Some Like It Scot (Crescent Cove Book 1)

by Marlie May

“I see,” I said softly. Actually, I didn’t. Why wasn’t Charity hiring me?

  “You were my top choice until I interviewed my last candidate. She has more experience.”

  “I understand.” Rote words that shared none of the anguish crushing me.

  “I’m really sorry.” Charity took a deep breath. “If I hear of anything you might be interested in, I’ll let you know. You were my second pick. I want you to know that, even though it probably doesn’t help much.”

  “Thanks.” I needed to hang up.

  It was never good to fall apart while talking on the phone.

  * * *

  By five, I’d dragged myself up off the floor, fed Cally and given her some more pats, and showered and dressed. I was waiting when Dag parked his car in the drive.

  I’d decided not to tell him about the job for now. With the rush surrounding the Highland Games, we’d barely had time to talk. My need to savor tonight with him was a living thing inside me. The last thing I wanted to do was spend our time wallowing in self-pity. Thoughts about jobs could crowd back into my mind tomorrow.

  “Let’s play mini golf and have dinner,” Dag said as we buckled up.

  “I love mini golf.” Reaching across the center console, I linked my hand with his. “I should warn you right now, though. I’m a mini golf pro.”

  “Like Tiger Woods?”

  I buffed the fingernails of my free hand on my top. “I outranked him.”

  He grinned. “Oh, yeah?”

  “I was so good, they retired my club.”

  “I assume I get a handicap, then? Say, two, three holes?”

  “If you ask nicely.”

  “Watch me.” He drove to the next town over and parked in front of Pete’s Pirate Chest.

  “So cute.” I took in the clipper ship they’d converted into an entrance. A peg-legged mechanical pirate shifted by the door, a parrot perched on his shoulder. A pirate’s life for me tinkled through the speakers, making me want to sing along. “I didn’t know this place was here.”

  “Come, now. A mini golf pro who hasn’t taken on the Pirate Pete’s Challenge? Where you been?”

  “People started forfeiting whenever I entered a competition, so I fully retired.”

  “You’re on, sweetheart.” Dag came around to meet me in front of the car. Holding hands, we strolled through the opening in the ship and up to the desk inside. We picked out lucky balls—yellow for me, pink for Dag—and approached hole number one with our clubs.

  Dag reached into his pocket. “Coin toss to see who goes first?”

  “Um, you can go.” I needed to assess his golfing skill level.

  And I needed to figure out how the hell to play mini golf.

  Tall tales never paid off, and I was the last one to appreciate untruths. It looked like I needed to nip my newly found fibbing tendency before it got me into trouble.

  He whacked the ball and crowed when his pink missile shot up over a mini bridge, flew down the other side, and coasted around to plop into the hole. “A freakin’ hole in one.” Striding up to me, he kissed me. “One, baby, one. Beat that, mini golf pro.”

  “My good luck must be rubbing off on you already.” I wrote his score on the card and tucked it into my pocket while I took my turn. Squinting at my objective, I dropped the ball and snagged it into place with my shoe. How hard could this be?

  A quick hit and I called out, “Get ‘em, baby,” as my ball zipped toward the bridge. Up, then down, it hit the wall and rolled toward the hole, stopping more than a foot from the opening. Unless a sudden, stiff wind sent it in the right direction, it was going to take two hits to sink my ball.

  “Missed,” Dag said in a needling tone I found too cute.

  “I’m rusty. It’s been years since I mini golfed. Give me time to warm up.”

  “Ha. You’re no mini golf pro.”

  “Am too.”

  He waved to the course, his smile smug. “Prove it.”

  “I will.” Shaking my finger at him, I struggled to hold in my grin. With diva in my stride, I strode over to my ball and tapped it into the hole. “So, there.”

  “Two strokes. Which is twice the number of shots as my hole-in-one.”

  “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

  “Just saying.”

  I pointed my club toward the next hole. “Lead on.”

  At number two, our challenge was to shoot the ball through a minuscule hole in the middle of a mound of pirate booty—fake pearl necklaces, jewels, and chalices overflowing with gold dust. The stuff you usually found hanging around in coastal Maine.

  He scored another hole-in-one.

  And I was beginning to think I’d been had.

  “Top that,” he said in a high-pitched voice, wiggling his butt.

  “Just watch me.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, I do. I do.”

  I snickered because watching was mutual. Bending forward, I peeked over my shoulder at him. “You checking out my butt?”

  “All the time.”

  “Then check out this.” Humming a pirate tune, I swayed my hips and whacked the ball. It took the rebellious route, hopping over the treasure. Plunking onto the green on the other side, it rolled slow enough, I thought I’d have to leap over the jewels and blow on it. “Come on, baby!” My ball wavered and dropped into the hole. I jumped, my club in the air. “Yay! Yay!”

  Dag laughed. “Not bad, not bad.” Scooping up his ball, he led the way again. “Let’s see what you can do at the next.”

  “Told you. Mini golf pro.”

  “I like your unconventional style, by the way,” he said over his shoulder.

  “The butt swagger or my strategic move of sending my ball over the treasure instead of underneath?”

  “Both.”

  The next provided an interesting challenge. We needed to roll our balls down a hill without hitting the mechanical parrots who kept bobbing their beaks to create obstacles. Then the ball had to scoot up onto a small island with palm trees. Our goal was the hole in the middle.

  “Where’s the rum?” I asked, tropical tunes running through my mind.

  “At my place.”

  “Is that on the agenda tonight?” Say yes.

  “Yes.”

  Good answer. “Then, rum it is.”

  By the time we approached hole number eighteen, we were neck-and-neck on the scorecard. Well, if I stretched my neck. I was actually two points behind.

  “What’s the score?” he asked, peering over my shoulder at the card.

  I thrust the paper down by my side. “Not telling.”

  “You’re not, eh?” Moving in on me, he tried to snag the card from my grip, but I darted away. Before I could escape, he grabbed me from behind and pulled me back into his arms, while I giggled. Tugging the card from my grip, he squinted at it. “Woo! I’m ahead.” He wiggled his butt again.

  “That’s so juvenile.”

  “That’s me. Juvenile.”

  “A little too proud of it, aren’t you?”

  “You like that in me. I can tell.” Wrapping me tighter in his arms, he nuzzled my neck.

  “You guys playing through?” a man asked. He elbowed the woman beside him. “How come we’re not playing like they are?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because you’re not wearing a kilt.”

  We let the couple go ahead of us so we wouldn’t be rushed during our last hole.

  I shot first. A hole-in-one. Three shots for him.

  I held in my smile but leaped around. “Tied! Tied!”

  But our balls were gone, sucked up by the final hole, and it was time to return our clubs to the desk.

  Dag scrutinized the card as we walked toward the car. “Hey.”

  Pausing, I turned to stare at him. “What?”

  “Your math sucks.”

  I snagged the card from his hand and crumpled it. “It was a tie.”

  “Sure.” He shook his head and grinned.

  Pursing my lips, I climbed into the p
assenger seat.

  “Dinner?” he asked as we buckled up.

  My belly groaned. “Please. I’m starved.”

  “I’ve got just the treat in store for you.”

  Being with Dag was the best treat in the world. No one would hear me complaining about anything.

  I’d started to believe.

  Dag

  I couldn’t hide what I had in store for Lark tonight. In fact, I expected her to guess. But the real surprise would come when she sat in my kitchen and dug in.

  After parking at the Corner Mart, I ran inside. Nothing would beat the look on her face when she opened up that white paper wrapping and took in heaven.

  I was nervous, unsure how she’d take it when I came clean about everything else, but at least my confession would be delivered on a full belly.

  She’d understand, wouldn’t she?

  I paid the clerk and ran back outside. Opening the car door, I climbed in and tossed the brown paper bag onto the back seat. While buckling up, I stole a kiss from Lark. Or she stole a kiss from me. Hardly mattered who did what when we both wanted it.

  She shook her finger at me. “I’m not going to comment on that fantastic smell. Fortunately, I’m so hungry, I’m up for almost anything. Especially after you lost at mini-golf.”

  “Lost!” Sweet revenge was in this woman’s future, and I knew a variety of ways to deliver.

  I was twisting to buckle when the vehicle a space over caught my eye. Dad’s truck, with Dad sitting in the driver’s seat. What was he doing here?

  Dad turned to someone I could barely see in the other seat. The person—no, a woman—leaned forward, her hands gripping my father’s shoulders. Their mouths met in what even I considered a steamy kiss.

  My face must’ve given away my horror because Lark’s grin slid and she turned to look for herself. “Anyone you know?”

  “That’s my father.” The Grim Reaper had come for my voice.

  “Why so solemn? Let’s say hi.”

  She reached for the door handle, but I grabbed her arm. “Don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s not Mom.”

  Her chin dropped. “Oh.” She turned to gape out the window again.

  Memories of sitting on Mom’s lap while she read me a book—her hair a curtain around us—blended with the anguish that had taken over her face fifteen years ago, when she found out Dad had ruined their marriage by sleeping with someone else.

  Dad pulled the woman closer. If that was possible. His traitorous fingers wove through her short hair, tugging on the strands—so unlike Mom’s gorgeous, long hair.

  Swallowing deeply, I tried not to vomit.

  My heart slammed in my chest like I’d run three 10ks. I couldn’t watch this any longer. Jamming the key into the ignition, I cranked the engine, grinding the starter to dust. I dumped the vehicle into reverse, making the tires squeal as I jerked the car backward. My furious pace sent us bumping out onto the main road. Only gritting my teeth held back my shout of pain. Of betrayal. My anger at my dad burned a hole through my lungs faster than battery acid.

  Lark faced me. “There must be an explanation. We could—”

  “For kissing another woman?”

  “Maybe you’re mistaken. Maybe it’s not him.”

  “It’s him. Trust me.” His hair. The shape of his head. His construction company name blazing on the side of the vehicle, with owner underneath.

  Lark squeezed my hand where I gripped the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. I thought—”

  “Like I did.” That my father could be trusted.

  Why was Dad excited about his and Mom’s anniversary? Did he think he could have Mom plus this woman on the side? He must plan to keep his relationship with this one quiet, not even bother to leave Mom this time around.

  This was bad. Worse than fifteen years ago. Last time he’d done something like this, he’d ripped our family apart.

  Ripped me apart. This time, we’d never repair our family.

  I wanted to storm from my car and slam my fist into Dad’s face, but what point would that prove? Dad had already proven his own point.

  Pulled up to a stop sign, I turned right. Took the next left. Raced my way through downtown. As we rode, I tried to forget what I’d seen, but it was impossible.

  Leave it to good old Dad to spice up the evening. How dare he cheat on my mother again?

  This night was a plane with blown engines, plunging for the ground. The best thing I could do was take Lark home and tell her we could get together another time. But being alone right now wasn’t the wisest choice either. I might be tempted to speed my car back to the Corner Mart and tear my father apart.

  Lark rubbed my shoulder. “You okay?”

  “I guess.” How could I be? Nothing would ever be the same.

  While it was weak and foolish, I didn’t want to be alone. Lark’s presence was my only comfort. I couldn’t push her away.

  I parked in my driveway and sat while the engine cooled, wondering if I could do this. Caring for someone only resulted in pain.

  Lark grabbed the paper bag off the back seat and popped open her door.

  Getting out as well, I followed, each step on the walk feeling like a thousand.

  Inside, Lark placed the bag on the kitchen table. She crossed the room to where I stood in the doorway, took my hands, and linked our fingers. Sympathy filled her voice. “You want to talk about it?”

  I shook my head and tried to dig myself out of the wallow I’d sunken into. I couldn’t let Dad ruin this night for me and Lark. “How about we eat instead?”

  “We can do that.” She walked to the fridge. “Soda? Or should we skip it and go right for the rum?”

  Nice of her to circle around to our earlier joke. A joke made back when the future seemed perfect.

  Her humor used to tickle me, draw out the best I had to give. Now, I couldn’t grab onto that feeling again. It slipped through my fingers like razor wire.

  You can do this. Let the world disappear for now.

  Opening the bag, I pulled out two paper-wrapped bundles and handed one to Lark.

  “I can’t wait to watch your face when you try this,” I said, struggling to find the man I’d been before this evening fell apart.

  Why had I started to trust Dad again? I should’ve known my father was the same man he’d been when I was fifteen. A cheater.

  “More face-watching, eh?” Lark laid the package on the paper plate in front of her.

  I rubbed my palms together. “Open it up.” My appetite had fled. Even the savory call of pepperoni, oregano, and hot bread couldn’t spark my belly.

  Peeling off the wrapper, Lark revealed the calzone I’d wanted to share with her. Tomato sauce and cheese oozed from the sides.

  “Wow, this smells heavenly.” She smacked her hand over her mouth, but her eyes still gave away her snicker. “Okay, I shouldn’t have said that. After all, this is convenience store fare.”

  The old Dag would’ve teased her unmercifully for the dig at his favorite dining establishment. The new Dag? He was having a hard time drumming up anything but anger. Not at her. At the way my life had taken a turn for the worse.

  Try harder.

  I held up my hand. “I know, I know. Give it a chance before you start picking it apart, huh?”

  She smirked. “Another try it, you’ll like it?”

  Ice cream kisses with Lark felt like another lifetime ago. “Exactly.”

  Breaking off a chunk of her calzone, she lifted it to her mouth. “What am I getting myself into here?” Her teeth sunk through the crust.

  Fearing it would taste like dirt, I didn’t touch my own. The soggy dough lying on my plate shouted disappointment. While Lark closed her eyes and chewed, I dropped my napkin on top of my meal. No way could I stomach food, no matter how hard I tried.

  Her eyes popped open, filled with excitement I couldn’t share. “It’s wonderful. Who would’ve thought?” She nudged her chin toward my meal. “You’re
not hungry. Or am I just being a pig about this, chowing through mine?”

  “Lost my appetite.”

  Setting the rest of her food down on the plate, she nodded. “I’m sorry. Here I am, acting as if nothing happened. This must be hard for you, seeing your dad like that.”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.” I wasn’t sure I ever could. If I started in on Dad now, I might give in to my urge to punch the wall.

  “I still think we should’ve—”

  “Enough.”

  Lark blinked. “Okay.” Rising, she dumped the rest of her calzone in the trash. She reached for the fridge. “You want that rum now? I saw some soda in the fridge we can use as a mixer.”

  Drowning my brain sounded perfect. “Sure.” I stood and walked for the hall. “I’ll be right back.”

  When I returned from the bathroom, where I’d given myself a stern lecture to behave, I found Lark sitting on the sofa. A can of soda drizzled sweat onto the coffee table beside the bottle of rum, but Lark wasn’t drinking. Her hands wrangled on her lap as she stared at the blank TV.

  I dropped down beside her and nibbled her neck, aching to forget everything in her arms. Her warm scent, sweeter than honeycombs, filled my senses. Why had I kept my distance from her when only she could provide what I so desperately needed?

  “What’s this?” she asked softly.

  I leaned back. “What?”

  A piece of paper dropped into my lap. The anguished look on her face sent me spinning off my axis.

  Earlier, I’d put some receipts together for my accountant. Realizing I was running behind for our date, I’d left everything on my coffee table, planning to tuck the folder into my study when I arrived back home.

  The slips from numerous building materials for my new house were damaging enough. But the receipt Esteban gave me when I donated thirty thousand dollars to the Sweetwater Cancer Foundation struck betrayal gold.

  The folder now lay open on the coffee table. Not closed, as I’d left it. I reeled back, feeling defensive. “You went through my things?”

  She winced. “I didn’t mean to pry. They were spread out on the table, and I wanted to move them before I spilled—”

  “Sure, you did.” Irritated, I stuffed the papers back into the folder and stood.