The information was too little, too late. She groaned. Rose’s prized pots had been decimated by Ozzie. For a brief moment, she considered emailing Rose and going off about the inconvenience of the unexpected delivery, the shock of Iain appearing, and the destruction of her flowers. But she didn’t.
Rose had enough to worry about. Instead, Anna returned several emails and made a couple of calls to vendors, then grabbed her keys. If she hurried, she could hit the nursery before they closed, and fix Ozzie’s rampage of destruction.
An hour later, with her floorboards full of flowers and the sun setting behind the trees, Anna pulled onto the narrow lane to Stonehaven, her headlights a stage for the swarming, dancing bugs. She pulled to the side of the house so she could make her way around to the patio.
Lightning bugs rose in the field, and beyond them, the woods stretched like an endless black pool. Even though she had grown up in small-town Highland, she didn’t consider herself a country girl. The silence and darkness had never inspired solace and calm, but a fear of the unknown.
The breeze played against the old house like a musician, the tinkle of the wind chimes accompanying the creaks. Sometimes it felt as if Stonehaven were alive. Or inhabited by ghosts.
Either way, Anna was creeped out. A shiver went through her, raising the hairs along her arms, in spite of the mild evening. If she hurried, she could be gone before full dark descended. She peeked in the barn, hearing the shuffle and snuffs of the animals. No sign of Iain. With any luck, jet lag had caught up with him and her stealth flower planting would go unnoticed.
It took three trips to move the flowers from her car to the patio. She replaced the beheaded flowers with the new flowers pot by pot, working up a sweat by the end and wiping her face with the back of her arm as she surveyed her work. They looked good, but not as good as the originals. Hopefully, if she kept them watered, they would grow exponentially by the festival and provide a colorful backdrop for the dancers and pipers.
She gave the nearest pot a thorough soaking with the hose so the plant in it could make it to the next day without wilting. Her mind wandered to her fridge, where a slice of pecan pie from the Scottish Lass restaurant waited for her mouth. Pecan pie as dinner wasn’t a bad thing, was it?
She moved on to the next pot and sighed, rotating her stiff neck. Every spare minute of her day was taken up by festival planning. She’d wasted too much time fumbling around the Buchanans’ shorthand notes and learning the ins and outs. What might take Rose or Izzy fifteen minutes took Anna three times as long as she checked and double-checked, afraid of making an error.
In fact, first thing in the morning, she needed to verify the number of portable potties needed. The intestinal needs of hundreds of festivalgoers had never crossed her mind. Until now. Doing some quick math in her head, she tallied up one day’s attendance and multiplied—
A noise had her spinning around, the water arcing around her in a weak defense. More than half the sun had fallen behind the trees now. Overhead, the orange streaks were being overtaken by a purpling sky. Gazing outward, she had to squint to see the shadowy monster looming in the middle of the field.
Her grip on the hose tightened and crimped the water into a spray. Logic inserted itself like a sliver. It wasn’t Bigfoot; it was only Iain. She had nothing to fear, yet her jumbled insides sent flight impulses to her brain.
He drew within a few feet, and her heart stuttered for a different reason altogether. He was bare chested and barefoot, with a kilt covering the rest of the good parts, but if one believed the old sayings about the size of a man’s feet, then his good parts were very good indeed.
“Anna.” His rumbling brogue turned her name into something exotic.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
His gaze narrowed. “I’m staying here, remember?”
She gave herself a mental kick. “Yes, of course. I meant, out here. And why are you wet?”
“I found a bonny glen in the woods with a stream. Perfect for a swim. It was hot as Hades today.” He rubbed a hand through his hair and droplets slid over his shoulders and chest. She followed the path they made all the way down to the waistband of his kilt.
His very dry kilt. Which meant … “Were you skinny-dipping?” Her voice was squeaky and radiated outrage. Which wasn’t at all how she felt. She felt like a blowtorch had been aimed at her body.
“Are you trying to finagle an answer to the age-old question of what a Scotsman wears under his kilt?” He crossed his arms over his chest, and while his expression remained serious, she sensed he was teasing her.
“What? No! I don’t care what you have on—or don’t have on—under there.” Except now all she could think about was what was under his kilt. She needed a fan. Or a dunk in an ice bath.
He stepped closer, and Anna took a step back, keeping distance between them. He halted, any humor emanating from him gone like a candle being snuffed. Between his thick black brows, dark beard, frown, and scar, he easily classified as formidable. Add in his height and he was downright scary. While she wasn’t exactly afraid, neither could she name the emotion making her heart tap dance and her insides launch into a do-si-do.
Silence held them in limbo before he cautiously broke it. “I’m glad we ran across each other. We need to discuss the festival.”
Already tired, her concentration was shot, faced with his partial state of undress and general demeanor. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem thrown by her. Why would he be? The nicest thing she could say about her old tank top and ratty shorts was that they were comfortable.
“What about the festival?” She turned away to shut the water off and gather her wits. “We agreed you wouldn’t involve yourself in the bulk of the planning.”
“No. I understand you don’t want me involved, but you obviously need help.”
She wavered and hated the feeling. She possessed unparalleled confidence when it came to the dance studio. If kids sensed weakness, they would pounce with the swiftness and brutality of a mountain lion. Plus, her instincts in business hadn’t steered her wrong. Her risk in taking out a loan to modernize the studio had paid off several times over.
It was other aspects of her life where she fought doubts. The people she’d grown up with in Highland expected her to be a certain way—comfortable in the spotlight and always ready with a quip—and usually she delivered. Sometimes, though, a lack of faith in herself snuck through the backdoor of her subconscious.
Not today, though. She refused to answer the knock. She’d faced down enough toddlers in tantrums and preteen angst to handle a single man. In fact, she could handle men like a blacksmith handled metal. “What exactly is your expertise beyond scooping poop?”
“Organization. Planning. Execution.”
It could have been taken off a company logo, it was so generic. “I am in charge of the organization and planning. I could possibly use some help with the execution,” she added the last so grudgingly as to be rude.
“In other words, you want a grunt to boss around.”
“You got a problem with a woman in charge?” Anna narrowed her eyes, her upper lip curling.
“Not a bit, but I was given different instructions. The next three weeks are integral to the success of the festival. I plan to spend tomorrow getting myself up to speed, then I’ll be happy to sit down over a cuppa and discuss my plans.”