Must Love Highlanders

“Dunroamin Holiday” Copyright © 2015 by Grace Burrowes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations or excerpts for the purpose of critical reviews or articles—without permission in writing from Grace Burrowes, author and publisher of the work.

“The Laird and I” © Copyright 2015 by Patience Griffin

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations or excerpts for the purpose of critical reviews or articles—without permission in writing from Patience Griffin, author and publisher of the work.

Published in the two-novella compilation, Must Love Highlanders, by Grace Burrowes Publishing, 21 Summit Avenue, Hagerstown, MD 21740.

ISBN for Must Love Highlanders:978-1-941419-11-3

Cover by Wax Creative, Inc.

“Scottish men are hot, fun, and emotionally unavailable,” the travel agent chirped. “Exactly what a girl needs for the perfect vacation.”

Louise Cameron hadn’t been a girl for years, while the woman madly typing on the other side of the desk—Hi, I’m Cindy!—looked like she’d yet to graduate high school.

“I need peace and quiet,” Louise said, “which is why I’ll spend my time in a cottage in the Scottish countryside, more or less by myself.”

The agent, a perky exponent of the more-highlights-are-better school of cosmetology, swiveled away from her keyboard as a printer purred out an itinerary.

“The Scottish countryside is full of men, braw, bonnie laddies who can hold their whisky, so to speak. Hit the nearest pub and wear dancing shoes. You know the tickets are nonrefundable?”

The question gave Louise a pang. “The charges have already hit my credit card.” Jane had insisted as only Jane could, and in a weak moment of rebound impulsivity, Louise had capitulated.

Nonrefundable tickets were cheaper, and a woman who’d abandoned the lucrative practice of law needed to watch her piggy bank—or return to the practice of law.

“Then you’re all set!” Hi-I’m-Cindy! snatched the itinerary from the printer, tucked it into an envelope, and slid the packet across the desk. “Let me know if you have a good time, though I’m sure you will. Scotland is one of the fastest-growing travel destinations on the planet and for good reason. We’ve had nothing but rave reviews for Dunroamin Cottage, and the scenery is unbelievable, if you know what I mean.”

Before Louise could be subjected to a lascivious wink, she stuffed the itinerary and tickets into her purse and rose.

“Thanks, Cindy. I’ll tell the braw, kilted laddies you said hello. I’m off to lunch.” With the author of Louise’s latest misfortune.

Jane had already chosen a table when Louise arrived at their favorite Eritrean restaurant—also the only Eritrean restaurant in Damson Valley.

“Greetings, earthling!” Jane said, bouncing to her feet and kissing Louise’s cheek. “If you bailed on your Scottish vacation, I will sue the travel agent.”

Jane looked better than ever, her red hair longer than Louise recalled seeing it, her petite figure every bit as perfect. Jane’s recent marriage to, and law practice merger with, Dunstan Cromarty was probably responsible for the damned twinkle in her eyes.

“I didn’t bail,” Louise said. She hadn’t bailed
yet
. “What are you working on?”

Lawyer-fashion, Jane had papers spread out on the table. As Louise slid into the booth, Jane gathered up the documents and tucked them into a plain manila folder.

“Big bad divorce proceeding,” Jane muttered.

“The best kind.” From a billable hours perspective. “Anybody I know?”

Louise flipped open a menu rather than glance at the name on the folder, though as often as she and Jane had eaten here, Louise could have recited the entrees from the depths of a Chunky Monkey coma.

Jane stashed the paperwork in a shoulder bag that had been known to double as a gym bag, emergency first aid bag, overnight bag, and gourmet goodie bag.

“Nothing’s been filed yet,” Jane said.

Meaning Louise, because she didn’t actively practice with Jane any more, wasn’t privy to the details.

“I’m still legally a partner in the firm,” Louise said. “Besides, I’m off to Scotland for the next several weeks, and won’t have anybody to gossip with.”

People underestimated Jane because she was diminutive and pretty. As an attorney, she was also hell in stilettos when she chose to be. That she’d teamed up in every way with Dunstan Cromarty made sense: The big Scot was up to Jane’s weight, so to speak.

“Julie Leonard is ditching the handsome buffoon she married in a fit of madness right out of law school,” Jane said, squeezing lemon into her water.

“Julie has always been a pleasure to work with.” To the extent that a prosecutor could
be
a pleasure to work with when she was trying to put your client behind bars. “Maybe Madam State’s Attorney needs a Scottish vacation, too.”

Or a Scottish honeymoon. Jane had truly never looked better, for which Louise ought to hate the entire country. Louise pretended to study the menu instead, though her appetite hadn’t been spotted since about Christmas.

“Have you heard from Robert?” Jane asked.

Let the cross-examination begin.
“Yes, I have. He’s engaged.”

“I’m sorry.” Jane’s compassion was immediate and sincere, also irritating as hell.

“It’s my past all over again,” Louise said, putting the menu aside. “I fall for an art professor and he screws me over. The last one stole my glazing process, and this one leaves me with three months on the lease, and for a sophomore whose understanding of art depends on having a mouse in her hand—of one species or another.”

“A wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, that mouse,” Jane smirked. “You’re better off without him.”

Brilliant legal deduction.
“Let’s order, shall we?”

They had their usual—sambusas, soup, and plenty of warm, vinegary injera bread. Louise ate to avoid a scolding, not because the food appealed.

“Lou, are you okay?”

Well, hell.
“I will be. The soup is good, don’t you think?”

“Louise Mavis Cameron, I am your friend, so stop being polite. If you don’t want to teach drawing anymore, then don’t. If you don’t want to practice law ever again, that’s okay, too. A big, wide world will surely offer something you enjoy doing that pays the bills. While you try to figure out what that is, go to Scotland. Dunstan says Wallace will enjoy having some feline company while you’re gone.”

Louise dipped her spoon in the soup of the day and said nothing. How pathetic was it, that her sole excuse for canceling a very expensive trip abroad came down to the abiding fear that she’d miss her cat?

“You should feel sorry for the lass,” Jeannie said, turning up the burner under the tea kettle. “She’s a lawyer, a spinster, a Yank, and her hobby is throwing pots. Such a blighted soul is surely in need of holidays. She’s probably scrimped for years to afford a few weeks in Scotland.”

Liam Cromarty felt sorry for
himself
, which unmanly sentiment, Jeannie—a relatively new mother and one of Liam’s favorite cousins—would sniff out before the tea kettle had come to a boil.

“Have Uncle Donald show your spinster around then,” Liam suggested, plucking an apple from the bowl of fruit on Jeannie’s counter. “He’s a hopeless flirt, he knows every back road and ruined castle in every shire, and he’ll raise her spirits with naughty jokes.”

Jeannie took down two mugs, one a bright floral ceramic—Morag’s work—the other clear Scandinavian glass. When a baby joined a household, apparently every manifestation of order and organization was imperiled.

“Liam, for shame,” Jeannie said, slouching onto a stool at the kitchen counter. “Donald would put the lady in waders and drag her to the nearest trout stream where she’d be pestered crazy by the midgies.”

“Donald would also ply the poor dear with good whisky. Sounds like a fine time to me.”

The baby on Jeannie’s shoulder began to fuss, so Liam plucked him from his mother’s grasp.