me to my seat. Roan’s chest lifted and fell, and I had to wonder. After all these years, how could he still care this much about one woman?

  Roan continued, “Take a little advice here. When it's right, you grab onto it and never let it go.”

  I liked Lark. I wanted to go out with her. That was all this was, right?

  Why then, did the thought of never being close to Lark again make my chest clamp tighter than if I’d wedged it between two bricks?

  Lark emerged from the house and squinted at us from her small deck, her arms snug across her waist, fingers worrying her elbows. I wanted to stride over and wrap her up in my arms. Tell her I’d make sure everything would be okay.

  I…I was falling hard for this woman. And the thought stunned me.

  We got out of the truck while Lark crossed the lawn.

  “A wrecker?” She tipped her head toward her truck. “Petunia’s in sad shape, but she doesn’t need to be hauled to the junkyard yet.”

  “Petunia?” Roan stole the question from me before I could voice it. “I take it you’re referring to the color, not the disposition.”

  “She used to be red.” Lark patted the hood. “Cherry red, they called it back then.”

  “When? In the nineteen-fifties?”

  Lark’s lips curled. “She was born twelve years ago. But you’re right. She’s an old mare who’d be grazing in a pasture if I didn’t need her so badly.”

  “Let’s take a look, shall we?” Roan popped the hood. He braced it up and leaned over the engine.

  “What do you think’s wrong?” Lark asked, crowding next to his other side.

  “Hard saying.” Roan grunted. “Want to try to start it up?”

  “I just bought a new battery.” Lark climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Looks like this hunk of junk needs more than a new battery to me,” Roan said softly. “Out to pasture? This mare needs to be put down.”

  “The engine?” I whispered. No need to flag Lark’s hopes before they got started.

  Roan tapped the hood, where sunlight peeked through. “A new body, while we’re at it.”

  Lark turned the key. The battery generated a spark, but the engine didn’t catch.

  “Here’s the thing,” I said.

  Roan didn’t look up from where he tinkered. “Shoot.”

  “Lark’s got her pride.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “And we’re not exactly going out—yet.”

  Roan’s chuckles rang out over the crank of the battery.

  I scratched the back of his neck and squirmed. “She’s already made it clear she won’t accept favors from me.”

  “Meaning a new truck.”

  “I’d buy her one today if she’d let me.”

  His chuckles grew louder. If that was possible. “Man, have you got it bad.”

  At this point, there was no disputing that fact. I leaned close enough, only Roan could hear. “She’s got this thing about people spending money on her. What does the truck need to get it running again?”

  “I could clean out the carburetor; change the plugs, the belts. Might do the trick for now. Get her a few months more out of it.”

  “Can you do all that today?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” I patted him on the back.

  Lark came around to join us, her eyebrows pinched together. “What’s wrong with it? Even more important, can it be fixed?”

  “Easy enough.” Roan straightened. He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped the grease off his hands. “I’ll run into town for a few parts and get this baby running in a snap.”

  Lark nibbled on her lower lip, something I craved to do. “How much will it be?”

  “My uncle can give you the parts at cost. I’m thinking”—a glance at me—“twenty bucks?”

  Her relief tasted sweet in the air. “I can do that. Thank you.”

  We took the wrecker into town and returned to Lark’s place. I played surgeon’s assistant, handing Roan tools and parts as directed. After, the truck ran. Not well, but as good as it was going to without a serious overhaul.

  “Iced coffee?” Lark asked us as Roan shut the hood. “I made a pot earlier.”

  He started toward the house, but I snagged his arm.

  “Not now, thanks.” Tapping his side, I kept my expression neutral.

  The blinks Roan turned my way made him resemble a mole emerging from the ground into broad daylight. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, Lark. No can do.”

  “No?”

  “I need to get home and, oh, I need to shower,” Roan said. “Yeah, right, shower, get ready to…go out tonight. With…someone.” Roan possessed as much stealth as his Uncle Jim’s wrecker.

  Lark directed her gaze at me. “How about you, Dag? Now that I have a running vehicle again,”—she patted Petunia, her well-heeled pup—“I can give you a ride home.”

  “Oh, uh, thanks. I’ve got to shower, too. Change my clothes.” I slapped my hands on my thighs, smearing grease around to make my excuse come across solid.

  Her eyes slid down my front, but her lips only rose to half-mast. “Where’s your kilt?”

  “Tucked away for the next prime opportunity.”

  Her smile grew true, suggesting she was okay with my ongoing pursuit.

  There was no denying the relief I felt. “I missed you this morning for our run.”

  Her eyes darted in any direction but mine. It knocked my ego down a peg.

  “I went for a run, but I took a different route. I needed to think.”

  “Did you come to any conclusions?”

  “I’ll just go do a few things over there, okay?” Whistling loudly, Roan walked away to gather up his tools.

  “I did come to a conclusion.” Lark’s breath chugged from her lungs. “We need to talk.”

  A moment ago, I’d gotten the impression she was going to say she wanted to see me for real, but now, I wasn’t certain. If Lark planned to say we were done for good—even though we hadn’t yet gotten started—I was headed for a quick demise.

  “How about I get cleaned up and come back?” I scrambled for more time. “You told me you don’t work tonight, right?” A detail I’d verified with a quick call to Paisley earlier.

  “I don’t work until Tuesday.”

  “Then I’ll come for you around four, okay?”

  She smiled, her sunnines
s restored. “Okay.”

  It was time to enact Plan C.

  Lark

  Waiting equaled torture.

  Instead of behaving like a tween talking up her first crush, I should’ve pinned Dag down while I had him on my front lawn to verify exactly when he’d arrive tonight. I was excited to see him again. Even more, I was eager to tell him I wanted him in my life. Assuming he still wanted in.

  He’d been quiet while he and Roan worked on my truck. Had he come over only because we were friends? Maybe he wasn’t interested in me that way anymore. After all, I’d put him off multiple times. My I’m not sure might’ve finally struck, when I was ready to say yes.

  I wiggled on the sofa, wishing my shorts would stop riding up my crotch.

  “Sit still.” Paisley didn’t look up from where she sat scrolling on her phone.

  “These shorts are too freaking tight. I should’ve gone with something else.”

  “You look great.”

  “Maybe I should change before Dag gets here.”

  Paisley glared through her lashes. “Leave the outfit alone.”

  That’s what I got for mentioning I was telling Dag I wanted to be with him, combined with I have nothing to wear. Steamroller Paisley had dug through my closet, flinging clothing everywhere. She’d unearthed shorts I hadn’t worn since high school. From my bureau, she’d pulled out a loose, flowery top I’d picked up at a yard sale.

  Paisley peeked at the clock hanging in the kitchen. No need to look. I’d already done so myself. Four-o-clock.

  “Aren’t you leaving soon?” I asked.

  Paisley had said something about a date tonight.

  She looked at the clock again. “He’ll be here any time now.”

  If it would bring Dag quicker, I’d check the clock again, too, but I doubted two minutes had passed since the last time I looked.

  I lifted Never Mock A Highlander off the coffee table. In the story, Lenore had agreed to marry someone other than Duncan to secure her clan’s borders. Duncan was determined to stop her. On horseback, he’d chased down her wedding party and kidnapped her. He took her to an isolated crofter’s cottage and carried her inside, where he tied her up to keep her from escaping. Lenore worked free from her bonds and hit him over the head, stunning him. She secured him with the ties and ran, only going a short distance before guilt overcame her. Concerned she’d truly hurt him, she’d returned to the cottage.

  An enraged Highlander’s bellow greeted Lenore when she opened the door. At least she hadn’t killed him.

  “Untie me this verra instant,” he shouted.

  Striding over to the bed, Lenore struggled to maintain her glare, but her lips twitched. “’Tis only fair, isn’t it? Ye tied me, and now I have tied ye in my place.”

  “Fair? Ye think it fair to do this to me when I was only keeping ye from making the worst mistake of yer life?”

  Lenore lifted her hands to her hips. “Worst mistake? I was following my father’s wishes. Nae, I was making a life for myself. A life ye cannae give me.”

  His anger deflated. “Ah, lass, if only I could. Dinnae ye ken how hearing ye would wed another made me feel?”

  Anguish filled her voice. “How did it make you feel? Because I dinnae ken yer feelings for me much of the time.”

  “I care for ye, lass. More than any other. It killed me to think of ye marrying him. Sleeping with him. Bearing his bairns.”

  Not the exact words she’d hoped for, but Duncan never discussed emotions. Yet, here he was, almost declaring himself for her, his heart ringing out in his words. Approaching the bed, she climbed up onto it. Onto him.

  He strained against his bonds. “What are ye doing, Lenor—”

  She stole her name from his lips with her kiss, showing him with her touch that he was the only man she wanted to be with. Lifting her head, she laughed, low and husky. “Mayhap I like you tied.”

  Her passion mounting, she released him.

  He flipped her onto her back and lowered himself on top of her. “And mayhap I like ye this way.” Bunching her skirts, he slipped his hand underneath and rubbed where she longed for him most.

  “Stop me now, lass,” he whispered hoarsely. “Or there’s no turning back.”

  “Wow.” Paisley cupped her cheeks, her mouth forming a circle. “What’s going on outside?”

  I blinked at her, yanked from the steamy moment.

  Paisley pulled aside the curtain and stared out the window. “Would you look at that.”

  Look at what? Wait. What was that sound? If I didn’t know better, I’d think the plodding noise outside was horses. But…there were no horses in town as far as I knew.

  “Ye willnae stop me, ye fiend!”

  That voice.

  “Dag?” I tossed my book at the couch, where it bounced onto the floor. Stepping over it, I rushed to the door and flung it open, where I stared, shock flashing through me. “Oh. My. Word.”

  Every fantasy I’d had in the past meant nothing compared to what I witnessed right now.

  Dag and Roan, dressed in kilts, sat on horses on my front lawn, battling with swords.

  “I’ll not let ye have her,” Dag said, slashing his weapon through the air.

  “Ohhh,” Paisley joined me on the deck. “They both look hot in those kilts and wrapped cloth things on their chests.”

  “They’re called tartans.”

  “Whatever.” She floated down the steps. Racing over to them, she shook her finger at Dag. “Don’t get hurt.”

  Kind of hard to do when the sword fight was happening in slow motion.

  I walked over and squinted up at Dag.

  “I willnae permit this, lass.” With a brutal thrust of his claymore, Dag killed Roan, who fell off his horse and onto the grass. Not exactly killed him; the claymores were plastic. And someone had thrown a pile of blankets conveniently on the grass where Roan landed.

  Paisley stared down at Roan. “You okay?”

  After dismounting from his horse, Dag strode over to me. Grunting, he flipped me over his shoulder and pivoted. While he carried me, I slapped my hands on his back and squealed, unsure if the noise was from fear, shock, or plain old arousal. He remounted the horse with me in his arms.

  Mayhap Dag had caught his wind.

  I was flopped face down across his thighs, my legs flailing. It would’ve been torture without the bright pink body pillow, but that wasn’t why I struggled. I wanted to talk to him. If kissing was involved, I was okay with that, too. But kissing and conversation were impossible while I remained in this position. This was taking things too far down Peculiar Street.

  Whirling the horse, he urged it down my driveway.

  I took a deep breath and sneezed. No one would ever compare the smell of a horse to flowers.

  “Have fun, kids,” Paisley called out. “I’ll watch out for Cally.”

  Damn my sister. She’d been in on this from the start.

  With his hand on my butt, Dag whirled the horse in a circle. Okay, this was too much like the movies. I worried I’d fall. His hand on my butt pressed harder. While I wanted to protest the placement of his fingers—on the bare skin exposed by my shorts—I was too worried about meeting the ground. At a bone-jarring trot, Dag guided the horse down the road.

  Dag patted its neck. “Easy there.”

  “So, this is…interesting.” I tried to slide off feet first, but Dag’s hold tightened.

  “Take care, lass.” Dag slowed the horse to a walk and tapped my butt.

  I snorted. “Tell me you did not just do that.”

  “I wasn’t doing that. I was just trying to keep ye in place, lass.”

  Shit, was this fun. And sexy. A sword fight, a pretend kidnapping, and fleeing on a horse. Right after I’d read a similar scene in Never Mock A Highlander.

  Dag had perfected wooing.

  “I didn’t know you were into things like that.” I couldn’t keep the laughter out of my voice.

  “Would it make ye more interested in lift
ing yer skirts if I was?”

  “Umm.” I coughed. “I’m not wearing a skirt.”

  “Minor technicality, sweetheart.”

  “I…” I squirmed. Lord, but I was sorely tempted to lift my skirts. Or lower my shorts. Whatever.

  “Lost yer words, lass?” Kicking, he encouraged the horse to go faster. “Mayhap, when we stop, we can explore this option further.” His fingers teased my butt again, spiking heat along my spine. “Did ye know that if ye go cross country, our homes are only a few minutes apart?” Riding into the woods at the back of my trailer park, Dag wove down a trail. In moments, we arrived beside the shed in his back yard. Correction. The sign hanging above the door said, Abandoned Crofter’s Cottage.

  Dismounting on a set of conveniently placed steps, Dag shifted me around to carry me in his arms. “Off we go, lass.” He strode toward the cottage.

  A man jumped up onto the horse and trotted it down the driveway. Obviously, the horse was a rental unit.

  Dag lowered me to my feet in front of the cottage. Oh, my. Like in my book, did he have a bed in there, with silk scarves to tie me up? I’d never tried anything like that before, but the idea set me on fire.

  “We going inside?” I nudged my head toward the door.

  “It, uh…not tonight. It might need a little work.”

  I chuckled. “Need a little spring cleaning, does it?” It was kind of nice that something could be counted on with Dag.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s okay.” Out here would do well for what I wanted to say.

  “This is it, Lark,” Dag said before I could speak. He’d dropped his Scottish accent along with his shoulders. “All joking aside, I’ve put myself out there for you, done all I could to convince you to give me a chance. I don’t want to push you if you don’t feel the same. If you’re not open to us, I’ll give you the space you’ve asked for.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” Stilling, he studied my face. “Yes, like…exactly what do you mean by yes?” Sweet vulnerability filled his voice and sent an answering clench into my heart. “I need clarification here.”

  “I’ll do it. Go out with you.”

  He cracked a grin and shifted forward, sliding his hand around my waist to capture the low of my back. “Will ye lift yer skirts as well, then, lass?”