Scot of My Dreams (24 page)

“Anybody could do those things. That doesn’t make me Cinderella. Under her ball gown she was still the one who scrubbed the floors. And besides, I don’t believe in fairy tales.”

My heart was beating somewhere up in my throat. This was happening. Dear God, this was real.

He straightened and took a step in my direction. Then he stopped, perhaps giving me one last chance to pull myself together. “Willow Ryman. The woman from Georgia with the big eyes and the big heart and the body that could give a man a hundred thousand nights of pleasure. You think we aren’t the same, and maybe that’s true. But when I look at my life, I see a dozen spots that were waiting to be filled by someone exactly like you.”

The words seduced me more powerfully that his sexy body. Even without his kilt, he was the most amazing man I had ever met. He was strong and masculine. His heart was that of a warrior: gentle when it counted, fierce when it had to be.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ve tried to make this so complicated, my sweet Willow, when in truth, it’s the simplest thing of all. I love
you
. You love
me
.”

“I do?” He laughed, and I stuttered, “I do. I really do.”

He reached out a hand and dragged me toward him. Brodie had fallen asleep again. “Poor, cynical Willow,” Bryce said. “You never stood a chance. No one warned you about the magical Highlands and the secrets of the stones and the way the clouds and the rain and the sun and the moon are sweeter and more beautiful here. I was waiting for you, and you didn’t even know it.”

“I thought romantic love was fiction,” I confessed. “The stuff of daydreams. Then I met you and I wanted so badly to believe.”

“You needn’t believe in daydreams and fairytales, my love.” He kissed me swiftly and thoroughly. “All you have to believe in is us.”

Bryce ran a finger down my spine. “Are you awake?” he whispered.

“Maybe.” I yawned and stretched. We were in the laird’s bed. I was beginning to embrace my destiny, but at times, I still had to pinch myself. “Why do you ask?”

We’d spent the better part of three days and nights in bed. Thankfully, Abigail hadn’t noticed. She’d been too busy getting acclimated to her new job and going out for drinks and dinner with her renewed acquaintances.

Bryce caressed the fleshy part of my bottom. “I thought we might squeeze in one more round before we have to get dressed,” he said.

In a couple of hours, I was to rendezvous with Hayley and McKenzie for our return to Atlanta. We had made plans to meet at a coffee shop in the center of town.

I was sure they thought we’d have plenty of time to catch up with each other’s adventures on the journey home, but the truth was, I wasn’t going home. Not yet.

With Bryce’s help, on Monday I had communicated with the IRS. Bryce had wired a lump sum to cover my back taxes. Hair Essentials was to re-open today. There would still be problems to juggle, but I felt certain I could handle them. There was a good chance I could persuade McKenzie to buy the salon from me and find someone reliable to run it.

I had spoken to each of my employees directly thanks to Bryce’s generosity and an international calling plan. I’d have to go back to Atlanta soon to deal with my apartment and other details about the business, but for now I was content to wallow in the moment.

I yawned again. “No more sex. I have to shower and find something to wear. I’m so excited for Hayley and McKenzie to meet you. They won’t believe it. Are you sure you won’t put on your kilt?”

He groaned. “The answer is still no. I’m not a pony you can dress up and parade around town.”

“Too bad,” I muttered.

“Don’t think I don’t know why you agreed to marry me.”

“Oh?” He’d won that particular concession last night in the middle of torturing me with a leftover rose from one of the party arrangements.

“It’s Dunvarstone. The castle. You stalked me and seduced me and won me over so you could brag to your friends that you had bagged a laird.”

“Very funny. That’s not how I remember it at all.”

Bryce pulled me close and nibbled my bottom lip. “I’ve been cogitating,” he said.

“Sounds dangerous.”

“I’m serious, lass. It’s not fair for you to give up everything and change your whole life. What would you think about looking for some property and setting up a hair salon in town? You could call it American Style. The local lasses would love it. You could play American music over the radio and have American posters on the walls.”

I nuzzled his nose with mine. “That’s very clever, my dear Bryce. You’ve clearly given this a lot of thought.”

He shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

“And it’s what I love about you.” He was always looking out for the people who mattered in his life. And a fair number of strangers as well. The man had a giving streak a mile wide.

“Don’t dodge the question. What do you think of the idea?”

“Truthfully?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t honestly know. I think I’d like some time to get used to being your wife. And to explore my new home. I’ve only seen a fraction of the estate. If I’m going to live here, I have a lot to learn. And besides—”

I stopped abruptly, knowing I was about to broach a subject we hadn’t addressed. At all.

“Besides what?” He lifted up on his elbow, alarm on his face.

I scanned his face, studying every nuance of expression. It was still hard to believe I had fallen in love when I thought such a thing would never happen to me. “Babies,” I said softly. “I might want to take a break from cutting hair and have babies for a few years.”

He paled. “Years?”

“Well, you know. I hear it takes lots of trying sometimes. And we wouldn’t want them too close together. Maybe a boy and a girl. Or two of each. Horatio told me Dunvarstone is a wonderful place to grow up.”

Bryce toyed with the shell of my ear. “Aye. ’Tis true.” He put his hand on my flat belly.

When his accent thickened, I knew I had won him over to the idea. “It’s for the best,” I said primly. “We need lots of progeny to replace those ancestors of yours upstairs in the portrait gallery.”

He scowled, a smile on his lips. “You don’t like my relatives, Willow? They carry the DNA of a mighty band of clansmen.”

“I should keep them around if for no other reason than the fact that they helped create you.”

“You can quit butterin’ me up, lass. I already gave you the money.”

I laughed softly, deciding in that instant that I had time for another round after all. “Make love to me, Bryce.”

His gaze softened. He kissed my brow, my eyelids, the side of my neck. “Gladly, Willow of Dunvarstone. Now and always…”

Be sure not to miss the first book in Janice Maynard’s Kilted Heroes series

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On the East Coast train…somewhere between London and Inverness…

“Jamie Fraser is a fictional character. Like Harry Potter or Jason Bourne. You’re not going to find him wandering around the Scottish Highlands, waiting to sweep you off your feet.”

“I
know
that. I’m not delusional. But at least I have a whimsical soul. You wouldn’t know a romantic moment if it smacked you in the face.”

I listened to the argument with half an ear. Willow, ever the cynic, and McKenzie, the daydreamer, had been hammering away at each other since we left King’s Cross. Though we checked out of our hotel and arrived at the train station with plenty of time to spare for our noon departure, McKenzie nearly made us late when she insisted on standing in the snaking line of tourists to get her picture taken at the Platform 9 ¾ sign.

Not only was she a rabid fan of all the Outlander books, she was almost equally smitten with the world of Harry Potter. I couldn’t blame her, really. As a primary school teacher and lifelong reader, I’d been called a bookworm and a nerd more than once. My own tattered copy of
Outlander
was tucked inside my backpack, even though my Kindle had enough books to last me until I was old and gray.

I was neither as unique as Willow nor as sophisticated as McKenzie. Middle-of-the-road at best. With the last name
Smith
, the cards were stacked against me when it came to standing out. I spent my days working with women and children and my nights grading papers. My goal for this trip was to live on the edge…to seek out adventure…and to quit being so cautious. I had come to Scotland to find myself.

I suspected Willow and McKenzie had equally private goals, but they hadn’t shared them with me. We had all agreed to look for romance. Like Claire Randall, the intrepid heroine of the TV series
Outlander
, we yearned to find our own down-to-earth but utterly devoted Highlander.

It was a harmless fantasy.

The signposts flying past my window were poetry to me. I’d studied them on the map: Pitlochry, Gleneagle, Lindisfarne. I couldn’t wait to leave this train and plunge into the greatest adventure of my life.

Reluctantly, I drew my attention from the passing scenery and intervened before blood was shed. “You’re both jet-lagged,” I said. “If you’re not going to enjoy the trip, at least get some sleep so you won’t be grumpy when we get to Inverness. I’m tired of listening to both of you.”

We were riding in first class, four motor coach–style seats flanking a small table, two on either side. Lunch had already been cleared away. Our snacks littered the surface between us. So far the cuisine hadn’t been all that impressive. But the food was included in our ticket price and better yet, we didn’t have to queue up at the meal counter several cars away.

In front of us sat the remnants of our third cups of tea. Or was it the fourth? I’d honestly lost count. Already, I’d made several trips to the tiny restroom at the rear of the cabin. The pleasant stewards passed up and down the aisles, pouring tea and offering cream with almost mechanical precision. At this rate, I’d be a certified Brit by the time we arrived at our destination.

Finally, in response to my schoolmarm glare, my two friends sat back and exchanged sheepish grins, making them look more sleepy than cranky.

Willow yawned. “Tell me again why we didn’t fly straight to Inverness?”

“You know why,” I said.

Willow wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as she liked to pretend. She had a mushy, soft center wrapped in a hard candy shell. Her life had been difficult…much more challenging than mine. I suspected her armor was only skin deep, but it gave her the illusion of being in control.

I opened my notebook. “We agreed that since we can’t actually go back in time like Claire does in
Outlander
, this train journey will be symbolic of our desire to go off the grid for a month. No cell phones. No Internet. No Facebook. No Twitter. You agreed, Willow.”

“Under duress,” she muttered.

McKenzie snickered. “You’re bitchy when you’re tired.”

“And you’re even more annoying than usual,” Willow drawled.

“Enough,” I pleaded. I knew they loved each other. I’d known these two since we all shared a preschool babysitter, my sainted mother. Although the three of us had been a handful even as children, Mom relished the fact that she had two additional daughters in Willow and McKenzie. My parents always wanted a big family, but it wasn’t in the cards.

I had heard the refrain a million times growing up:
Those two girls are like sisters to you, Hayley. Don’t ever let them go.

But inevitably, I had. In fourth grade, McKenzie’s well-heeled parents enrolled her in private school. About that same time, Willow’s dad walked out. Willow’s mom couldn’t keep up with the house payments on her own, so she and Willow had been forced to move all the way to the other side of Atlanta to live with relatives.

I was the one left behind to grow up in the neighborhood where we had spent so many happy times.

Even so, Mom held us together, forcing the exchange of birthday cards and the occasional get-together in downtown Atlanta. By high school, though, the contact between my two childhood playmates and me had become minimal.

Then came Facebook. Mom gleefully searched online for pages of kids she’d shepherded in her daycare. And, of course, she found Willow and McKenzie. Right off the bat, it was apparent that our lives had taken far different tracks. Ironically, I now taught third grade in the elite private school where McKenzie spent most of her grammar school career.

Willow owned Hair Essentials, a beauty salon located in a nice middle-class suburb of Atlanta. Her approach to money was save, not spend. It was no wonder she was a little tense. She had taken out a loan against her business to make this trip.

McKenzie had completed an Ivy League education and now filled her days doing charity work with a number of Atlanta-area organizations. She was beautiful and sophisticated and had traveled the world. But underneath it all, she was still the little kid who refused to be afraid of dogs or spiders and wanted to be friends with everyone. I’d always envied her confidence.