Drifting Dawn

Book 2: Scottish Isles Series

by Samantha Young

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Scottish & Highlander

Synopsis

After eighteen years, I’ve come home to the Scottish island of my childhood. It’s the place I vowed I wouldn’t return to so I never again had to see the man who broke my heart into a million pieces.

Yet family has inevitably brought me back, and avoiding my ex, Quinn McQuarrie, is proving impossible when he insists on digging up the past every time we meet.

Quinn is now a single dad, the local contractor, and the person the entire town is rooting for to get his happily ever after. The problem is, he wants me to be his HEA, and I just want to move on. When Quinn sees my plans to save the town’s volunteer lifeboat service as an opportunity to work together, I’m stuck with him. And, unfortunately, I soon realize there’s no denying that the chemistry we share has only grown more intense with the passing of time.

I know Quinn wants more than just a physical relationship, but it’s all I can promise with so much hurt and distrust between us.

However, when strange disturbances escalate to harassment, our lives are turned upside down, and Quinn proves he will do anything in his power to protect me. Even if it means losing each other before we ever get our second chance…

Release date: April 16, 2026

Print pages: 372

Sample

Prologue

Quinn

The Hebridean Islands, Scotland

October, This Year

 

The colorful row of buildings on Main Street grew more visible as the small ferry cut through the water toward Leth Sholas. Relief, as well as urgency, thrummed through me as I took in the coastal front of my hometown on the Isle of Glenvulin. The red-painted hotel and pub, the Fisherman’s Lantern, the blue-and-yellow home of the Leth Sholas Bakery & Tearoom. The harbor bustled with fishing crews. But it was the pink-and-white building next to the bakery where my gaze fixed. Macbeth’s Pages & Perks. Our local coffeehouse and bookstore. Now owned by Taran Macbeth. The love of my fucking life. The thought elicited a spearing pain under my sternum that I still wasn’t used to, my hands tightening around the railing as our boat bobbed across the water, drawing us nearer to home. I was grateful the weather was calm enough to allow travel back to Leth Sholas—colloquially nicknamed Half-Light Harbor—leth sholas translated to half-light in English. Ramsay and I had driven from our current location on the Isle of Thistles, where we were assessing whether we wanted to take on the job of fixing mistakes made by another construction crew at the site of an upcoming whisky distillery and an adjoining hotel. The island’s real name was Isle of Scaris, but many decades ago a previous owner had planted an entire field of thistles in a boggy marshland beneath the bridge that connected it to the mainland. Wild thistles were the first thing you saw as you approached the island, so the nickname had stuck. I co-owned the construction company alongside my business partner Ramsay McRae, and this job, if we took it, would mean living on Scaris four days a week. It was tough being away from home that much, for all of us. The compensation, however, meant I couldn’t say no without great thought. My crew would be glad for the work. I tended to take on jobs that were seasonal but paid well enough to cover my men financially for the entire year. Staying on Scaris would allow us to work faster, and I was confident we could finish in six weeks, but it would be risky considering winter weather was heading our way, which could complicate back-and-forth travel. That’s where my mind should be. Weighing the pros and cons. Logistics, plans. Yet all I could think of was Taran. There were days I missed my kids so badly, it burned like indigestion. When their mum, my ex-wife Kiera, moved them to the mainland, to Oban, it destroyed me. I saw them every other weekend and we alternated holidays. Now my oldest, Heather, had left for university. It was a gaping wound not having them here. To then be away from Leth Sholas, from her … Like the six-foot-four ninja he was, Ramsay McRae suddenly appeared at my side as the boat pulled into Leth Sholas’s harbor.

“I’ll say it again.” My friend’s voice was just loud enough to be heard over the water and the boat engine. “You have to live your life as normal. Last year you would have taken this job.” I scowled. “Aye? Eoghan is still out there on bail. It might have been quiet for a while, but I still don’t trust him. How did you feel last year when Halston Cole sent that prick after Tierney? How would you have felt if you were forced to be away from her for four nights a week when all that shit was going down?” I referred to Ramsay’s girlfriend, the American owner of Leth Sholas Guest House, an old Victorian building that sat atop the hill above Main Street that we renovated last year. Unbeknownst to us at the time, Tierney had been in the middle of trying to prove her parents’ helicopter accident wasn’t an accident—they were murdered by the man who ran their hotel empire. Halston Cole had tried to shut Tierney up, and Ramsay stepped in to protect her. While this was ongoing, it was clear to me Ramsay had feelings for the younger American, but it took him a wee bit longer to come to terms with that. And yet he was just as protective, if not more, of Tierney as I was of Taran. The difference was Taran and I had a complicated history. I’d known Taran Macbeth my whole life. We were born islanders. She was only a year younger than me, so we’d grown up together. She was my first love. The one I couldn’t forget. Even when she left for uni and it strained our relationship to the point where I fucked up royally and lost the person I needed more than anyone. Nearly two decades later, she was back. Ramsay grunted at my response and opened his mouth, probably to snap back with something smart, when the sound of sirens blared across the bustling harbor. The boat jerked as Gillie, the driver, drew it to a stop by the dock. The blood rushed in my ears as the only two police cars and ambulance on the island flew off Main Street and out of sight. “What the fuck?” Ramsay muttered. My mind jumped to the worst-case scenario, and I shouted uncharacteristically at the harbor crew to anchor the boat faster. I yanked my phone out of my pocket to call Taran, to reassure myself, and before I could even hit the button, Forde’s name flashed across the screen. Forde Dallas was my best mate and one of the island’s volunteer paramedics and ambulance drivers. I hurried to answer it. “What’s happening?” “I’m pulling up to Taran’s,” Forde bit out harshly. “London called the police. Said an intruder broke in. You need to get here.” I was already hanging up and running. “Quinn!” Ramsay was at my back. “It’s Taran!” I yelled as I sprang over the side of the boat and onto the dock. The impact of the drop shuddered through my feet and calves to my knees, but I barely felt it as I sprinted up onward. The sound of heavy footsteps hurried after me as I bolted across the harbor and up onto Main Street. “Quinn!” My vehicle was parked at my house on the outskirts of Leth Sholas. I usually walked the twenty minutes it took to get home, so I had no choice but to run to Taran’s bungalow. Ramsay ran with me, not saying a word, knowing I didn’t have words in me. My heart was in my throat, choking the life out of me, and I had to push past the sensation. To get to her. The bungalow was in a residential area not even five minutes from Main Street. It had belonged to Taran’s mum before her death, and Taran inherited it last year. Taran was adamant she stay there with her roommate London. I never should have bloody left the island! Sweat dripped down my temples and soaked my shirt as I tore down the street toward the bungalow. Blue lights flashed from the emergency vehicles parked outside, and neighbors were gathered in their gardens and on the street, peering in curiosity and concern at Taran’s home. I shoved past Ennis, Taran’s neighbor, uncaring about politeness. Seeing me coming, others hurried out of my and Ramsay’s way as we bulldozed toward the property. William, a young police constable on the island, tried to step in my path, but I shoved him too. “Hey! You can’t go in there!” he shouted helplessly as I ran through the open front door of the home. “Quinn!” London tried to push past DC Alice Young, who stood with her in the reception hall. Alice’s eyes flashed in irritation. “You can’t⁠—” But I was already marching past her into the living room, chest heaving. The island’s detective constable was there with Forde. Their heads snapped toward me, and they moved ever so slightly. My gaze dropped to the floor. I saw Forde’s ashen face from where he knelt on the ground. There was blood. So much blood I felt the room spin. 

 

1

Quinn

June, Last Year

 

I still couldn’t believe it. After eighteen years, Taran Macbeth was in Leth Sholas. She was within touching distance. Beyond the glass window of Macbeth’s Pages & Perks, to be exact. People strolled by me on Main Street, walking in and out of the rainbow-colored buildings that made up most of the businesses on our small Scottish island. Leth Sholas was the main town on Glenvulin, and we’d packed what we could into it. Main Street overflowed with businesses. We had the volunteer lifeboat service and ferry crossing, holiday apartments, two hotels, a hostel, a beauty salon, a convenience store, Macbeth’s Pages & Perks, a bakery, two gift shops, a museum, a hardware store, an antiques store, a chocolate shop, a whisky distillery, pharmacy, Italian restaurant, and a fish-and-chips shop. In the village beyond were more stores, a fishmonger, a butcher, a doctor’s surgery, the fire and police station, and a small supermarket. Farther out on Glenvulin were a few more cafés and restaurants, a cheese farm, my parents’ farm and their farm shop with fresh produce, as well as a couple more hotels and B and Bs. Every day, unless I was off island for work, I hit Pages & Perks for coffee. The owner, Isla Macbeth, was Taran’s mum. Now Taran was back and working in the shop. I wished like hell she was back for a less heartbreaking reason than this. Isla was dying. The kind, free-spirited soul of Isla Macbeth wouldn’t be with us much longer, and it was brutal and unfair. Of all the things to bring Taran back to Leth Sholas, I wish it had been anything but that. My heart banged against my chest as I took a step toward the shop. The last time Taran and I spoke was eighteen years ago, and she’d sobbed and screamed and told me she hated me. I didn’t reach out again. There didn’t seem to be a point at the time, and I thought it would only hurt her more. The truth was, I couldn’t stand facing her. Facing the devastation I’d caused. I’d been a dumb fucking kid. Eighteen years. I’d been without her for as long as we’d known each other. Yet, she’d never been far from my mind. She’d been an ache in my chest every day. I’d gotten so used to the pain, I’d sometimes forget I was living with it. But I was aware of it now as I clenched my fists at my side. “Morning, Quinn.” Flo, the chocolate shop owner, nodded as she passed. I caught her speculative look toward Pages & Perks and gritted my teeth. Aye, I could imagine the gossip tree was in full bloom now that word was out Taran was home and working at the shop. I muttered a curse under my breath as I tried to move toward the door and nothing happened. I looked down at my work-boot-clad feet. My jeans were covered in plaster and paint smears, oil, and ingrained detritus from my current worksite. We were renovating the old Leth Sholas B and B for my client Tierney Silver. The American was sparing no expense to turn the Victorian property into a destination spot. Part of me wanted to turn away and walk up the hill back to work. I had a crew to run. But then I thought of Isla. Her kindness and forgiveness. If I owed anyone, I owed it to Isla to offer Taran support while their family went through this fucking awful situation. Before I could move, the door to the store opened and a familiar brunette stepped outside and squinted against the low sunlight. We all joked that there were only two seasons on Glenvulin: June and winter. It was June. Normally you could see the spring in folks’ steps with the nicer weather. It lifted the spirits. But right now, it was blowin’ a hoolie in our hearts. The news of Isla had kept the winter in our bones. I saw the chill of it in Taran’s gaze as recognition flooded her bonny face. Her cheeks had lost the soft roundness of youth, her jawline sharp, her cheekbones high. My ex was even more beautiful than I remembered. In fact, she knocked the breath right out of me. I took in a shuddering one, trying to relax my hands at my sides as her large, thickly lashed dark eyes roamed over me. I’d fallen in love with her eyes even before I knew what love truly was. “Taran.” I cleared the grit from my throat. “I just … I wanted to come say hello. To let you know I’m here. We’re all here. For whatever you need.” She lifted a hand, her slim fingers trembling ever so slightly as she tucked her hair behind her ear. My heart stopped at the glitter of a diamond ring winking in the morning sunlight. I’d heard she was engaged. But seeing it … fuck. It was irritating and inconvenient how much it still hurt. Taran looked over my shoulder, not meeting my eyes as she replied tonelessly, “You’re the last person I’d ever want help from, McQuarrie.” Her gaze returned to mine, and I saw the rage burning there. Somehow, I knew that rage wasn’t just about me. But I was an easy target. “Honestly, the way I’m feeling right now, I’m likely to cause you bodily harm if you come near me again. So stay away. That’s all I need from you.” Taran stalked past me. That ache in my chest burned like fuck as I turned to watch her walk away. Her shoulders hunched slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest defensively, head down as she moved along Main Street, trying not to meet anybody’s eyes. Unfortunately, Mrs. Gilchrist, the antiques shop owner, didn’t read Taran’s body language and stopped to greet her. She hugged Taran, but my ex didn’t unfold her arms. She was rigid and unyielding. In so much goddamn pain, it vibrated off her. Guilt and anger choked me. Some part of me had truly believed I was barely a memory for Taran Macbeth. That she was over our past and that maybe she’d let me be there for her. What a joke. The fact that she hadn’t returned to this island since our breakup was proof she wasn’t over it. The fury she felt over losing her mother had just found its target. I saw it happen in her eyes. Not only could I not help her through this … I didn’t know how the two of us could possibly co-exist on this tiny island. 

 

2

Taran

June, This Year

 

It had been three hundred and fifty-one days. It didn’t seem possible that almost a year had passed since I lost Mum. Since we lost Mum. Sometimes I had to remind myself that I wasn’t the only one who’d lost her. In fact, my brother Laird and his family had spent more time with her than I ever had. But even remaining in Glasgow (stupidly, stubbornly refusing to return to Glenvulin for all those years) while Mum was on the island didn’t mean she wasn’t my best friend. I called her every day. We talked every day. She was my person. When she died, she took the woman I used to be with her. After a year of just getting through one day at a time with this unbearable pain lodged in my chest and the nausea of dread in my gut, I finally allowed myself to acknowledge that she wouldn’t want this to be my life, merely existing in a constant state of loss. So, I was trying to figure out who I was now. Without her. Laird had been gently pushing me to do something about Mum’s slight hoarding issue. My roommate, London, never complained about the clutter in my mum’s bungalow. But it was time I sorted through all her things. It had to be worth a fair bit, and I knew Mum would want it to go to a good cause. When she’d told me she had stage four metastatic breast cancer, I left a job I adored. I’d worked as the operational director for a Scottish food charity based in Glasgow. It made me feel useful and like I did my part to make a positive impact on my country. However, the devastating news brought everything into sharp perspective. Mum was my priority. Now I worked at the coffeehouse and bookstore she’d owned and loved—Macbeth’s Pages & Perks. It had been Mum’s baby, so I couldn’t let anything happen to it. Yet I missed feeling like I was making an impact. I felt adrift from the person I was before. Maybe selling off some of Mum’s belongings and donating the proceeds to worthy causes would help. My stomach roiled as I spotted the unfamiliar car pulling up outside the house. It was one thing to talk about doing this, but it was quite another to think of parting with her beloved antiquities. As much as I knew it needed to happen, being surrounded by her clutter made me feel like she was still here in a way. Tears stung my nose, but I gritted my teeth against them. I’d cried enough tears to fill a loch this past year, and I refused to cry anymore. It had taken this entire year to stop feeling the physical pain of loss, the ache in my bones, even in my gums and jaw, and in the heavy weight of my limbs. Part of me was terrified that if I didn’t stop myself from crying now, the worst of that pain would come back. After Laird and his wife, Finella, had gone through Mum’s stuff and chosen items they wanted to keep for themselves and my two nephews, Aird and Finn, I’d selected a few pieces of Mum’s favorite jewelry. The rest was an accumulation of family antiques, from crockery to homeware, from jewelry to furniture pieces, all passed down over the generations. Mum had an inability to get rid of anything that held a hint of sentimental value, which was why her home was bursting at the seams. I was happy to sell it online. It would be a big undertaking, but we’d agreed we’d donate the funds to the volunteer Leth Sholas Lifeboat Service and the volunteer ambulance service. I quickly shook his hand and stepped aside. “Please come in.” He gave me a snaggle-toothed smile as he stepped with a pronounced bounce into the foyer. “Your house is very quaint.” I didn’t respond to the backhanded compliment. “There are quite a few items in every room. Can I offer you a cup of tea or coffee before we start?” I didn’t really want to, but my mum would have had my head if I didn’t offer a guest some refreshment. “A cup of tea would be delightful.” Ninety minutes later, my social battery was depleted, and I was masking that fact the best I could. We’d been in almost every room, and I had a notepad filled with estimates. Finally, we’d returned to the living room/dining area. The dining table was unusable because it was covered in smaller items I’d pulled out of Mum’s closets. “And this is the last.” I gestured to the busy tabletop, relieved beyond belief this was almost over. “Hmm, hmm, yes.” Edward White moved around it, picking up items. “So, none of this is yours, then?” “No. All Mum’s.” “And, uh … you live here alone?” His gaze flicked down my body and back up, lingering on my breasts, before he returned to inspecting the vase in his hands. I wasn’t just socially depleted. I was exhausted from the past ninety minutes of dodging Edward White’s flirtations, his brushing past me when he didn’t need to, “accidentally” grazing his fingers over my arm, and at one point my chest. For the past hour and a half, he’d complimented me so many times I felt a bit sick, and I was starting to get very uneasy that we were alone together. Sorry, Eddie, even if I didn’t have the libido of a starfish, it will never happen. No, that wasn’t quite true anymore. For months my body couldn’t feel anything but grief, which was one of the many reasons I broke off my engagement to Frank. However, there had been a few moments over the last few months when I’d felt a flush of want, of arousal. Unfortunately, the feelings were inspired by the worst possible candidate for romance who ever lived. My ex-boyfriend. My traitorous, heart-crushing, emotionally constipated arsehole of an ex-boyfriend, Quinn McQuarrie. Apparently, my erogenous zones disagreed with my heart and brain when it came to that emotional black hole of a human. I threw thoughts of Quinn out of my head and tried to focus on getting the antiques dealer out of the house. “See, the thing is, I’d love to take you out for dinner.” Edward flashed me another oily smile. “A beautiful woman such as yourself should get off this island for a bit.” Ignoring his suggestion, I nodded to the pocket watch he’d picked up. “Anything interesting?” He frowned in displeasure but turned to the watch, peering at it through his little black magnifying glass. When I’d called it that an hour ago, he’d pompously corrected me that it wasn’t a magnifying glass, it was a loupe. I’d googled it when he was looking over my grandmother’s old armoire. A loupe is a magnifying glass. Pretentious toad. “So?” I asked. I didn’t know anything about the pocket watch. I’d found it in a shoebox in the back of Mum’s closet. She’d never shown it to me or Laird. “Uh, well, it depends on your definition of interesting.” He lowered the watch to the table and gave me a tight-lipped smile. “It’s a Patrice Pellier knockoff.” “Patrice Pellier?” His smirk was condescending. “Only the most famous watchmaker of all time. A Patrice Pellier pocket watch today will cost a buyer anything between £15,000 and £100,000. An antique Patrice Pellier … well … those are worth significantly more. Yours, I’m afraid, is a fake. But it’s still around a hundred years old, so I’d list it anywhere between £200 and £400.” I scribbled it down on my notepad. “Excellent.” ...