When a gorgeous new man—in a kilt—comes to town, life in Highland, Georgia, will never be the same . . .
Iain Connors is the poster boy for the strong and silent type. Growing up a loner at Cairndow Castle in Scotland with only the cliffs and moors for company, it's understood Iain will assume the mantle of Cairndow groundskeeper when his father is ready to relinquish it. But his stint in Her Majesty's Armed Forces has opened up a whole new world—and now, rather than settle down, he accepts an invitation to travel to the States to take charge of the Highland Games. After all, he's led men into battle, how hard can planning a party be?
Anna Maitland is ready to step up for her best friend Isabel Blackmoor, who can't run the Games in their hometown this year. Surely Anna, a dance instructor with boundless energy, spirit, and charm, is up for the challenge? What she doesn't anticipate is a man in a kilt who turns up claiming he's the one in charge. What's worse about this Iain? He's so infuriatingly handsome that she can't help but fantasize about him whispering sweet-nothings in her ear in his rumbly, sexy brogue . . .
Contains mature themes.
Release date:
February 25, 2020
Publisher:
St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages:
336
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Anna Maitland was waving the toddler class out the door of her dance studio, the strains of “The Wheels on the Bus” still resonating in her head, when her phone buzzed. Not an unusual state these days with the Highland festival three weeks away. Anna was doing her best to keep everything and everyone on track while the Buchanan ladies were seeing to an even bigger project—the birth of a baby.
Even though she tried to temper it, her voice retained the singsong tenor she used to cajole the toddlers into behaving. “Hello. Anna Maitland here.”
“Howdy there, I got ’em.” The male voice was double-battered and country-fried and held the peculiar familiarity of a born-and-raised Southern man of a certain age.
Anna had attended and been part of the festival for years. In fact, no one had won Lass of the Games, awarded to the best dancer, as many times as she had, but she’d never been in charge of anything but her dance troupe. This year, she was in charge of everything. She’d had no idea everything ran the gamut of getting the stage set up and organizing the vendors, to verifying the number of portable potties and parking attendants needed.
All the while, Anna was trying to wrap her head around the fact her best friend, Isabel Buchanan, was having a baby. It didn’t seem real. Maybe because she hadn’t seen her best friend beyond a few video chats for almost a year. Just last summer, Izzy had embarked on a two-week fling with Alasdair Blackmoor and ended up falling in love. Now, she was married and having a baby. It was crazy-scary how fast life could deliver blessings and, for that matter, tragedies too.
Izzy had been put on bed rest a month earlier, and Rose Buchanan and Gareth Blackmoor had flown to her side to await the birth of the next heir of Cairndow, dropping the festival in Anna’s lap earlier than they’d anticipated.
At first, Anna had relished being in charge of the festival. She was ready to prove herself. Anyway, it’s not like she had a life outside the studio. No boyfriend. No hobbies. No family. At least, not since the winter, when her mother announced she was selling Anna’s childhood home and moving into a retirement community in Florida.
While it had been a shock, Anna was used to people leaving. She was out to prove she could do it all—and then some—on her own. She needed no one’s help.
She cleared her throat and tried her best to sound professional. “Who am I speaking with?”
“You will,” the man said.
She switched hands and pressed the phone tighter against her ear as if that would help deciphering his words. “I’m sorry. What will I do?”
“I said, this is Ewell Hightower.” The man spoke slower and louder as if he’d gotten the town idiot on the line. “From down around Macon.”
She riffled through her mental files for a vendor in Macon and came up empty. “What can I help you with, Mr. Hightower?”
His laugh was nasal but good-natured. “Call me Ewell. I gots your animals.”
“What animals would that be?”
Now it was his turn to pause and consider. “Have you talked with Gareth?”
As a matter of fact, she hadn’t. Rose and Izzy had been her contacts since they had spent the last decade planning the festival together on the grounds of Stonehaven, the Buchanan family home. “No. Should I have?”
“He leased a Scottish blackface ewe and a Highland cow for the festival you’uns is putting on up there.”
The phone grew slippery in her suddenly sweaty palm. While there had been talk of incorporating animals into the festival, she assumed those plans had been on hold until next year when Gareth could oversee the new venture. The man Gareth had promised to send to help out wasn’t expected for another week, and Anna feared he’d be more hindrance than help anyway.
“I see. I’ll need to discuss the matter with Gareth and get back to you. We may have to cancel.”
“You’uns would be out a fair amount if you cancel. ’Sides, I’m already on my way. Got the paperwork. Can you meet me out at your place to take delivery?”
The background sounds parsed itself into a combination of the radio and road noise. Anna grimaced and mouthed a curse. “How far away are you?”
“Just passed that fancy WELCOME TO HIGHLAND sign. Are you out at the big house now?”
The big house could only mean Stonehaven. “I’m not.”
“I’ll need someone to sign off and take possession of the girls.” It was a statement and an assumption someone would be there to handle the deed.
The girls. Ewell made it sound like they were arriving for a carefree sleepover. “I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
“Good enough, then.” Ewell disconnected.
The surprise put Anna’s thoughts into a tumble. Izzy had warned her there would be unexpected hurdles; she just hadn’t counted on stumbling over so many this early in the race. She scrolled through her contacts and hit a name.
Keisha answered in her usual chipper voice. “What’s up, Teach?”
“I need a favor. I have to run out to Stonehaven and take a delivery for the festival. If I’m not back, can you and Gabby run the girls through the routine a couple of times?”
“Sure thing. You know I love to boss everyone around.” The laughter in Keisha’s voice was usually infectious, but Anna was too stressed to join in.
“Thanks, sweetie. Try not to turn into a dancing despot. I’ll buy you a coffee or some ice cream down at the Brown Cow after class.”
She hit the end button then climbed into her black VW Bug and peeled out of the parking lot behind the studio, heading toward Stonehaven. Gareth was going to get an earful. What time was it in Scotland? It didn’t matter. Gareth deserved to get dragged out of bed for this. She hit the call button. No answer. The butt chewing was on hold.
She pulled onto the pebbled lane to Stonehaven. Trees on either side of the lane offered a brief respite from the sun. Her AC hadn’t even had enough time to cool her off when she parked by the row of pine trees between the house and barn next to Izzy’s old truck.
The house’s facade was stone and it had a castle-like feel with a turret even though the inside was straight out of a Southern Living magazine with a comfortable, breezy elegance that epitomized Rose Buchanan. Stonehaven provided the perfect backdrop to the festival that was held on the grounds.
She slid out of her car and paced next to Izzy’s old truck. Pollen muted the tartan-painted hood and stripes down the side. Had it even been driven since Izzy left a year ago? Like a medium, Anna laid her hands on the truck as if she could somehow connect with her best friend a thousand miles and many time zones away.
A pine cone thudded next to her hand and bounced to the ground, making her jump. She gave a little laugh at her unusually whimsical thoughts. Maybe she was channeling Izzy after all, considering her friend was in the middle of writing a fantasy novel.
The rattle of a trailer brought her back to reality. An enormous double cab truck towing a horse trailer approached, passing her and parking close to the barn. Ewell swung himself out of the driver’s seat and hopped to the ground from the running board.
With a weathered, worn face that could have been anywhere between sixty and eighty, Ewell was short and bowlegged and reminded Anna of a cheerful garden gnome.
“You Miss Maitland?” He spit tobacco to the side and offered her a gnarled hand.
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