Scot of My Dreams (6 page)

The fact that Bryce wore a kilt with such easy confidence was my Kryptonite. It shouldn’t have mattered. When my friends and I arrived at the train station in Inverness recently, we saw a guy in a kilt playing the bagpipes, hoping to solicit donations from tourists.

I’d barely glanced at him. So it couldn’t be only the tartan around the hips of my host that was making my heart pound and my hands shake. It had to be something else. Something big. Something preordained.

Maybe this was
the
moment. Perhaps I had traveled across an ocean to find my one true love. Maybe Hayley and McKenzie weren’t so goofy after all.

Without warning, I stumbled over a hidden root. Bryce grabbed my arm to steady me. Despite the warmth of his fingers on the bare skin of my arm, the momentary misstep was enough to jerk me back to reality.

What was I thinking? Had somebody laced my luncheon drink with crazy juice? I was about the farthest thing from a romantic on the planet. I knew full well how difficult it was for a man and a woman to sustain the passion of a lifetime. My parents had barely made it a decade before bills and shouting matches and general dissatisfaction with life convinced my father to walk out.

Unfortunately, my mother was never a strong person. She’d been woefully unprepared for life as a single parent.

I had learned hard lessons at an early age.

Why was I letting Hayley, McKenzie,
Outlander,
and this incredible country get inside my head? I knew who I was. I had made a life for myself that meant I would never have to lean on a man for support—emotionally, financially, or otherwise. I couldn’t let vacation madness entice me into doing something foolish.

“I need to go home now,” I said. “Thank you for lunch and the tour.”

Bryce pulled up short. “Was it something I said?”

His self-deprecating question was offered with a smile.

I wrapped my arms around my waist. “Of course not. I’ve taken up far too much of your day. First I ruined your fishing. Then I invaded your home. It’s time for me to leave.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He lowered his head towards me.

In a split second, I
knew
he was going to kiss me. The sun was hot on my back. I felt dizzy and alive and at the same time confused. Maybe this was all a dream.

Just when I thought the moment would never end, Bryce cleared his throat and stepped back. “I’ll get the car,” he said. “And bring it around. You can meet me out back where we came in with Brodie. I’m sure he’ll want to say goodbye. But be careful—I haven’t had time to bathe him yet.”

When we stepped inside the castle, Bryce disappeared and the spell was broken. I found my raffia tote in the kitchen. After thanking Mrs. Argyle for her help, I said my goodbyes, including one to Brodie, who actually managed to seem repentant. Quite a feat for a dog.

I had walked miles this morning, but the return trip in Bryce’s luxury sedan was all too quick. Outside the hostel, he shut off the engine and rested his forearm on the steering wheel as he turned to face me. “I’d like to see you again, Willow. Will you have dinner with me one evening?”

The invitation caught me off guard. This was no adolescent teenager shyly asking for a date. Bryce was a man stating his interest. Plainly. Unequivocally.

Though he had done little more than talk to me and look at me and touch me in only the most conventional of ways, I received his message loud and clear.

I fumbled with my seatbelt, not sure what to say. Not sure what I
wanted
to say. “The hostel provides a meal in the evenings.”

My companion chuckled, his eyes bright and mesmerizing. “I think we can do better than that. Say yes, Willow. Make me a happy Scotsman.”

“Is that all it takes to make you happy?”

The air inside the car was suddenly charged. I saw a flush ride its way from Bryce’s throat up his cheekbones. “It’s a start.”

Oh, Lordy
. I was toast. It was all I could do not to climb across the console, curl into his lap, and see where the moment took us.

Fortunately, I was saved from doing anything rash by the arrival of a dozen hikers coming in after a long day of walking. Their loud conversation and tromping feet surrounded our car and ruined the mood.

Bryce winced and glanced at his watch. “I should go. But you haven’t given me an answer.”

The smart thing would be to politely decline and to make my own plans for the remainder of the month. I rationalized my decision by the fact I had promised my two friends I would be on the lookout for romance. I’d metaphorically crossed my fingers behind my back when I’d made that promise, but still…

“That would be fun,” I said.

“Tomorrow night, then? I’ll make reservations at one of my favorite restaurants in Inverness.”

“I hope it isn’t too fancy. All I have with me are variations of what I’m wearing.”

His gaze warmed, almost a tangible caress. “You’re perfect the way you are. I’ll pick you up at six if that works.”

“Yes. I’ll be ready.” I made myself get out of the car. I was drawn to Bryce MacBrae in ways I couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was his perfect manners or his posh, Scots-flavored accent or the fact that he was so darn hot in that kilt.

I lived a very ordinary life back in Georgia. Was it any wonder that the extraordinary beckoned so enticingly?

I exited the car and stood in front of the hostel, watching as Bryce drove away. I wondered if he would really follow through on his invitation. I wondered if today had really happened. Maybe like Claire in
Outlander
I had been thrust into another dimension.

Shrugging at my own foolishness, I went inside.

I was taken aback to see Mrs. Garrett, the cook and part-time hostel manager, waiting for me. “I saw ye out the window,” she said. “We need to talk.” The harried expression on her round face worried me. I couldn’t imagine why the two of us had any need to chat.

Following in her wake, I made my way back to the kitchen. The appliances were ancient, but the room was clean. I perched on a stool and set my bag on the stainless steel counter. “What’s going on?”

The cook didn’t seem able to alight anywhere. She bustled from one side of the kitchen to the other, straightening things that were already straight and wiping up invisible spots. “My sister in Glasgow has taken a fall. She’s a widow and going to be bedridden for some time. I’m moving back to take care of her. She’s all the family I’ve got, and I’m of an age to retire anyway.”

I was sympathetic, but I couldn’t see why this involved me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I hope she’ll recover well.”

Her teeth worried her bottom lip. Her hands plucked restlessly at her apron. “Here’s the thing, lass. Since I’m going away, the owners have decided to shut down the hostel for a while.”

I gaped at her. No. This wasn’t fair. “I have a reservation,” I said. “For the entire month.”

“Aye. That’s true.” She grimaced. “But you’re the only one. Everyone else on the books is here for only a night or two. And much of our business is drop-ins. It won’t be hard to book them into other places.”

“If it’s the meals,” I said desperately, “I could do breakfast. Maybe in exchange for my room and board. And they could hire another person to do the dinner. Or drop dinner entirely.”

There I was again, trying to get a job I didn’t even want. I was supposed to be learning how to relax. Preparing breakfast every day for a revolving clientele was not exactly a dream vacation.

Luckily for me, Mrs. Garrett didn’t take me seriously. “Och, lassie, it’s not only that. The owners have decided they need to remodel. Our occupancy is way down. The young people want to stay in places with Internet and the like. We’re losing business. Spring and summer are our busiest times, so it makes sense to do this now that autumn is on the way.”

“I see.”

“No need for the long face, love. For your inconvenience, they’re going to give you a generous voucher that will be good at any one of a dozen other locations. You’ll be getting far nicer accommodations at no additional charge.”

I was relieved by this news but instantly thought of a new worry. “Do you think anyone will be able to take me for an entire month on such short notice?” I didn’t fancy moving from one spot to the next to the next. I’d wanted to plant myself within a community. And what about Bryce? Here at Glenmurr, I was in walking distance of the laird and his fascinating castle. Who knew how far away these other hostels were?

Mrs. Garrett nodded. “’Twill not be a problem, I promise.”

I hid my dismay as best I could. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to make do.” It wasn’t the cook’s fault. No need to take my disappointment out on her. I made some excuse and headed up toward my room, but not before she delivered the final blow.

“And one last thing,” she said. “Everyone has to be out of the building by Monday morning.”

That was four days from now. Suddenly, my wonderful vacation was imploding. I wanted to call Hayley and McKenzie to tell them what had happened, but my situation hardly warranted a 911 head’s up to my friends. Besides, I didn’t want them to worry about me.

I gave myself an hour to sulk, and then I shook it off. I’d built a business from scratch. A little thing like changing from one hostel to another wasn’t going to trip me up.

For the moment, the other five beds in my room were empty. Mrs. Garrett was right. As I knew all too well, you couldn’t run a business indefinitely without a full clientele.

After dinner, I took a shower and climbed into bed. I had a fat novel with me I’d been wanting to read for ages. Hopefully, the storyline would take my mind off the upheaval in my carefully laid plans.

It was after eight when I heard a small knock at the door and a young woman came in. She looked exhausted, and she had been crying. I’m not exactly the nurturing type, but as a decent human being I had to say something.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Willow Ryman. From the United States. Welcome. It looks like it’s only going to be you and me tonight.”

Her eyes widened, her bottom lip trembled, and she broke into tears, interspersed with high decibel outbursts in what sounded like Spanish. She dropped her backpack, sat down on the floor cross-legged, and wailed.

Good grief
.

Clearly, I wasn’t going to be able to broker a deal for peace and quiet from a distance. Sighing inwardly, I climbed down the ladder and crouched beside the golden-skinned, curvy girl. She had her face buried in her hands. The all-out tears had dwindled to the occasional sob.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you speak English?”

She looked up at me with a tragic air. “
Si
. I speak the English.
Un poquito
.”

“Are you ill? Sick? Injured?”

“
Si
and
si
and
si!
My heart is broken.” The tears started up again in earnest.

I let her cry it out for a few more minutes. Given that she looked perfectly healthy, I supposed her dramatic explanation was more emotional than physical. In my experience, hearts didn’t really break.

Finally, I decided she’d wallowed in her misery long enough. “Tell me what’s wrong,” I said firmly.

Wet brown eyes looked up at me tragically. “I didn’t know,” she said. “About the rooms. I’m not so good at the English. I made, um, how you say it? The
reservaciones
?”

“Yes…”

“We’re on our honeymoon,” she cried. “And my husband, they sent him to
un otro
habitación
.”

Ah. Now I understood. The young lovers were being separated overnight. It wasn’t exactly a crisis on the level of having all your money stolen or being forced to sleep on a park bench, but I could see how the snafu could put a damper on a young couple’s honeymoon week.

Other than our room, the hostel was fuller than usual tonight. A high school study-abroad group had taken up the entire first and second floors. This was their last night before flying home to the States. Any guests not part of that bunch had been relegated to the third and fourth floors.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Carlotta.” She sniffed, her perfect dewy complexion not a bit damaged by the bout of weeping. If I had done what she did, I’d have puffy eyes and blotchy skin.

“I have an idea, Carlotta. It’s pretty late. So it looks like you and I are going to be the only ones in this room. What if I go sleep in the lobby? You can sneak your husband up here and lock the door so you can have some privacy.”

Her eyes widened. “You would do that for me? A stranger?
Dios mío
. You are an angel.” She threw herself at me and hugged me so tightly I got a little breathless and woozy.

Finally, I managed to extricate myself from her enthusiasm. I had already taken a shower, so I put my clothes back on. Grabbing my tote and backpack, plus a pillow and blanket, I made my way downstairs.

Rip Van Winkle opened one eye when he spotted me.

“Too much snoring in my room,” I said.

He nodded and went back to sleep.

Fortunately, the furniture in the common areas was relatively new. I chose a sofa in the most private corner and turned it to face the wall. By now it was almost ten o’clock. The clerk had already dimmed the lights.

In the distance, I could hear the high school group partying in their rooms, but the muted noise didn’t bother me. In the neighborhood where I had spent a good chunk of my life, the streets at night were full of loud sounds. Ambulances, police sirens…even the occasional gunshot.

This gloomy lobby was peaceful in comparison.

I fluffed my pillow and blanket and settled in. Nothing about this experience so far was what I imagined before coming to Scotland. Tonight I felt like a sojourner…a stranger in a strange land.

Inevitably, my thoughts drifted to
Outlander
. There were often points in the story where Claire and Jamie had slept outside under the stars, either during travel or while on the run from the British. In many ways, I identified with Claire. Not the part about having two men in my life. I didn’t even have one.

But Claire was strong. In the midst of a frightening, surreal situation, when she had no place to turn and no one to trust, she kept her chin up and soldiered on. She knew she had to rely on herself.