Scot of My Dreams (2 page)

Downstairs, we joined the queue of guests at the buffet. I opted for dry toast and tea. I felt like I was coming down with something. Maybe a case of sheer cowardice.

Hayley frowned at my half-empty plate. “Aren’t you going to try the haggis?”

“Sheep organs and oatmeal?” I shuddered theatrically. “No, thank you.”

We found an unoccupied table and sat down. No one said much as we ate. I think it was finally dawning on all of us that this was it. After this morning, we would be completely on our own. An entire month in Scotland.

It was either the most exciting adventure imaginable or an enormous risk. Or maybe both. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with myself in the midst of a completely open calendar. Hayley had her charts and maps and travel guides. McKenzie glided through life with the confidence of the seasoned traveler. As for me, I had no choice but to take things a day at a time.

I’d be more comfortable if I weren’t so worried about Hair Essentials. “I hope I still have a salon when I get back home.” I said it jokingly, but I was honestly stressed.

Hayley patted my hand. “Your stylists are amazing, and you have a business manager, right?”

“Yes, but Evelyn and I have butted heads several times during the last six months. She wants to update our computer system. I don’t think we can afford it. I wish I could buy out her share. We haven’t been a good fit.”

McKenzie swallowed a bite of toast and patted her lips with a napkin. “How would you like me as a partner?”

“Are you serious?” I gawked at her.

She shrugged. “I have to invest my money somewhere.”

I shook my head slowly. “I love the idea, but I’m contractually bound to Evelyn for at least another nine months. Besides, I don’t think I should mix business and friendship. I’m already uncomfortable about you paying for a big chunk of this trip.”

“Oh, poo.” McKenzie wrinkled her perfect nose. “It’s only money.”

Hayley and I exchanged a look. Money was only money when you had plenty of it.

When we were mostly finished except for sipping one last cup of tea, McKenzie reached into her oversized Kate Spade tote and produced three small, tissue-wrapped packages. At a nod from McKenzie we each opened one. Inside we found oval silver boxes engraved with Celtic symbols.

I curled my fingers around mine, already loving it. “This is an antique. Must have been wickedly expensive.” I often had difficulty adjusting to McKenzie’s casual generosity.

“They’re snuff boxes,” she said. “Sterling silver and ram’s horn. Aren’t they cool? Even women dipped back in the day.”

Hayley wrinkled her nose. “Surely you don’t expect me to take up dipping.”

McKenzie smiled. “These are for us to collect mementos. Little bits and pieces to remind us of Scotland when we go back home.”

I had a feeling that nothing on this trip would be forgettable. I thanked her anyway. “I don’t know what I’ll find, but I’ll keep my eyes open.”

Soon after that, we stood in front of the hotel, trying to stay dry under the awning. I wanted to grab up my two childhood friends in a bear hug and beg them not to leave me. But that wasn’t my style.

A cab pulled up at the curb to take McKenzie to the car rental place. She would be spending the month on the Isle of Skye in a small house where she would set up housekeeping. Hayley and I held bus schedules. My teacher buddy would soon be heading south to a village on the shores of Loch Ness.

The driver loaded McKenzie’s many bags into the trunk, all the while keeping his eyes on the dazzling blonde with the long legs. McKenzie stepped into the car and gazed up at us with uncustomary soberness. “Remember Claire,” she said. “Be brave.”

Before we could answer, she was gone.

Hayley glanced at me, her face carefully blank. “I felt better when McKenzie was here to boss us around.”

“We’ll be fine,” I said automatically. I stared across the street. “That’s my bus.” I picked up my suitcase and my backpack. “Do you want me to wait with you?” I was actually hoping she would say yes. “I could catch a later one.”

“No,” Hayley said. “Mine will be here soon.” She hugged me. “You go. I’m okay.”

I returned the hug clumsily, my hands full. “Have fun, Hayley.” I left her standing there. Climbing onto the 107, I found a seat and peered out the foggy window. She waved at me.

The bus driver shut the door, and I was on my own.

Fortunately for my wobbly stomach, I didn’t have far to go. I’d never in my life experienced motion sickness, but my emotions had settled firmly in my belly, leaving my chest hollow. I did my best to drum up the excitement I’d felt a few days ago. I was here. At last. In the Scottish Highlands.

Gradually, as the bus wound its way through the charming town of Inverness, I found my balance. The next four weeks were going to the best of my life. I knew it. I had nothing to worry about. I was a mature, experienced business owner. I could handle whatever came my way.

Through the rain-spotted windows, I tried to get my bearings, this time actual compass points instead of emotional touchstones. Once I was settled into my lodgings and had time to make a plan, I hoped to learn everything I could about this historic small city and the surrounding countryside.

After making a dozen or more stops along the route, the bus finally pulled up at my destination. I had booked my stay at a youth hostel. The four-story, whitewashed masonry building with a red roof was a solid rectangle, not unlike a cellblock. Someone had tried to plant asters along the gravel path to the front door, but despite the rain, the flowers looked starved for attention.

I was the only person getting off. No one seemed curious about my departure, perhaps because there were only a handful of passengers remaining. I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder, picked up my suitcase, and exited the bus. As my transportation drove away into the mist, I took a deep breath and gave myself a pep talk.

I couldn’t afford to stay a month at the Hilton, even if such an establishment existed in this part of the world. A hostel would be the ideal compromise. Clean bed. Safe surroundings. Two meals a day if I wanted them. Plus, the opportunity to meet new people.

Everything was perfect.

I had spent considerable time online before coming to Scotland, long enough to discover that the modern and fancy hostels were priced accordingly, especially the locations in walking distance of town. The one I had chosen was old, perhaps built in the mid-twentieth century. It offered no private lodging. The only sleeping arrangements were shared rooms for six with a communal bathroom down the hall, men and women on alternating floors.

The hostel
was
in walking distance of Inverness if you considered four miles walking distance. I loved to walk, I told myself stoutly. The exercise would be good for me. Fresh air. Healthy activity. I would go home to Georgia at the end of the month a new woman.

I opened the front door of the building and stepped inside. The smell of cooked cabbage permeated the beige lobby. At the front desk, a man who bore a striking resemblance to Rip Van Winkle greeted me with a gruff hello.

“I’m Willow Ryman,” I said. “I have a reservation.”

Without speaking, he looked me up and down, then shuffled through a stack of papers and grunted, “Need a credit card.”

I fished it out and handed it over.

Mr. Winkle ran it through a machine, slid a paper across the counter for me to sign, and offered me an old-fashioned room key attached to a diamond-shaped piece of faded purple plastic. “Dinner’s at six. Room’s on the top floor. Don’t be late.”

I nodded, deciding that small talk wasn’t required.

Either I was a very early check-in, or maybe occupancy was down since it was midweek. When I opened the door to 412, I found three sets of bunk beds, but only one of them appeared to be in use. Which was the prime real estate? Top or bottom bunk?

I’m tall, five foot ten in my bare feet. So I decided I’d be better off with a little more headroom. I chose a bunk near the window with a nice view. After placing my suitcase in one of the six cubicles, I kicked off my shoes and climbed up the ladder, carrying my pack with me.

Once again, jet lag threatened to pull me under, but I resisted. Instead, I sat cross-legged and stared out across the countryside. I could see a small body of water. Some sheep. What looked to be an old barn. But not much else. Perhaps in the morning if the sun was out I’d get a better sense of where I was.

I found myself at a loss. In my attempt to be frugal, I had clearly underestimated the inconvenience of being some distance away from the heart of Inverness without a car. Maybe I could rent a bicycle.

A sudden yawn took me by surprise. I needed to make a plan, but my brain was fuzzy. Though I had gently teased Hayley about all her maps and guidebooks, I realized ruefully that I was
under
prepared. I had worked at the salon right up until an hour before we left for the airport. I had clothes and a passport with me, but beyond that, I was stymied.

What did one do in Scotland for a month without transportation or companions? I was supposed to be looking for a wild and wickedly handsome Scotsman like Jamie from
Outlander
. Someone who might romance me and introduce me the wonders of his homeland.

So far, meeting Rip Van Winkle was the extent of my interaction with the opposite sex.

Without fanfare, the door of my room opened and a petite blonde with a ponytail and an extremely fit body bounced into the room. She stopped short when she saw me. “Oh, good,” she said, her British accent crisp and pleasant. “I was hoping I wasn’t going to be alone tonight. I’m Lindsey from Liverpool.”

I leaned down awkwardly to shake her hand. “Willow Ryman. Nice to meet you,” I said.

She cocked her head. “Is your boyfriend on the third floor as well?”

“Excuse me?” The brain fog seemed to have increased.

“Your boyfriend,” she insisted. “It’s crazy that they don’t let us room together, but I suppose they don’t want to promote
bad behavior
.” She put the words in air quotes.

“Bad behavior?”

“You know,” she said, grinning. “Shagging. Not that anything will stop my Lenny from doing…well, you know. At least we have the great outdoors.”

I didn’t know. Not at all. The last time I had “shagged” anybody was over two years ago. I’d poured my heart and soul into making sure my hair salon was a success. This little girl smirking at me couldn’t be nineteen if she was a day.

“I’m traveling alone,” I said.

“Oh.” She radiated disapproval. “I’ve always heard it isn’t smart for a woman to hike and backpack on her own.”

“I’m not,” I said hastily. “I’m going to be here for a month. Exploring the Highlands. In depth. It’s going to be great.”

Maybe Lindsey thought I was too old to backpack across Europe, or maybe she felt sorry I was all alone. At any rate, she dropped the inquisition. “We’re doing the Great Glen Way,” she said. “Seventy-nine miles from Inverness to Fort William.”

“Fort William?” My ears perked up. The words conjured up scenes of torture from the television series Hayley and McKenzie and I had watched again and again. We could practically recite the dialogue by heart.

Lindsey nodded. “Yes. There’s a group of us doing the route as a last hurrah before we go back to university in a few weeks.”

I could think of lots better ways to celebrate the end of summer. Ones that didn’t involve hard work and long days. I experienced enough of that in my real life. Despite my current bare-bones situation, I was hoping my trip to Scotland was going to be more about leisure and fun times. Too bad they didn’t have mint juleps in the Highlands. I could use one right about now.

Lindsey crouched on the floor and rummaged through her pack, searching for something. When she stood up, she had a pocketknife in her hand. “Have you had lunch?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Big breakfast,” I mumbled, wondering how she had sneaked a pocketknife through airport security.

“One of the girls on the second floor has a jar of peanut butter and some crackers. You’re welcome to hang out with us.” She reached into her cubicle and came out with a trio of apples, thus explaining the sharp implement.

Her genuine friendliness and generosity stymied me. I was accustomed to taking care of myself. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m good for now. Maybe I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Count on it,” she said. “I’ll introduce you to my friends tonight. Later, Willow.”

After the perky Lindsey bounced back out of the room again, I couldn’t help myself. I fell asleep. But only for half an hour. After that, I made myself get up, and I splashed my face with cold water. The ploy worked. Mostly. I meandered downstairs and studied the two large bulletin boards.

I had all sorts of options. A poetry reading in the nearby village hall. Two kittens, free to a good home. Professional couple in Inverness interviewing prospective live-in nanny in exchange for room and board. Single white male seeking unattached female for travel and shared expenses. I wrinkled my nose. If I was going to be on the lookout for romance, I’d certainly have to look farther afield.

Rip Van Winkle was hunched over the desk, snoring. I supposed it was a good thing I didn’t need any real assistance. I doubted the old guy would be up to the task.

When I had exhausted the reading material on the bulletin boards, I put on my jacket and stepped outside. I was terrible at navigating; I had no sense of direction at all. I didn’t want to get lost on my first day. Tomorrow morning after breakfast, though, I was going to head out on my big adventure.

I leaned back against the building, wrapping my arms around my waist. The air was wet and cool. I shivered slightly, but it was a good feeling. The climate must be great for the skin. I shook my head, amused at myself, realizing that my business back in Atlanta was never far from my thoughts. I had hoped to add a line of skin care products to my salon this fall, but with the cost of the trip, I was probably going to have to wait another year.

As the hour grew later, people began to show up at the hostel. They looked at me curiously as they entered. Most of them said hello as they passed. The accents were a mixed bag. Lots of Brits. A few French couples. Even a gaggle of girls from one of the Scandinavian countries.