Scot of My Dreams by Janice Maynard Read Free Book Online Page B

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