“Should I change?” She tugged on the hem of her skirt.
“Why? You look fresh and summery.”
“I sound like a dryer sheet.” She bit the inside of her lip and looked up the stairs. “I have black pants and pumps I can change into.”
“Stop it. You look lovely.” He teetered toward laughter. The kind that was at her and not with her.
“I don’t want to look lovely. I want to look like a professional ass-kicker like you.” She outlined him with both hands.
Same fancy brown shoes. A different pair of slim-fitting pants that did amazing things for his legs and butt. A light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, revealing black hair over corded muscles. Granted, he hadn’t shaved, but his finger-combed hair looked delightfully rumpled.
If anything, his rough-and-ready appearance made him even more intimidating. She could imagine him striding into a boardroom to wreak havoc on subordinates. One look at Alasdair, and Loretta would hand over her deposit lickety-split. Probably her underwear too.
He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Dare I ask what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“You don’t want to know,” she muttered as Alasdair took her by the elbow and led her outside.
The morning rainstorm had left behind a sticky steam. She allowed him to guide her to his car, and he opened the car door and gestured her in.
She hesitated with one foot in and one out. “Are you offering to drive because I almost hit you the other day? I have an excellent driving record, minus the time I didn’t see a speedbump and launched my car like the Dukes of Hazard.”
His lips twitched. “You don’t have dukes in America.”
“Oh, not fancy dukes; redneck ones. Can you imagine an actual duke or earl or whatever in Highland? That would be hilarious. The dude would think we were supreme bumpkins.”
His amusement dimmed. “I doubt that. He’d think Highland was charming.”
“Sure he would.” In her imitation British accent that sounded like the queen had swallowed a cat, she said, “Iced tea? How vulgar!”
“Alright, your majesty. Get in the car.”
“Seriously though, I should drive. I know where I’m going.”
“The air-con in my rental is stellar.”
She couldn’t argue with that. The only time her truck was a pleasure to drive was in the spring and fall when she could open the windows and let the cool mountain air flow through the cab. Also, she’d never been in a car as sophisticated and sleek and … sexy as his car.
She slid onto the buttery leather and wiggled, letting her head fall back in pleasure. She could get used to the finer things in life. He leaned over her in the open door, his forearm propped on the roof. “Comfortable?”
She grinned up at him. “Can you imagine how amazing it would feel to sit here naked?”
Alasdair’s jaw went slack and his gaze skimmed down her body. Her knees clamped together. A combination of embarrassment and arousal ignited between them.
“I didn’t mean … I wouldn’t actually … It would be super unsanitary to be naked in a rental. I want you to know I would never violate your car like that.” She swallowed to stem the tide of words.
“I wouldn’t complain if—”
“Good, I caught you!” Her mom jogged down the front stairs. “Preacher Hopkins just called. The decorations are ready to be picked up at the church. He has a couple more tables as well. You don’t mind taking the truck, do you?”
“Nope. We’ll grab everything,” she called out.
As soon as Alasdair stepped back, Izzy popped out of his car. On one hand, she was glad to be saved. On the other, she wanted Alasdair to finish his thought. What wouldn’t he complain about? Did it have something to do with her clothing or lack of?
She shot Alasdair a glance on her way to the truck. “I’ll try not to hit anyone or anything.”
Alasdair slid onto the bench seat of the truck and rolled down the window as soon as she started the car. The hand of God hadn’t healed the truck overnight. The vents still pumped out ambient air, which was only a few degrees cooler than the superheated cab.
“Is it always this blasted hot? You could steam a pudding in here,” Alasdair said.
The truck jounced them over the gravel toward the main road. “Steamed pudding? Is that really a thing? Sounds disgusting.”
“It’s not like the pudding you serve in the states. You Americans gum more than eat pudding.” His obvious dissatisfaction made her huff a laugh. Puddings did make regular appearances on hospital menus. “A Scottish pudding is hearty. It can be a meal in and of itself.”
“But puddings are sweet.”
“The Scottish variety can be sweet and bready or savory. Haggis is a pudding.”
She made a gagging sound.
“Have you eaten haggis?” He set his back in the corner and draped his arm along the top of the seat, shifting to watch her.
The wind played in his hair and flipped his collar open to reveal the cut of one collarbone. Nearly breaking her promise and driving them into a gulley, she forced her focus back to the road.
“They sell haggis at the festival, but I’ve managed to avoid it.” Incredulity lilted her voice. “Do you expect me to believe you actually like it?”
“It’s delicious.” His slow smile made the temperature rise a few more degrees. “How can I convince you to give it a try?”
“Uh, tie me down and force-feed me? Offering me an obscene amount of money would work too.”
They shared a laugh. The fact she was comfortable around him made her uncomfortable. At best, Alasdair was a distraction. At worst, he and Gareth were plotting to take advantage of them in some way she hadn’t figured out.
“I will never eat haggis. Just like I will never dance in front of an audience.” Her prim tone might have been put on, but she stood by the declaration.
“Not dance? Because of your mishap at age eight? That seems like an overreaction.”
“Not just because of my humiliation at age eight. Although, developmentally speaking, eight is a pivotal year for the foundation of self-confidence in girls.” She smiled and shot him a glance to gauge his reaction to her next bit of family lore. “Mom was a ballerina with the Atlanta Ballet before Daddy whisked her to Stonehaven. If I dance, I’m inevitably compared to her and come up way short. She opens the games at the whisky tasting with a dance and leaves everyone in awe.”
“She is very graceful and serene,” he said thoughtfully.
“Exactly. And I’m neither.”
He didn’t immediately contradict her, which pricked her feelings even though it shouldn’t. “You certainly aren’t serene,” he finally said.
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re better than serene.”
“Better?”
He studied her from the corner of the truck for so long, she hunched over the steering wheel and fiddled with the hair tucked behind her ear. “You have an energy that’s magnetic. You never slow down, do you?”
“I like to keep busy,” she said weakly as she turned his assessment over in her head. Alasdair thought she was magnetic? Was that better than graceful or serene? She pictured two magnets drawn together by forces beyond their control.
“So you don’t dance or eat. Do you have any fun at your own festival?”
She let out an exasperated huff. “The festival isn’t about having fun for me. Too many people depend on me to do a good job to slack off eating and drinking and being merry.”
She parked in a small lot at the end of the main drag of Highland, close to Bubba’s Fix-it Shop. A giant sign with a hammer hitting a nail marked the entrance. “Bubba will be able to help you. I’m going to face the dragon in All Things Bright and Beautiful. Do you want to meet at the Brown Cow for a coffee?”
“Caffeine is a solid plan.” He gave her a crisp salute and stepped through Bubba’s door, the tinkle of the bell following her around the corner.
But this morning was different. Every step down the sidewalk built her sense of dread. Sweat dampened the back of her neck, and her hands turned clammy.
A banner stretched across the street advertised the festival, as did flyers stuck in every business window. The festival was as important for the town as it was for Stonehaven. This year was especially crucial because of the repairs Stonehaven required. Besides the new roof, the gutters and shutters needed to be replaced and a drainage issue at the barn had resulted in rotting boards.
The loan waiting for approval would help, but a profitable festival would go a long way to defraying the costs. And part of a successful festival was filling all the vendor booths.
She wouldn’t go home until she had Loretta’s deposit. If she couldn’t manufacture real confidence, she’d have to fake some. Smile pasted on, check. Shoulders squared, check. Stride long, check.
“Izzy, dearheart!” A voice creaky with age stopped her on the sidewalk.
Izzy turned to see Mrs. Fortunato shuffling toward her and waving a hanky embroidered with her initials. She never left home without one.
“How is your arthritis faring this morning, Mrs. F?” Izzy leaned down to give her a gentle hug.
Mrs. Fortunato held up a hand with swollen knuckles. “Fair to middling. I was able to play the organ at church last Sunday. You should have been there.” After a reproachful frown was aimed at Izzy, her face cleared. “Have you finished the next chapter?”
Mrs. Fortunato was not only a church organist, but Izzy’s former English teacher and one of the only people she let read her work. “Not yet. The festival is keeping me hopping. Do you think I’m on the right track with this one?”
“You’re getting closer every manuscript.”
It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.
Mrs. Fortunato tapped her nose and fell back into her teacher pose as if she hadn’t retired a decade earlier. “It’s missing something. A bit of magic. I can’t quite put my finger on it though.”
Izzy wanted to pull at her hair and scream. It’s the same vague statement she’d gotten in more than one rejection. No one could tell her what was missing from her writing, which meant she couldn’t figure out how to fix it. The feedback veered from simply frustrating to totally disheartening.
“As soon as I have something ready, I’ll send it over.” Izzy tried to smile, but it was limp.
Mrs. Fortunato patted her hand. “You always were my favorite, Izzy.”
“Ditto, Mrs. F.”
After seeing Mrs. Fortunato into her car, Izzy pushed through the door of the All Things Bright and Beautiful shop, triggering an electronic tone.
Scents of potpourri and candles tussled for dominance, so strong she could almost taste dried rose and lavender. Bric-a-brac made in China jumbled with antiques on bookcases and shelving and tables around the store. The excitement of a treasure hunt imbued the atmosphere. In fact, Izzy had found Rupert hanging out on a shelf with a set of porcelain frogs a few years earlier.
Loretta floated from the back in a loose tunic that fluttered with her every movement. In her mid-fifties and still trim and attractive, Loretta projected a genteel Southerness that was fading from subsequent generations. Not that Izzy was fooled by the other woman’s demure expression and small, folded hands. Loretta had a sharp business acumen and a will to survive.
“Nice to see you, Izzy.” Her smile was wide and white but not warm in the least.
“I hope you’re doing well.” Izzy did her best to project professionalism, but her voice wavered.
“Just the usual aches and pains. What are you in the market for this fine morning?”
“I’m wrapping up some loose ends when it comes to tables and tents for the festival.” Izzy tapped the folder she held to her chest like a shield.
“Oh really? How are vendor bookings coming along?”
“Swiftly. We’ve got new craft vendors coming from the Carolinas.”
“Excellent news.” Loretta moved away to rearrange a display of tartan scarves. “I’ve noticed your mother has been … distracted. I hope the festival doesn’t suffer.”
Even with the air-conditioning, Izzy fought the need to flap her shirt. Loretta had located Izzy’s vulnerability in record time. “We have everything under control. In fact, I’m here because we haven’t received your booth deposit.”
“Your mother and I have known each other forever, Izzy. She’s never had an issue giving me a little extra time.” Loretta turned away as if the conversation was complete to her satisfaction. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a delivery I must see to in the back. Toodle-oo, honey. Let me know if I can help with anything else.”
Loretta disappeared through a hanging curtain to the storeroom, leaving Izzy at a loss. What would her mom do in the situation? The truth of the matter was that it would never have come to this point. Her mom would have gotten the money long before now.
Discarding the options of stalking through the curtain and demanding the money or staging a sit-in, Izzy chose to retreat and regroup outside. The bricks retained a hint of the night’s chill, and she pressed her forehead against the rough wall.
“Things went that well, did they?” Although the voice came from behind her, Alasdair’s brogue was unmistakable.
“I knew I should have changed into pants and a turtleneck.”
His laugh echoed, and she turned her head, but didn’t lift it off the brick wall. Alasdair propped his shoulder against the bricks and ducked his head to meet her eyes. Her gaze coasted down his body and back up to his face.
“What did you do?” She shifted until she faced him, mirroring his stance against the wall.
“It was either this or a tartan T-shirt that made my eyes cross. Plus, my shoes were still wet from the soaking you gave them yesterday. I didn’t fancy contracting trench foot.”
His blue button-down had been traded for a black T-shirt with the Scottish flag printed on the front that molded to every muscle of his chest and arms. While he still wore his dress pants, flip-flops had replaced his wingtips. The more casual look suited him as well if not better than Mr. Town and Country.
“They didn’t have any shorts?”
“My choices were a pair that would fall to my ankles given the slightest tug or a pair that would rip along the seam the first time I bent over.”
Thankful to have a wall for support, she blinked and stared at the zipper of his pants, wishing her imagination was a little less active.
“I look like a fool, don’t I? You don’t have to be nice.” He tugged at the hem of the T-shirt. Was that a hint of self-consciousness reddening his cheeks or the start of heatstroke?
“You look…” Hot. Sexy. Mouthwatering. “… like a Highlander. A native of Highland, Georgia, that is.”
He nudged his chin toward the door of All Things Bright and Beautiful. “Did you slay the dragon?”
“No, I got singed.”
“What can I do to help?” He raised an eyebrow, the gray of his eyes appearing slivery against the darkness of his stubble.
“Can you perform a personality transplant?”
“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Tell me what happened.”
She beat back the blush his words incited. “She blew me off. I’ll have to send Mom down to deal with her.”
“Knowing how to handle confrontation takes practice. I promise you can do it with a little coaching.”
“Who’s going to coach me?”
He grabbed his heart like she’d delivered a mortal blow. “Ach, you wound me. Most of my job involves negotiation. The key is to be firm yet friendly.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then you have to be firm and not friendly, bu
t let’s go with step one for a start.”
She didn’t like asking for help or admitting a weakness, but she had a feeling Alasdair wouldn’t hold it against her. “Alright, lay it on me.”
They went over various scenarios and practiced with Alasdair playing the part of Loretta. His ridiculous feminine Southern accent and playacting made it almost fun. He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the door, his stubble grazing the shell of her ear as he rumbled. “You can do this, Isabel. Trust me.”
She put her hand on top of his and looked over her shoulder at him. “Will you come in with me for moral support?”
He nodded, and she led the way into the shop. While she would never classify herself as confident, Alasdair had managed to instill some conviction. It might not be easy, but she could do this.
Loretta sat behind the counter on a stool and flipped through a magazine. Her urgent delivery had either been very small or an excuse. She glanced up, but flipped another page, her attention on her magazine. “Back so soon?”
Alasdair veered toward a display of Highland souvenir magnets.
Izzy took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. “I must get the vendor booths verified.”
“You know I’ll be there. I’m there every year.”
“Yes, you are. And you know that a deposit is required every year. The festival has upfront costs that are defrayed by the vendor deposits.”
“Honey, you’re being unreasonable. Your mother has never had an issue letting me pay at my convenience.” Loretta’s voice edged toward annoyed, shedding its veil of politeness.
Was she being unreasonable? Should she back off? It was true Loretta had always paid. Eventually. Alasdair cleared his throat drawing her gaze. He gave her a subtle thumbs-up. His confidence had her shoulders unfurling from an inadvertent slump.
“Your delay is inconveniencing me, Loretta. Deposits were due two weeks ago. At this point, I can’t guarantee your usual spot.” Izzy consulted a sheet in her folder that was actually a diagram of where the portable potties would go. “I’ve got a very talented potter from the Carolinas that I’m sure will draw a crowd. He’s planning a demonstration.”
A Highlander Walks into a Bar--A Highland, Georgia Novel Page 8