A Highlander Walks into a Bar--A Highland, Georgia Novel

by Laura Trentham

  “Sex”—she said the word as if it was a forbidden curse, but at least she hadn’t spelled it again—“is complicated when you live with your mom in the middle of the Bible Belt.”

  “Bible Belt?”

  “You can’t throw a rock and not hit a church in Highland and along a stretch of Southern states, hence Bible Belt.” The hands she ran over his chest and back and through his hair ramped up anticipation for the sin they’d wreck in her bed later.

  “I’ll report back.” He gave her butt a slap and kissed the tip of her nose. “Don’t go to sleep.”

  “I’ll try not to.” She flopped backward on the bed and yawned.

  He descended the stairs and found Gareth sitting in the dark morning room overlooking the moon-touched field of flowers, drinking whisky. Alasdair joined him with a drink of his own and waited.

  “I thought you were otherwise occupied,” Gareth said.

  “I was about to be occupied a second time when a crash and a slamming door killed the mood. Do you need to talk?”

  Gareth took a large swallow from his glass. “Rose asked me to stay in Highland.”

  “Until when?”

  “Until … forever.”

  Alasdair drank from his glass and sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Did you tell her?”

  “No. I … I tried, but the truth got stuck. She took my bumbling non-answer as a rejection.”

  “If you told her the truth, she might understand the reason you can’t stay has nothing to do with her.”

  Gareth’s reluctance was palpable, but Alasdair couldn’t pinpoint what his uncle’s internal struggle involved. “I’ve promised I’ll come clean after the festival and I will.”

  Alasdair’s stomach rocked, and he took a sip of whisky. Instead of a confession, he hoped to neutralize the threat he’d unleashed. If he failed, Isabel would never forgive him for setting Wellington on Stonehaven.

  “What got broken?” Alasdair asked, wanting a subject change.

  “Nearly my head. I tripped over the end table.” He paused, then with a smile in his voice, said, “Ah, but Rosie is a bonnie thing when she’s angry.”

  “Gareth, it isn’t funny.”

  “No, it’s ironic I fell for an American who is tied to her life and land as surely as I am tied to mine.” Resignation weighed Gareth’s voice.

  “Couldn’t you work something out? Like she stays with you part of the year and the two of you come back here for the festival.” Even as he suggested it, he wondered where that would leave Isabel. More responsibility would fall on Isabel’s shoulders, and she wouldn’t have the time to travel to London for a visit, or anywhere else for that matter.

  “Perhaps, there are options,” Gareth said with a glimmer of hope.

  “Or, I don’t know, I could take care of Cairndow, so you could stay here.” The suggestion popped out as a way to keep Isabel from being tied too tightly to Stonehaven, but it would leave him tied to Scotland, unable to restart his career or pursue a relationship with her. It seemed Alasdair and Gareth couldn’t both achieve happiness.

  Gareth shifted on his seat and swirled the whisky in his glass. Light sparked on the surface of the thick crystal. “Is that a serious offer?”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest.” In a desperate move to gather his wits, he drained his glass of whisky, the burn only clouding his thoughts further. But the offer had come from somewhere. Had his subconscious been mulling the idea since Isabel planted it in the field?

  Gareth patted his shoulder. “Your life has been turned on its head. You don’t have to upend it further, even though I appreciate the offer.”

  Alasdair took both glasses, refilled them, and returned, dropping heavily into the chair. “A week ago, I knew exactly where I was headed and what I’d be doing for the next decade.”

  “Did the future you envision bring joy?”

  Alasdair considered the question as he sipped on the whisky. “Not joy, but satisfaction. Success. Money.”

  “And that would have been enough?”

  Alasdair slumped over his knees, clutching the glass in both hands. The past year had seen him neither happy nor fulfilled. With a promotion being dangled like a carrot, his job had turned from challenge to crucible.

  “Once upon a time, it’s all I wanted.” Alasdair ran a hand down his stubbly chin. “I would have been the youngest VP at Wellington. Mum would have been proud.”

  Gareth regarded him with eyes so like the ones that stared back at Alasdair in the mirror every morning, it was uncanny. Although Gareth’s reflected years of wisdom Alasdair had yet to earn.

  “My brother was a spoiled younger son. Intemperate, unreliable, but bloody good fun.” Gareth smiled into his whisky before turning serious once more. “Your mum deserved a better man. She worked hard to salvage a life for the two of you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about state of your da’s finances after he went and got himself killed. Do you not know?” At the brusque shake of Alasdair’s head, Gareth took a sip. Alasdair gained the impression Gareth was suppressing his surprise and gathering his thoughts. “Your da left her destitute. Actually worse than destitute. Because they never filed separation or divorce papers, she assumed his debts and treated them as her penance.”

  Alasdair riffled through a catalogue of memories. Soon after he left for Cambridge, his mum had started work at a real estate office, eventually buying in and becoming a majority owner. She’d worked long hours during those early years, but Alasdair had assumed she’d wanted to, not had to.

  “I tried to help her, but she’s prideful and refused.” Admiration warmed Gareth’s voice. “She did allow me to help you with your expenses at school.”

  “Gareth,” Alasdair whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you even help me after I acted like such a little git after the funeral?”

  “Because you’re my nephew and I love you, no matter our falling out. Now that I know about Kyla and the lad, I understand why you were upset with Rory and me and your Blackmoor heritage.”

  Alasdair slumped back in the chair, considering the past through clearer eyes. “I thought I knew everything back then. I thought I was so right. I didn’t know shite.”

  “Ah, the vagaries of youth. It’s a universal truth that anyone under twenty thinks they understand the world until they hit thirty. At some point, you’ll realize none of us really know what we’re doing. Even the old codgers like me muddle through.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s depressing or comforting.” Alasdair killed the rest of his drink feeling pleasantly warm and buzzy but still confused. “What are we going to do?”

  Gareth stretched himself out of the chair and set his empty glass on an end table. “A good place to start is to figure out what will make you truly happy; not what will make me or your mum or anyone else happy.”

  “But what about you and Rose?”

  “I suppose I need to take my own advice.” Gareth’s smile flickered like a bulb on its last watts. He stood and laid a hand on Alasdair’s shoulder, giving him a strong squeeze. “By the way, you might want to collect your shirt from the banister.”

  The creak of the stairs signaled his uncle’s retreat. Alasdair stayed where he was, considering his future, but seeing only brambles and no path through. His uncle was still hale and vibrant and deserved to experience life outside his indenture to Cairndow. Yet, was Alasdair ready to assume the responsibility?

  A week ago the answer would have been an emphatic no, but he waffled on the precipice of change. The idea didn’t seem as preposterous as it would have a week ago.

  He gathered his shirt from the banister and slipped into Isabel’s room, the house and its occupants at rest if not at peace. She was sprawled on her back in the middle of the bed, an arm over her head, snuffling a little in her sleep. The abandon she exhibited when kissing or making love and now sleeping was at odds with the reserved, suspicious woman he’d met that first morning
in the coffee shop. How many people got to see this side of her? Not many, he’d wager.

  He slipped under the covers, shifted Isabel like a doll onto her side, and spooned her from behind. She mewed a little protest and elbowed him in the stomach, but didn’t wake. This was as quiet as she’d been all night. Never had he been with a woman who teased and said anything and everything on her mind before, during, and after sex. He smiled and kissed the top of her head.

  Her musings had not only made him laugh but they’d turned what had always been a purely physical endeavor into one that charmed him body and soul and made his release all the more intense.

  Even though it felt like a beginning, the end loomed in the distance like a hurricane he was approaching at warp speed in a teeny plane with no parachute. He would ignore the warnings and live in the moment while the skies were still cloudless and blue. Sleep finally caught him, although his dreams were fitful and saw him chasing Isabel along the cliffs of Cairndow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning and weighed down with super-sized trepidation, Izzy approached her mom on leaden feet. Pensive looking, her mom stood in front of the double doors to the porch with a mug of coffee, seeming to be in a different time and place. Her fight with Gareth hung over the house like a pall.

  Adding to the tight feeling in her chest was the fact her mom knew something had happened between her and Alasdair. Izzy prayed to Bacchus the subject wouldn’t come up, which sure to bring a lightning strike upon her next time she went to church.

  “Good morning?” Izzy hadn’t meant for it to sound so much like a question than a statement. The sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and even the weather reports were favorable. Although things could change without warning.

  Her mom glanced over her shoulder with a half smile and raised brows. “I would think so. You and Alasdair have fun?”

  Izzy’s face heated like the surface of the sun. “Yeah, it was okay.”

  “Only okay? That’s a shame.”

  “It was good. Great. Amazing.” Izzy poured herself a mug of coffee even though she didn’t need the jump-start. Her body was already buzzing. She’d left Alasdair in the shower to finish washing after he’d joined her halfway through shampooing her hair. It had been a new and invigorating experience she most definitely didn’t want to discuss with her mom. “Can we not talk about it? It’s too embarrassing.”

  Her mom’s expression morphed from teasing to contemplative. “It never occurred to me how difficult it must be for you to be living at home. You’re an adult with adult needs and are more than welcome to bring gentlemen callers home with you.”

  “Mom! I don’t want to talk about gentlemen callers.” Izzy flapped her shirt to keep from conflagrating.

  The clang of machinery drew Izzy’s attention to the backyard. The mowers were here. The decapitation of the wildflowers was a process Izzy couldn’t bear to witness even as she was grateful for the distraction.

  “If Stonehaven and the festival weren’t ours, what would you want to do?” Her mom stared out at the field with an expression Izzy could only quantify as pensive.

  “It doesn’t bear contemplation. Stonehaven is ours and we’re going to keep it in the family. Yes, it needs some work, but Sterling should be calling any day now for you to sign for the loan.”

  Her mom dismissed the practicality with a wave of her hand. “Use your imagination, Izzy. What would you be doing right now if it weren’t for Stonehaven?”

  “I love Stonehaven.” The conversation made Izzy nervous and she wasn’t sure why.

  “Just because you love something—or someone—doesn’t mean they can’t become a burden.”

  “Stonehaven is not a burden, Mom.”

  Dark circles made her mom appear older and less vibrant than usual even as she gave Izzy a small smile. “Would you quit your job to travel and write?”

  “No, but … I would like to travel and see the places I read about.” It felt treasonous to admit as much to her mom. “What about you? What would you do if it wasn’t for Stonehaven?”

  With the tables turned, her mom shook her head, her silver bob swinging like strands of silk. “I made my choice when I married your father. I understood what Stonehaven meant to him and agreed to become its caretaker. But you haven’t had the same choice.”

  “I want to be here. Promise.” Feeling like she had stepped into a bog of quicksand, Izzy was desperate to get back on solid, familiar ground.

  Her mom patted her hand. “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure. Anything.” Izzy grasped eagerly for the branch her mom offered.

  “I want you and Alasdair to act as hosts at the whisky tasting and dance.”

  Izzy’s chest squeezed. Her mom had always been the face of the games while Izzy handled the behind-the-scenes details like portable potties and parking. “I’m not getting up in front of half the town and humiliating myself by dancing. Remember what happened last time?”

  “For goodness sake.” Her mom tucked a piece of Izzy’s wavy hair behind her ear. “You were eight. You’ve grown into a confident, beautiful young woman that I couldn’t be more proud of. You need to let go of all these old hang-ups.”

  Her mom strolled toward their office, leaving Izzy to sort through the warm, fuzzy feelings her mom’s praise had stirred up. Izzy followed and found her already ensconced at her computer with bright blue reading glasses on.

  “I appreciate the confidence, but I was born with two left feet, and it’s short notice for a foot transplant.”

  “Don’t be silly. You are wonderfully graceful.” Her mom ignored Izzy’s derisive snort. “Anyway, Alasdair seems more than a capable partner.”

  Izzy threw her hands up. “How do you even know Alasdair is willing?”

  “Willing to do what?” Alasdair’s deep voice echoed in the foyer as he descended the stairs.

  “Dance with me. It’s this ridiculous custom that opens the games at the whisky tasting Friday night.”

  “I would be honored to dance with you, Isabel.” He performed a bow, handsome in his charcoal gray slacks and white pinstriped button-down. The cuffs were rolled up to reveal his hairy, sinewy forearms. His stubble toyed with being a beard and gave him a dangerous edge. If he’d been wearing the kilt, she might have actually swooned. As it was, her knees went wonky.

  “You’ve been warned already that I’m a terrible dancer. Like ‘I might maim you’ terrible.”

  “Bollocks. I’d wager you’ve never had the right partner.”

  He’s not talking about sex, she reminded herself even as her thighs clamped together. Or was he? The way his eyes sparkled made her think about long nights and tangled sheets.

  Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing emerged. Her mother clapped her hands together once and rubbed them together. “I’m glad that’s settled. I’ll leave the two of you to arrange a time to practice. You should enlist Anna’s help, Izzy.”

  When it was obvious her mother was done on the subject, Izzy grabbed Alasdair’s hand and tugged him into the kitchen. “How could you?”

  Alasdair poured himself a coffee—black—leaned casually on the counter, and shrugged. “It’s only a dance.”

  “The genesis of my greatest childhood humiliation.”

  His lips twitched around the rim. “All you have to do is relax and trust me. I guarantee you’ll enjoy the experience.”

  “Hang on.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you talking about sex or dancing?”

  He sputtered on a sip and set the mug aside, pulling her between his legs. “Dancing, but I suppose the advice works for both. By the way, last night was…” His expression turned more guarded.

  “If you say ‘a mistake,’ you’d better be wearing an athletic cup.”

  Any distance—real or imagined—vanished as he dropped a kiss on her lips. “Last night was incredible. As was the shower this morning.”

  She let out a pent-up breath, her heart performing its own clumsy dan
ce in her chest. “I concur a thousand percent.”

  A silence full of portent was broken by the mowers as they fired up in the backyard. She kept her eyes averted. “I know it has to be done, but I can’t watch the carnage. If we’re going to dance, we’d better figure how much of a miracle we need to pray for. Let’s take your fancy car with air-conditioning to town.”

  Gareth stopped them at the door. “When are we going to practice, laddie?”

  Izzy cocked her head. “Are you and Gareth going to take a turn around the floor together too?”

  Alasdair gave a rueful chuckle. “Gareth is going to train me for the athletic events. Believe it or not, I’ve never thrown a hammer or a stone.”

  Izzy didn’t have the heart to tell him it would take more than a few days training to beat someone like Holt. “We shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”

  Alasdair made plans to meet Gareth in the field that afternoon after the mowing. Ten minutes later, she and Alasdair pulled behind the dance studio and parked next to Anna’s small sedan.

  “Is the situation so dire we need professional help?” Alasdair asked with a laugh in his voice.

  “Yes, it is. I don’t think you understand what you’ve volunteered for. We can’t step onto the dance floor and shake our booty to some random song. The same waltz has opened the games since the first year.” Izzy took a bracing breath. “This is worse than a dentist appointment.”

  The back door was unlocked and Izzy walked in, calling Anna’s name. The studio was empty, and their footsteps echoed. Anna sashayed out of her office wearing a black leotard and a diaphanous wraparound pink skirt tied with a ribbon. If only Izzy could borrow a measly percent of her friend’s grace.

  Anna’s grin grew to blinding proportions when she spotted Alasdair. She brushed Izzy aside and stuck a hand out toward Alasdair. “Well, hello there, Highlander. I’m Anna.”

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Alasdair Blackmoor.” He took her hand and instead of shaking it, clasped it in both of his.

  A blush lit Anna’s cheeks. “I just love your accent, Alasdair.”

  Izzy plucked Anna’s hand from Alasdair’s. “Hands off. The Highlander is mine.”