Chapter 2

Grant stood there, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles popped one by one. What the hell should I ha’ said t’put the lass at ease? The café door banged shut, the jingling wad of tiny bells wired to the top of the door announcing Joanna’s departure as if he couldna see it with his own eyes. Hell’s hounds and damnation! The woman had nearly leaped over the tables to get away from him.

“Are ye no’ goin’ after her, then, brother?”

Grant slowly turned, his frustration ratcheting up another notch closer to full-blown rage. He glared at Ramsay. “Are ye completely daft?” He jabbed a finger toward the wide picture window facing the parking lot. The tour bus roared past, leaving a cloud of dust and slinging gravel in its wake. “Did ye no’ just see the woman run scairt as though we were about to attack her?”

“I’ve heard tell that some women like t’be chased,” Ross observed in a smug tone, then finished off the last of the beer pooled in his mug.

“I’ve a good mind t’kill ye both, ye little bastards.” Why the hell had he been fool enough to bring along Ramsay and Ross? Those two bampots couldna understand why—why after a feckin’ year and a half—he’d no’ taken the proper action to make Joanna Martin his own. The wee fools had obviously forgotten all that had happened so long ago. But Grant hadna forgotten. His painful memories were fresh as yesterday.

He shook away the urge to grab his brothers up by the scruffs of their necks and thunk their heads together. He shouldha kent they’d be nothin’ but trouble tonight. That’s all this century was good for, the one certainty of this time: trouble. Complicated ways that did nothin’ but confuse the hell out of a man. Damn them both. His two brothers would ne’er understand and Grant knew why. The young ones had adapted to this goddess-forsaken time a far sight better than he or Alec had because they didna have as much of their manhood invested in the past.

Grant blew out a groaning huff as he watched the bus careen down to the town’s only stoplight and come to a screeching halt as the light turned red. His time of stolen peace was over, the bit of peace he’d managed to find by spending as much time as he could with Joanna as she worked with the herds of annoying tourists she brought to the park each week. The woman’s patience amazed him. Would that he possessed such. If he had a bit more patience, Máthair wouldna constantly be chanting at him, “Use yer words, son. Dinna greet and growl like a wounded bear.”

Just thinking about Joanna soothed him. Even now, when all seemed doomed t’go straight t’hell in a handbasket, the thought of her made the tightness in his chest seem…less. The lovely scarlet-haired lass eased the ache from the raw, gaping hole where his heart had been afore the cruel goddesses had ripped it from him. None of the lasses he’d met in this time had come close to making him feel whole again or as though he remotely belonged in this century. But Joanna Martin…aye, now that lass was different indeed.

In his defense, he had planned on fully wooing her at some point—but when he was ready, not when a gaggle of old women decided to toss her in his lap. He rubbed his cheek. The lass’s fine bosoms felt even better than I ever imagined, that’s for certain. When she’d buried his face betwixt her breasts, he’d hardened to an alarming level. Then she’d nearly snapped his cock off at the root in her struggle to stand. Grant rubbed his crotch at the painful memory.

“Instead of yammerin’ at us with empty threats, ye should be haulin’ yer arse over to Mistress Martha’s B&B. Ye ken that’s where she’s takin’ them. Ye must strike whilst the iron is hot, man.” Ramsay leaned sideways, shoved a hand deep in the pocket of his jeans, then pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them to Grant. “Here. Take the Jeep. Ross and I’ll take the truck back to the keep. ’Tis high time ye did something about this woman, brother. High time, indeed.”

“Go after them?” Grant closed his hand around the keys and squeezed hard. He wished it were Ramsay’s neck crackling in his grasp instead of the bits of metal. “And pray tell, what do ye advise I do once I meet them at Mistress Martha’s? The woman’s had her fill of me this evenin’, or have ye gone blind?”

“Yer a fool, Grant. Just pull yer head outta yer arse and apologize for shamin’ her here in the restaurant,” Ramsay said with a thud of his mug to the table. “Beg forgiveness for yer…awkward social clumsiness,” he added with a proud bob of his head. “Aye…awkward social clumsiness. That’s what our dear little sister Esme would call it.”

“Aye,” Ross chimed in with a grin that set Grant’s blood to boiling even hotter. “Ye sat there and let that beauty slip right out of yer arms and hit the floor. Máthair and Esme both wouldha boxed yer ears for such.”

Grant turned without another word and stormed out of the restaurant before he forcibly shut his brothers’ mouths with his fist. Damn them both straight to hell. He wouldna go so far as t’say that his nettlin’ brothers were right, but he would admit that if he didna go and attempt to leave sweet Joanna with a better impression of himself than she currently held, his days of spending time with the beauty until he was ready to make her his own would be over. The air betwixt them would be too strained, thanks to the foolhardiness of this evenin’.

He steered the Jeep through the back alleyways to Mistress Martha’s bed-and-breakfast. The much shorter route still might not get him there before the tour bus, especially as fast as the lass usually drove, but he should at least arrive before Joanna and the herd of old women disappeared into their rooms. From what he’d observed of Joanna’s previous tours, it took the poor wee lamb a good hour or so to get her charges off the bus, their luggage unloaded, and everyone checked in for the night.

As he braked and slowed the Jeep up even with the stop sign at the corner, the tour bus passed in front of him. Good. He’d get there nearly the same time she did. If he offered to unload the luggage whilst she settled the old hens into their rooms, perhaps she’d forgive him for acting so poorly in the restaurant. Grant dipped his head in a decisive nod. Aye. That’s what I’ll do. Surely, then all would be settled between them and back to the way they used to be.

Grant shifted in the seat and rubbed his thumbs against the worn leather of the steering wheel. Is that what I really wish? He slowly shook his head, fighting the possible repercussions of such thinking. She was such a tempting lass. Fiery hair. Flashing eyes. Curves that made a man ache to sink into her. And from the conversations they’d shared over the months—quick-witted, kind, and a genuine pleasure t’be around. But what would happen if he showed her his heart? What would happen if he showed her the Heartstone?

“Surely, she’d accept the stone and the truth of the MacDara legacy.” He knew as soon as he’d said the words aloud that they were a lie. What woman of this century would understand? Aye…Sadie, Alec’s wife, had finally understood, but it had been no small task for Alec to make her see. But Joanna? Doubtful. Maybe even impossible. His Joanna was different. And that truly bothered him no small amount. He’d survived the loss of one great love. He couldna bear such pain again and he feared the risk, especially if the higher powers had noticed his interest in the girl and decided to withhold their blessings yet again.

Surely, the damn goddesses and the dreaded stone’s attentions were busy elsewhere by now, nettling other lives with heartache and ruin. Besides—’twas high time they left him the hell alone. They’d murdered his betrothed and taken his unborn child. Torn him away from all he’d ever known. They’d taken enough from him. “Cruel and heartless demons, they are,” he muttered under his breath.

But surely now they ken I meant what I said. Surely, I’m finally free of them. Grant sat taller behind the wheel, his earlier tension shifting to a determined knowing.

He pulled the Jeep around the corner, spirits lifting when he spotted an empty parking spot right behind the tour bus. Perfect.

Grant’s pleasant realization was short-lived as Joanna rounded the side of the bus and saw him. The woman froze in her tracks as though she’d just walked up on a wild animal. Her wide-eyed look of surprise quickly shifted to a scowl in the glaring headlights of the Jeep. The woman was clearly anything but pleased to see him.

Hell’s hounds and damnation. Grant hurried to shut off the engine and exit the vehicle before Joanna could bolt. This century didna seem t’take to a man chasing a woman down and holding her fast o’er his shoulder until she’d heard all he had to say, so he’d have t’keep his wits about him. I best get me arse in gear afore she escapes. He jogged around the Jeep, placing himself between Joanna and the bright headlight currently turning her a pasty white. Surely, the infernal things would flicker off shortly.

He dipped his head and held out his hand. “I thought it only right that I stop by here and help ye get yer ladies settled in after the kerfuffle at the diner. ’Twas a sorry incident, indeed.”

The headlights finally clicked off, but there was still enough light coming from the bed-and-breakfast’s security light that he could tell Joanna had a fair-sized case of the red arse. Whether her ire was directed at him or the ladies from her group, he didna ken. All he knew for certain was she looked sorely displeased and her fair cheeks were stained a rosy red.

Joanna glanced down at his hand, then shifted in place as though she’d rather be anywhere but standing in front of him. She finally looked him in the eye and forced a smile that looked like she was clenching her teeth. “It wasn’t your fault, Grant. Thanks anyway, but I’m sure you’ve got much better things to do on a Friday night than play bellhop.”

Embarrassment…or ire…Grant wasna certain which colored her features an even deeper shade. Joanna slowly backed away, one hand barely touching the side of the bus while her feet gingerly searched for the broken curb behind her. “I’m sure we’ll bump into you tomorrow at the park. Thanks again, but I’ve got this bunch handled.”

“Nay…” For every inch Joanna shifted back, Grant edged forward. Lore, she’s even lovelier when her color runs high. He gently tapped on the rear hatch of the bus. “I insist. Ye must allow me t’help ye. I canna go home and no’ be able to truthfully defend m’self against whatever scurrilous tales Ramsay and Ross have already told Esme and Máthair about me.”

“Scurrilous?” Joanna repeated. Her frustrated look shifted to a lopsided grin of amusement.

Good. She’s calmin’ herself. “Aye,” Grant said with an exaggerated nod. Now what the hell do I say? ’Twas one thing t’tease and flirt with a lovely lass and easy enough t’talk about everyday matters. But when it came to tryin’ to draw her closer—a woman of this wretched century—what exactly did a man say?

He nodded again and started over. “Aye and for certain, those two brothers of mine will have my entire family believin’ I didna give a whit about yer arse hittin’ the floor so hard that it made yer teeth rattle.” He clamped his mouth shut. Sons a bitches. I canna believe I said that.

Joanna huffed out a giggle and a bit of the tension seemed to melt from her stance.

Lore, what a beauty she is when she laughs. “Have I e’er told ye that when ye laugh, it reaches clear to yer eyes? Makes them spark wi’ fire. Even in this darkness.”

Joanna cleared her throat and looked down at her feet. All mirth left her just as quickly as it had appeared. “Uhm…no. I’m pretty sure I’d remember it if you had said something like that.”

Hell’s demons. I shouldna have said that either. Grant squared off behind the bus, grabbed the handle of the hatch, then looked back at Joanna. “Be a good lass and hit the button t’unlock this beast and I’ll have the bags carried into Mistress Martha’s lobby in no time at all.”

Three of Joanna’s elderly charges came toddling around the street side of the bus and one of them tapped Grant on the shoulder. “I’m Hazel, president of the Alverest Knitting Chicks and Textiles Club, and my bags have the red, white, and blue ribbons tied to the handles. If you’d be so good as to pull them out of there, I’m quite able to carry them myself, thank you.”

Grant had no doubt the woman was quite capable of totin’ her own bags. If not for the skirt and blouse she wore, he’d have mistaken her for a good-sized man. Grant straightened, politely nodded at each of the ladies, and said, “I’m Grant MacDara, and ’tis my pleasure t’help ye all with yer bags.”

Grant silently thanked the old hens for showing up at such an opportune moment. He knew verra well how t’speak to his elders. That mannerly behavior had been ingrained in all the MacDara lads at a young age. He glanced back at Joanna and wiggled the handle of the hatch. “The button, if ye please?”

Joanna rolled her eyes, then pointed her key fob at the back of the bus. The lock on the hatch chirped and the bus’s lights flashed in response. “You’re not gonna leave until I let you help, are you?”

“Aye. Ye’ll find I’m a verra stubborn man.” He ducked his chin to hide the grin he couldn’t quite seem to control. Without looking up, he motioned toward the inn. “Ye’ll find Mistress Martha keeps a cart on the side porch. If ye’ll run and fetch it, I’ll load up the bags.” Perhaps if he entrusted the hardheaded woman with a task, she’d look a bit kindlier toward him. Even in the half-light of the streetlamp, he could tell the lass’s strained patience with the events of the entire evening was near its end.

“Run and fetch it?” Joanna stared at him as though he’d just told her to jump off a cliff. “Seriously?”

“Aye.” Grant pointed again at the side of the old Victorian house that Martha Higgins had restored and turned into the town’s only bed-and-breakfast. “Over there. On the side porch. See it?”

“I know where it is.”

Again, it sounded as though she spoke through clenched teeth. Joanna took a hard-stomping step off the curbed sidewalk and stood so close the heat of her body washed across him, and she further hypnotized him when he took in an intoxicatingly deep breath of her scent. Sweet and fresh woman’s musk. Sultry. Lore, woman. Yer killin’ me.

She pointed a finger at him. “Just to be clear, I’ll go get the cart, but I don’t ‘run and fetch’ anything.” She glared at him, eyes narrowing when he didn’t respond.

One of the old ladies standing behind him poked the small of his back.

Grant blinked. Ahh…I’ve insulted the lass. Need ta explain m’self. She’d ne’er seemed this sensitive before. Of course, he reckoned her pride had been stung a bit back at the café. Pride he understood. He scooped up one of Joanna’s hands and pressed a quick kiss to the silky back of it. “Forgive me. ’Twas just a figure of speech, ye ken?” Still holding tight to her hand caught up against his chest, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I’d ne’er mean to imply anythin’ ill about ye. Ye ken I think yer a fine woman, Joanna, a fine woman indeed.”

Her warm breath tickled his knuckles as he held their hands between them. This close, he could see her pulse ticking rapidly in the pale skin of her throat. He was either succeeding at fanning her temper even more or he was warming her another way. He sincerely hoped it was the latter. Since he’d been forced to abandon his tactic of careful planning and waiting to woo the lass until the perfect moment, he fully intended to do his damnedest to win her. It was time.

A high-pitched squealing sound, something like a cross between the cawing of a crow and the screeching of an owl, peeled out behind them. “See? I told you. I just knew he wanted her!”

Grant turned in time to see the one called Hazel lightly thump the shoulder of the much smaller woman hopping up and down beside her. “Zip it, Frances! Can’t you see they’re having a moment?”

“Oh! Sorry.” Frances leaned forward and made shooing movements with both hands. “Go ahead. Kiss her.” Then she bobbed her head with excited up-and-down jerking movements like one of those infernal jiggly-headed dolls that Esme insisted they sell in the theme-park gift shop.

Joanna jerked her hand free of Grant’s and spun away. “I’ll get the trolley for the bags.” She cleared her throat and paused, then turned and fixed a narrow-eyed glare at the trio of senior citizens still standing behind Grant. “Why don’t you ladies go to the desk and start checking in? And be sure and help Violet so she doesn’t get confused.”

Mesmerized by the sway of Joanna’s hips as she stomped away and headed up the sidewalk to Miss Martha’s porch, Grant nearly forgot the three ladies still beside him until the one with the strange orange and jet-black spiked hair poked him between the shoulder blades.

“When she gets back, follow our lead. Got it?”

The one who had introduced herself as Hazel agreed with a superior nod and shook a finger at him as though reminding him that he’d best not forget to do his chores. “Georgetta’s right. You listen to her.” She turned to the small, animated matron beside her and aimed the stern finger at her. “And you try not to spill the beans again and scare her off. Understand, Frances?”

Frances smiled, her round beaming face reminding Grant of the cherubs he’d seen in one of his little sister Esme’s art books. The small elderly woman bounced in place with the energy of a Highland goat. “I’ll do my best to curb my enthusiasm, but you know how much I love a good matchmaking.”

Matchmaking? Oh, holy hell. That’s all he needed. A group of old women keepin’ Joanna so vexed she’d ward off his advances for certain. Must get this under control. He gave the ladies his politest smile. “I really think ye’d best leave her alone. Let me do this m’self, aye?”

The uneven rattling of the rickety trolley traveling down the rough surface of the B&B’s flagstone sidewalk grew louder. Joanna would be within earshot any second—if she could hear anything over the noisy din of the cart.

A jarring metallic thud interrupted the rhythmic clacking of the trolley’s wheels “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Joanna’s irritated profanity echoed through the darkness. Apparently, the cart had jumped the path and landed in the grass.

“D’ye need help, lass?” Grant called out.

“I’ve got this!” Joanna’s tone left no doubt that if Grant valued his life, he’d stay at the bus and wait.

“You’d better leave her alone and follow our lead,” Frances advised in a singsong whisper.

“Yep,” Georgetta agreed. “She’s pissed. You’d better listen to us or you’ll just make it worse.”

Grant verra much doubted that it could get much worse than it was at this particular moment. He wasna all that experienced when it came to women, but he had managed to survive a mother, a sister, and a bossy housekeeper—so far.

Joanna came up even with the end of the bus, jerked the luggage cart over a crumbling crack in the sidewalk, then flipped down the wheel brakes and locked the trolley in place. She frowned at Hazel, Frances, and Georgetta. “I thought you ladies were going to get the rest of the group off the bus and go check in?”

“We never said that,” Georgetta said with a nonchalant shake of her flamboyant head of spiked hair.

Joanna glared at the woman, her jaws clenched and nostrils flaring as if the need to speak her mind were about to blow the top off her head.

Grant opened the back hatch of the bus and took refuge in unloading the bags and stacking them on the trolley. He had no idea what the old ladies were about to pull, but his gut told him something was going to happen and it probably wouldn’t be good. Best stay out of the line of fire. I’d surely take an arrow in me arse.

“Actually,” Hazel interjected as she stepped forward and rested a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “This nice young man has agreed to help you with our tour. He’s going to personally see to it that we don’t miss a thing that Highland Life and Legends has to offer. He’s even promised to have breakfast with us in the morning, then help you show us all the sights. Isn’t that nice?”

Joanna’s murderous look shifted to Grant and sharpened as if homing in for the kill. Her hands flexed, then tightened into slightly trembling fists at her sides. “It is very nice. But totally not necessary. Thank. You.”

Sons a bitches. The woman looks as if she could bite through the blade of a dagger. Grant raised both hands and held them up at surrender level. “I didna—”

“Don’t give me that ‘didna’ crap.” Joanna’s eyes flared wide and she clamped her mouth shut. Ducking her head, she turned away and white-knuckled the trolley. Before Grant could respond, she wrestled the overloaded cart up the sidewalk, not missing a step as she shouted back at him over the din of the squeaking wheels, “Breakfast at seven. At the dining room here. I’ll tell Miss Martha to add you to our group.”

Grant held his breath to keep from laughing out loud. Such fire. Aye and for certain. ’Tis definitely time t’make this woman mine.