The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) (11 page)

Tomorrow he would have to break the bad news to her about refusing her proposal. For now, he just folded the report in half and tucked it inside his suit jacket inner pocket. “Fine. I’ll read it this evening. But I’d like you to read my letter, as well.”

“Keep it for me,” she said. “I promise I’ll read it before I leave Scotland. But right now I’m concentrating on this presentation.”

He stared into his coffee, considering. He could see where that would be a positive for him that she not learn about his offer, or his feelings, just yet. He could wait and see how things went, hedge his bets with her.

Part of his letter was a formal job offer to her from Sage. The other part...

Well, it was personal. Intensely personal, at least for him.

And he was starting to see that maybe he’d been caught up in her magic, temporarily infected by their evening together in Vermont. Maybe it was only silliness on his part to imagine anything more between them.

This way, he could be sure. More careful about what he offered and promised.

He placed the letter back in his pocket. “Here is my business card,” he said to her, and took one from his wallet. “Just in case you need to contact me before tomorrow.”

She held his card to the light, squinting at it. “You’re Vice President of Sage Family Enterprises?”

“One of them.” He sighed at her. “Kristin, don’t get your hopes up over this project.”

* * *

“D
ON
’
T
GET
MY
...” She scrubbed at her eyes, suddenly angry. How was Malcolm being any different from her family, telling her that she was crazy to believe in things that they knew nothing about? She’d been foolish to think he was any different from the rest of them.

“I know you want to break away and travel in your life, find some adventure,” Malcolm said to her. “So why don’t you take the afternoon and the evening to sightsee with your group, rather than worrying about this?”

“Sightsee? You’re telling me to
sightsee?
” Was that his response to her plans—was he dismissing this as part of a silly adventure on her part?

“You like castles,” Malcolm said. “Well, we have castles in Scotland.”

“Castles,” she repeated. Like McGunnert Castle? Everybody making fun of her dreams and interests. Patronizing her.

Something in Kristin snapped. She was tired of people refusing to believe in her or take her seriously. Hadn’t they been wrong about her—about Nanny’s plaid?

They were probably wrong about Nanny’s castle, too.

Maybe the whole point of this trip was to show her that what she knew in her heart was what was right for her. Take the plaid, for example. Kristin had been told her entire life that this mythical tartan did not exist. That the McGunnert clan did not exist. That she was making things up in her mind.

“It’s not possible,” her family had said to her.

And then...here in Scotland, she’d actually seen with her own eyes what she’d always believed. She had material proof of the very tartan that she had found while researching her family history on the internet—the tartan that everyone had told her was only a fantasy. A mirage.

And yet, that so-called mirage now sat on her shoulders.

The experience back in the woolens shop had been a sign. It was as if her Nanny—her grandmother, the woman she barely remembered—was telling Kristin that she was
right.
That she would be okay.

Kristin knew exactly what she was going to do now.

Malcolm was behaving no differently from her family—he doubted her. He hadn’t believed that she’d dared to talk with John Sage. She could see it in the way Malcolm had only glanced at the report, dismissing it on the surface without even reading it. He’d told her to sightsee. Oh, she would sightsee all right. She would see the ultimate site—the final pull to prove to herself that she was okay. She was going to prove them all wrong, including him.

If Malcolm insisted on making her wait until tomorrow morning to discuss Born in Vermont, then she would bide her time and wait. But she would make good use of that time in-between.

Leaning over to the empty seat beside her, Kristin opened her purse and pulled out her guidebook. “I’ll see you here tomorrow at ten o’clock,” she said, carefully not looking at Malcolm’s handsome face. His Scottish good looks were only a distraction from what she really needed.

“Kristin—”

“Unless you’re ready to talk about Born in Vermont, then we have nothing more to say for now.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “So, are...you going to meet up with your tour guide?”

Why was he so concerned with how she was going to spend her time? Perhaps he had some sightseeing spots he’d like to recommend!

She sighed and continued to stare at her guidebook. “Please, just go, Malcolm.”

Malcolm hesitated, but finally, she sensed the weight in the table shift as he rose from his seat. His chair scraped back. In silence, he walked away from her and out of the coffee shop, the bell on the door ringing behind him.

She closed her eyes. She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake. But his physical presence was just too unnerving to her.

If only she could take back that kiss—that moment—they’d shared on her porch in the January snow. But she couldn’t. Ever.

* * *

M
ALCOLM
STOOD
ON
the pavement, crowds rushing around him. Kristin had come here to visit his company, but he had upset her and he felt some responsibility for that. How could he leave her alone, not knowing whether she was really okay or not?

Cursing softly, he ran a hand through his hair. Until now, Kristin had never owned a passport. Obviously, she wasn’t travel-savvy. What if she didn’t go back with the tour group this afternoon and something happened to her, alone in Edinburgh? How could he stand it?

But, he’d delayed his uncle long enough; Malcolm glanced at his watch and groaned. They had rescheduled the meeting for him, and Malcolm only had a couple minutes to get back.

But he couldn’t help it; he kept his eye glued to the coffee shop window. Inside, he could just see her pretty blond hair, bent over the table. He had to wait for just a moment and make sure Kristin rejoined her tour group.

He didn’t feel the same responsibility toward the rest of the people in Aura—yes, it was sad that they would be losing their jobs, but that was life, it was business. If not Sage, then some other company would have bought their brands and shut them down. No matter what Kristin said, he just didn’t see how there was any salvaging the Vermont plant. Nothing remained to be done except the route that he’d recommended, and his uncle had already approved.

Malcolm was responsible for the people in Sage, too, and he would not do to them what Jay Astley had done to his people—bankrupted them with his poor decisions.

Malcolm leaned against a lamppost, his attention focused on all directions at once. Periodically, he changed his position so that his back wasn’t exposed for long periods of time, but he always kept Kristin’s face in his sight through the coffee shop window.

After a while, she came outside, her purse slung over her shoulder. He waited until she rounded the street and headed into a car-hire business.

He paused, his breath roaring in his lungs.

What the hell? She was hiring a
car?
By
herself?
In Edinburgh?

His mobile phone rang. Malcolm glanced at the display. His uncle.
Damn it.

Malcolm had to take the call. There was no refusing his uncle.

As he pressed the phone to his ear, he kept his gaze glued to the door of the car rental store. He could only hope there was no other way out of the shop. “Yes,” he said into the phone.

“Malcolm, where are you?” His uncle’s assistant spoke in a measured and calm tone. “We’re waiting to start.”

Malcolm closed his eyes. He could either abandon Kristin, or he could please his uncle. There was no doing both.

He would undoubtedly regret this, but...

“I have to cancel. Tell my uncle...that something urgent requires my attention.”

A pause stretched on the other end of the line. “Mr. Sage wants to know...is this regarding the Aura buyout?”

“No,” Malcolm said quickly. “It’s...er...personal.”

His uncle chuckled. Malcolm heard him clearly in the background. They must have had him on speakerphone, the bastards.

His uncle’s voice came on the line. “Is it regarding the American woman I met earlier, Malcolm?”

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. “Yes,” he gritted out.

“Good. I like her. She has courage.”

Malcolm exhaled. Wonderful. He’d known his uncle thought it past time for him to settle down and begin raising the next generation. But
Kristin?
Clearly, his uncle was playing matchmaker.

“Take all the time you need this weekend,” his uncle continued. “The rest will keep until Monday.” The call disconnected.

Dumbfounded, Malcolm stared at the phone in his palm. He’d just been given the go-ahead to follow Kristin. This was his opportunity to make sure she would be okay.

Shoving his phone in his front pocket, he entered the car rental shop to see what she was up to.

Kristin stood at the counter, her elbows on top of it and her palms splayed flat, as if she were grounding herself there. A determined but giddy smile was on her face.

Trouble.
Involuntarily Malcolm’s palms clenched into fists. The back of his neck prickled.

A desk clerk returned with Kristin’s credit card. “Here you go, miss.”

“Thank you.” Kristin replaced the card in her purse. “Where may I pick up my car, please?”

Malcolm’s back had been turned for five minutes, and she’d already hired a car?

“Just a minute,” Malcolm said to the desk clerk. He intercepted the rental agreement as it came from the printer and studied the black-and-white paper. Kristin had ordered the cheapest car possible. Good Lord.

“Hey!” Kristin said, grabbing the agreement from him. “Are you following me, George? I mean,
Malcolm.
”

“Somebody has to,” he said. “You’re a one-woman demolition team. Where were you planning on going? This is Scotland—we drive on the other side of the road from you lot, you know.”

“Got it covered,” she said. But her smile faltered.

A manager came from the back room to join them. “Oh!” he said. “Mr. MacDowall.”

Malcolm ground his teeth and nodded curtly at the stranger.

“Can, we, er, interest you in leasing something sporty, sir?”

Kristin turned to glare at Malcolm—warning him off, he supposed. And while Malcolm was off guard for that split second, she grabbed the rental agreement from him and signed it. “May I have a map, please?” she said to the counter clerk.

A high-level, one-page summary map of the country? She had no idea what she was getting into at all.

But he kept his mouth closed. Stood back and waited for her to conduct her own transaction and accept the car keys. When she left, he followed her to the street, and then to a small lot. He kept back enough that he wasn’t on top of her.

He caught up to her as she was inspecting the car panels and windshield, apparently, for dings and scratches. She glanced at the rental contract and then back, circling the vehicle.

He nearly choked. The damn thing was little more than a golf cart, in size and in horsepower. If she had to outrun someone, she would never make it.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Sightseeing,” she said sweetly. “Just like you said.”

“How far do you intend to drive?”

“Why? Would you like to come with me? We can discuss our joint presentation for Born in Vermont.”

“No,” he said quickly. “I just...think I should know your plans. For safety reasons, of course.”

“Born in Vermont
is
my safety, Malcolm.”

“We have a meeting scheduled together for tomorrow morning,” he pointed out. “That’s still on.”

“Fine. Until then, I’m going to drive to my hotel and leave a note for my roommate as to where, exactly, I am going.”

“And where is that?” he asked. “
Where
are you going?”

“You’re not my tour guide or my roommate, Malcolm.”

He crossed his arms. “You’re right. You’re smart and capable. I know—I saw you in action back in Vermont.”

She didn’t answer him. He’d forgotten, flattery did not work with this woman.

He sighed. “Go ahead. Get in and drive out of the lot and then across one city block. If you can manage that, then I’ll go away and leave you in peace until tomorrow morning.”

“That’s big of you.” But she ignored him, opening the passenger-side door and stepping inside. Then she got out again, her face flushed. She walked around to the other side. Opened the driver’s-side door—the
true
driver’s side—sat inside the vehicle, and closed the door.

He stood beside the door and waited. He was hoping she was like most Americans he’d met, as far as her driving skills were concerned. It wasn’t a knock on her—he was sure she was an excellent driver back home—but he’d grown up in both cultures, and he knew the vehicles and the people.

She climbed back out of the vehicle—red-faced again—and shut the door. “Excuse me. I need to go back inside and change my car from one that isn’t a manual transmission.”

“
Or,
I can chauffeur you where you need to go,” he said quietly, not moving from where he stood. “Strictly as a sightseeing escort.”

She crossed her arms. “Malcolm, no offense, but unless you want to talk Born in Vermont, I’m not interested.”

He swallowed at her barb, though rationally, she was right to be cool with him. He could take it. Anything would be worth it not to see her in harm’s way. “Please, just don’t go running off without thinking your journey through. At least tell me where you are going.”

“It’s none of your business,” she said. “If I tell you anything concrete, you’ll only try to talk me out of it.”

But her face was pink. Why would she be embarrassed? Did she have something to hide?