Not Quite a Scot Page 5

  Cinnamon made a perfect, undemanding companion. I talked to her as I washed my face and brushed my teeth. She guarded the bathroom door while I showered. Afterward, I thought the hairdryer might spook her, but she watched, rapt, as I used the small appliance and a round brush to put the sleek curve back in my hair.

  With a towel wrapped around my damp body, I tiptoed across the bedroom. After pressing my ear to the door and hearing nothing, I opened it a crack and stuck out my hand to feel the knob. Finley had made good on his promise. He’d left me one of his shirts, a much-laundered, faded blue chambray that came down almost to my knees.

  I rinsed out my bra and undies and left them hanging on a bar in the bathroom. They would be dry by morning. My only remaining problem was what to wear on my feet when I went outside to let Cinnamon do her business. Oh well, it wouldn’t take long. And it was summer, after all. A Scottish summer, but summer nevertheless.

  “Are you ready, girl?”

  She scampered to the door, tail wagging madly.

  Mindful of Finley’s warning. I found the leash exactly as he had described it. Cinnamon was already wearing a collar, so it was a simple matter to fasten the braided length of mesh to a loop and check that it was tight.

  Before I opened the door, I wrapped the leash around my hand so there would be no surprises. “Behave yourself,” I muttered. “Do what you have to do and let’s go back inside so I can sleep.” There was no sign of Finley. Presumably his bedroom was on another level of the odd house.

  Outside, the night was cool and fragrant. Though my feet were bare, the cobblestoned walkway wasn’t difficult to negotiate. Cinnamon barked at a squirrel and chased a moth. Soon, she found a spot near a tree and took care of urgent needs.

  Suddenly, I was in no real hurry to go back inside. Here I was, halfway around the globe from my life back in the States. My whole plan was a bust so far, but that was the nature of travel at times. I couldn’t regret meeting Finley. His sweet, goofy dog was a bonus.

  Emboldened by a sudden burst of energy, I stepped cautiously out into the road. As far as I could tell, Finley’s was the only house up here. The lane ended in a cul-de-sac just beyond where I was standing. I curled my toes against the pavement. It still held a trace of warmth from the heat of the day.

  “Oh, Cinnamon,” I said. “How did I wind up in such a mess?” Even if I hadn’t wrecked the car, I still would have been faced with the wretched condition of Cedric’s rental house.

  The dog pulled at the leash, eager to explore. I was warm and comfortable in the long-sleeved shirt, so I let her lead me down the hill a few steps. As we rounded a curve, I caught a glimpse of the harbor below. Lights on boat masts bobbed up and down like nautical fireflies. I wondered if Finley sailed. I’d had several friends over the years who were boat people. Though I loved the water, I’d never had any desire to learn the ins and outs of sailing. Perhaps this would be the time to try.

  A huge yawn took me by surprise, popping my jaw. “Come on, girl. Time to go in.”

  She whined and sat down.

  Good grief. Were we really going to have a battle of wills at this hour? “Please be a good puppy. Let’s get back to the house. I saw your water bowl in the kitchen. I’ll bet there’s a treat there, too.”

  Cinnamon was unimpressed. She cocked her head as if to point out the stars and convince me this was the best time of day to play. A single, happy bark emphasized her point.

  “I get it,” I said, smiling even though my legs felt like spaghetti and my whole body ached. “It’s a gorgeous evening.” In Scotland, no less. Suddenly, I flashed to a vision of Jamie Fraser galloping over the hill on horseback, ready to scoop me up and put me behind him as we rode off into the wild night.

  Hayley and Willow and I had promised to look for our own versions of Outlander’s hero, Jamie Fraser, while we were in Scotland. Unfortunately, I didn’t think Finley was mine. He did have the same striking face as my TV crush, though the eye color and shade of hair were all wrong. Even worse, the timing was off kilter.

  Everyone knew that in a TV drama the lead can’t work out all the details of the plot until the last five minutes. Fate certainly wasn’t going to hand me Prince Charming with so little fanfare. Any prize worth having deserved a quest…a hunt…an adventure. I was going to be here for almost an entire month. I’d likely have to sort through a handful of candidates at least before I found my one true love.

  I giggled, a little high on sleep deprivation and my near-nakedness. Besides, there was something about Finley, something not quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it made me skittish.

  He was gorgeous, yes. His in-your-face masculinity gave off a sexual vibe that made my breath catch and my heart beat faster. A man like Finley wouldn’t be easy to control. Sadly, I crossed him off my mental list. I was a woman who always liked being in control. Whether it was in the bedroom or the boardroom, I wanted to call the shots.

  Too bad Finley Craig wasn’t the amenable type. Because he definitely revved my engines.

  Cinnamon went still, her hair standing on end. She growled low in her throat. Suddenly, a rodent of some sort darted out of the brush and scampered right in front of the dog’s nose.

  The puppy went wild, almost wrenching my arm from its socket as she bounded after the tiny mammal. I hung on to the leash for dear life, wincing as my feet trod on tiny twigs and stones. “Enough!” I cried. “Stop!”

  My commands fell on deaf ears. The dog was in full-on attack mode. She ran and ran, zigzagging back and forth between trees, making no real progress. At last she darted into the narrow road again. I knew this was my chance. I planted my bare feet, held the leash with two hands, and yelled, “Cinnamon. Enough.”

  Unfortunately, my urgency got through. The puppy stopped dead in her tracks for a split second. I took a step forward. “Good girl. Let’s—”

  Before I could corral her, she was off again. The unexpected movement caught me off guard. I stumbled and went down hard on both knees. “Ouch, you wretched dog. Stop this instant.”

  At last she understood and acknowledged me. Circling back to where I sat in the road, she nosed my elbow and whined.

  I scowled. “See what you made me do?”

  Cinnamon groveled, penitent and pitiful.

  My knees stung like the devil. Though it was dark, I was positive I had left a layer of skin on the pavement. When I touched my kneecap delicately, it was wet. Great. Just great.

  Carefully, moving like an old lady, I got to my feet, wincing with every movement. I tugged on the leash. “Home, you rascal. Maybe we’ll come out again tomorrow night,” I said. “For now I’m done. Seriously. Play time is over.”

  Our pace was almost sedate as we made our way back to the house. Once we were inside the kitchen, I had my first clear look at my injuries. My knees were a raw, bloody mess. If I were at home, this situation would call for hydrogen peroxide. I was in a stranger’s house, though, and I had no idea whether or not the Scots even used such a thing.

  Cinnamon was suspiciously docile as I unfastened her leash and returned it to its allotted location. I put a finger to my lips. “Quiet,” I whispered. “We don’t want to wake the master of the house.”

  Despite our tiptoeing about, the stairs were old and creaked accordingly. I had no idea what time it was, but it was late. We had almost made it to the safety of my room when Finley appeared from around a corner, scowling. “Where in the hell have you been, Duchess? I thought you’d absconded with my dog.”

  It was clearly a joke. His tone annoyed me. “I’m sorry we woke you. I didn’t know there was a time limit on these things. It’s a beautiful night.”

  “I thought you were tired.”

  “I was. I am. Cinnamon wanted to play.”

  “She always does.” He held out a hand. “I think she’d better sleep in my study. Puppies need a firm hand to learn discipline.”

  “Puppies also need love,” I reminded him, i
ndignant on Cinnamon’s behalf. My knees hurt, but I wasn’t going to whine about that.

  “This mutt is a pro at getting what she wants, aren’t you, girl?”

  As if sensing what side her bread was buttered on, Cinnamon betrayed me and went to her master. Rubbing her head against his leg, she gave me a soulful look as if to apologize for her defection. “Fine,” I muttered. “Good night.”

  I had my hand on the bedroom door when Finley barked out another order. “Stop. Wait.” The man could give lessons to a drill sergeant.

  Before I could respond, he was crouched in front of me, his fingers on the backs of my legs. “You’re hurt, Duchess.”

  I shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  He looked up at me. “I told you she liked to run away.”

  Cinnamon pleaded with me telepathically.

  “It wasn’t her fault,” I said. “She took me by surprise.”

  “Uh, huh.” Finley brushed his thumb across one raw knee.

  “Ouch! That hurts.”

  “We’ve got to get this cleaned up. You don’t want to ruin your trip with a bad infection.”

  Before I could divine his intent, he scooped me up in his arms, bumped the door open with his hip, and laid me on the bed. “Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

  Chapter 8

  Cinnamon rested her nose on the edge of the mattress, looking as penitent as a puppy could. I could swear she was asking forgiveness.

  I scratched her head and grinned when her eyes closed in ecstasy. “You’re so easy,” I said. “Fickle, aren’t you?”

  Finley reappeared. “She is at that. Move, you big galumph.” He sat down near my hip and began digging through his cache of supplies.

  I jerked upright abruptly, tugging the shirt to my knees. “Does that mean me, or the dog?”

  The man actually grinned. It didn’t last long. I sensed that it was reluctant humor at best, but I felt a sense of accomplishment.

  “Very funny, Duchess. Hold still while I do this. You’ve got bits of dirt and debris mixed in with the blood.”

  After that, I couldn’t think of a thing to say, comic or otherwise. Finley Craig handled my legs with all the dispassion of a medical professional. From where I was sitting, it felt extremely personal.

  First, he tucked a towel beneath my thighs to protect the bedding. Then, without any warning at all, he dumped half a bottle of hydrogen peroxide over one kneecap and then the other. I shuddered and winced. The sting and the burn weren’t pleasant, though the white fizziness did give me some reassurance that the liquid was doing its job.

  Next, my amateur physician patted my knees dry with a paper towel and gently spread a thin film of antibiotic cream over the large expanses of scraped skin. He was careful…almost tender. When I sneaked a peek at his face, I noted his frown.

  “I’m sorry to be such a bother,” I said meekly. “I could have managed on my own.”

  “With what?” Finley head snapped up. His eyes flashed as he called me out on my bravado. I didn’t like having to rely on anyone else, but in this case, he was right.

  “Does it need a bandage?” I asked.

  “Don’t be so impatient. I’m about to cover it for the night so the medicine stays in place.”

  “Yes, sir.” I nearly snapped a salute. The hour was late and my judgment was impaired, so I squashed the impulse.

  Finley ignored my smart-ass response as he fastened a square adhesive bandage across each knee. “You can leave these off during the day tomorrow if you want to…or wait until the day after.” He finished his task and straightened. His handiwork wasn’t my most fashionable look, but my legs weren’t aching as much.

  He picked up the first aid kit. “Come on, Cinnamon. It’s a night in the office for you, my girl.”

  This time I let it slide. I wasn’t a pro when it came to canine training, but I had to admit I hated watching the sweet, rambunctious dog trot out the door. “Thank you, Finley,” I said. “I’m sorry I let her get away from me.”

  He turned, his hand on the doorframe. “You’re welcome.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “Be honest, Duchess. Are you wearing anything at all under my shirt?”

  I felt my face go hot. “No,” I said. “I’m not.”

  * * * *

  I think I must have dozed off the moment the door closed behind my host and his dog. I slept deeply. When I awoke hours later, I felt reasonably rested and refreshed for the first time since leaving the States a few days ago. The problems that had seemed overwhelming last night were more like inconveniences this morning.

  But first, breakfast…

  After dressing in the same white pantsuit and silk tank, I padded barefoot down to the kitchen. Though I was accustomed to getting my caffeine fix via tea while in the UK, Finley owned an honest-to-god coffee pot. And it was almost full. Hallelujah! I inhaled the aroma like a junkie anticipating a fix.

  In one of the cabinets, I found a collection of mismatched mugs. I chose the one that said Bikers Do It On the Run. I wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that slogan, but the heavy ceramic cup was the biggest of the lot, and I needed a jolt of java to get me through this day.

  Cinnamon was nowhere to be seen or heard. Perhaps she was with her master, out for a morning run, or more likely, off at work. Come to think of it, what exactly did Finley do for a living?

  I sat at the round oak table, chin propped on one hand, and drank my coffee slowly, willing it to perk me up. Finley had left the toaster and a loaf of bread in a prominent position on the counter, but I wasn’t hungry.

  I was halfway through my second cup when I heard the front door open. Moments later, man and dog appeared. Cinnamon must have taken Finley’s scolding to heart, because instead of bounding across the room, she went to the corner where her water dish sat, slurped up a mouthful, and curled up to study the humans.

  “You make good coffee.” I lifted my mug in greeting. To the man, not the dog.

  Finley nodded. “I had a feeling you were a coffee woman.”

  “I might have a wee Starbucks addiction,” I admitted.

  “How are your knees?”

  I nearly choked on a sip of hot coffee. “Better.” Scintillating conversation. Wow.

  He tossed a slip of paper on the table. “I spoke to woman I know in the village. She and her daughter promised to clean your house tomorrow. That was the soonest I could find anyone who was free. There’s the phone number. Her name is Mrs. Clark. I told her you’d meet her at Cedric’s place at nine in the morning.”

  My mouth hung open. “Excuse me?”

  He shrugged. “You were asleep. I know the people here. It seemed like the most efficient way to proceed.”

  I tamped down my temper with an effort. The man was trying to help. “I’m accustomed to taking care of my own business,” I said, “though it’s kind of you to make those arrangements on my behalf.” The words I spoke aloud were certainly much nicer than what I really wanted to say.

  Finley continued, unfazed by my oblique reprimand. “The car rental place in Inverness will be out with a replacement vehicle and a truck to do the tow before dark tonight. They’ll likely be able to force the trunk open so you can get your things. You’ll have to sign some paperwork. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  I cocked my head. “Were you ever in the military?”

  His eyes widened. “God, no. Do I look like the kind of guy who does well with authority?”

  He had me there. What he looked like was a fallen angel. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but from now on, I’d prefer to handle my own arrangements. I’m sure you’re a busy man.”

  “In other words, keep your arse out of my business, Mr. Craig.”

  “I didn’t say that…exactly.”

  He chuckled. “You were thinking really loudly.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I stood and poured my third cup. “Don’t take it personally.” I had to pass far too close to
him on the way to the coffeepot. He smelled like the soap from his shower and the freshness of a Highland morning. I told myself I wasn’t impressed.

  Striving for nonchalance, I leaned against the counter and eyed him over the rim of my biker mug. “Do you mind if I ask what you do for a living?”

  He poured himself coffee as well, turned a chair around backward and straddled it. “I suppose not.”

  Stubborn man. “Well,” I said, reining in my impatience. “Don’t make me beg.”

  “That’s one of my spe-cial-i-ties.” He said it all British and proper. When he waggled his eyebrows, I had to laugh.

  “Seriously, Finley. What do you do?”

  He shrugged. “I build high-end motorcycles for individuals who can afford them.”

  “As in the rich and famous?”

  “Aye. We normally start by sharing ideas via e-mail. I come up with sketches. When I get far enough along, the buyer comes to Skye for a firsthand look and a test drive. It’s peaceful here…quiet. No paparazzi. No one to blink an eye if Jay Leno drops by for a modified Ducati with a Rolls Royce turbine engine.”

  “Jay Leno? Seriously?”

  “He and Justin Timberlake, among others.”

  I studied his face for a long minute. “How does one get into that line of work?” I asked.

  “That’s a story for another day.” The words were flat. Definitive. He finished his coffee and carried the cup to the sink. “I assume you can amuse yourself, lass. The town of Portree is at your disposal. I’d recommend lunch at the Boar and Brigand. My housekeeper will be by in a bit. She usually makes up a shepherd’s pie for my dinner. If that suits you, you’re welcome to share.”

  “Aren’t you going to show me your workshop?” Suddenly, the prospect of being on my own had lost its charm.

  He hesitated, clearly trying to formulate a polite answer. “I’m in the middle of a few things. Maybe tomorrow.”

  I nodded, refusing to admit that my feelings were hurt. I had lots of friends who wanted to spend time with me. Finley’s gruff, barely tolerant attitude was disconcerting. “Fine. I’ll do some exploring today. If I’m not back by six, feel free to eat without me.”