“Your plans?” She matched his stance, crossing her arms. “I have been intimately involved with the festival since I was a child. The plans to be put in motion will be mine.”
“I plan to become intimately involved as well.” Was that a tinge of humor she heard in his otherwise grumbly, unruffable attitude? “You need me.”
“No I don’t.” Her knee-jerk response had shades of “I know you are, but what am I?”
Her disquiet with the situation was virulent, yet she wasn’t sure why. Half-stitched costumes for the girls spilled out of the closet at the studio for her to tackle. The application to run for mayor of Highland still sat blank in her desk drawer. She was running herself ragged and could use the help, yet relinquishing responsibility felt too much like surrendering.
She’d watched her mom rely on her dad’s promises and be disappointed over and over until finally her mom gave up. Anna had learned she could only count on one person. The one facing her in the mirror every morning. Everyone left for greener pastures, and if they didn’t, Anna did a bang-up job driving them away.
One of his eyebrows quirked up in a way that conveyed dry sarcasm even as his rich brogue remained emotionless. “In that case, can I assume you’ll be here at five tomorrow morning to see to Ozzie’s and Harriet’s needs?”
Five seemed an outlandish time, but she couldn’t say it wasn’t necessary. She made a throaty sound and wished she could pull out a set of 4-H credentials, but alas, she’d been a dancer and cheerleader in high school. Her knowledge of a cow extended only to how she liked her steak cooked.
Slapping on a “bless your heart” smile, she said blithely, “Ozzie and Harriet fall into the pooper scooper’s domain. That would be you. The P.S.”
Finally, he seemed ruffled and with gritted teeth said, “I am not a pooper scooper.”
She raised her eyebrows leadingly and glanced away to hide her satisfied smile. “Whatever you say.”
“Why don’t we make plans to meet and discuss how we can divvy up the workload?” His voice brooked no argument.
Anyway, she couldn’t come up with a single reason to shuffle him off. Rose and Izzy apparently expected them to work together as mother and daughter had for years, but Anna had no desire for her and Iain to become a well-oiled partnership. He would be gone in a matter of weeks. Even sooner, if Izzy had the baby in short order.
She would meet Iain, but on her terms and in her territory.
* * *
Iain braced for an argument or, even more unsettling, further teasing.
“You’ll have to come to me. I have a toddler dance class first thing in the morning, a Mommy and Me movement class at eleven, and my teen girls in the afternoon.” Anna ticked off her schedule on her fingers.
“Time and place.” His clipped tone was due more to surprise at her acquiescence than any annoyance on his part.
“Twelve o’clock. Maitland Dance Studio on Main Street.” Her tone was equally as brusque.
She set the hose down and ran a hand through her hair. It fell in a riot of waves a few inches past her shoulders. Her gesture left a smudge of dirt across her cheek.
Without considering the wisdom or the consequences, he brushed the dirt off with his fingertips. She jerked her head to the side as if his touch burned. He drew his hand into a fist and forced it to his side.
“What was that for?” she asked.
Not sure if it was fear or outrage coloring her voice, he could only produce some “achs” and “uhs” like a dobber before finally saying, “Dirt. Cheek.”
She scrubbed her cheek with the heel of her hand as if trying to remove the layer of skin he’d deigned to touch.
“I apologize if I scared you.” His brogue was thick with embarrassment. It was inevitable that he would make a doolally out of himself in front of her. She was just the sort of lass—beautiful, witty, and sharp-tongued—who ran circles around him.
“You surprised me is all. Why would you think I’m scared of you?”
“Because I could break you in two.” Only when her eyes widened and she put a lounge chair between them did he recognize his joke had fallen short. Actually, his joke had taken a swan dive off a cliff. To a woman alone in the gloaming with a near stranger, he could see how his teasing declaration might come off as a threat. He attempted to backpedal, but stumbled over his words. “I wouldn’t actually … I mean, yes, you’re tiny and I could … but I would never hurt you. Or anyone, for that matter.”
“I should hope not,” she said smartly while maintaining her vigilant stance.
They entered a silent face-off for longer than was comfortable. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t peel his eyes off her. She finally took a sidestep from behind the chair toward the line of pine trees separating her from her car.
“Alrighty then, I’ll be going now. I’ll see you tomorrow?” She cut him a look from the side of her eyes he couldn’t interpret and muttered, “In public with witnesses.”
He shuffled backward to give her space to escape. Just to make sure she got away safely, he trailed her to the trees and watched her taillights fade from view. Next on his agenda was an attempt to kick his own arse.
The only way he could have made a worse impression on Anna Maitland was to have— No, it couldn’t have been worse. He muttered a string of Gaelic curses on his way to check on Ozzie and Harriet. Gareth had left him a bag of feed, but he would need more and soon.
While his expectations of a businesswoman with a stereotypical dancer’s severity had been shattered, her coiled strength, vibrancy, and superhuman grace was undercut by a sense of exhaustion even her bravado couldn’t mask. Navigating Highland would be easier with Anna’s help, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, she needed him too. A sense of purpose lent a spring to his step.
He’d been adrift for more than a year and had thought—hoped—Cairndow would prove to be his rock, but only now did he feel like land was in sight.
Chapter Three
Iain overslept and blamed a combination of jet lag and dreams populated by a wild red-haired dancer in a tank top and short shorts. He wasn’t proud of the romp his subconscious had taken while he’d been asleep and vulnerable. Would she take one look into his eyes and see the etchings left by his imagination?
It wouldn’t do. He wasn’t sure yet if she would be adversary or partner. Friend might have already been struck from the possibilities considering the events of the previous evening. He needed to have his wits in battle lines for their meeting.
Iain had spent time in deserts during his deployments, so the Georgia heat wasn’t entirely foreign, but the humidity was like a boggart sitting on his chest and made it difficult to take a proper breath.
Isabel had insisted he drive her truck while he was at Stonehaven. It was a piece of … work. A red-and-black tartan pattern covered the bonnet and tailgate as well as two thick stripes down the sides. The rest of the truck was gunmetal gray with rust spots marring the fenders. While both admiration and horror arose, mostly he fought regret for not springing for a rental coupe.
Sliding onto the driver’s seat, he opened the visor and caught the keys Isabel had left. The truck started with a grind of the engine that made his ears tilt toward the unharmonious sound. A well-tuned engine was like an orchestra. This was more like a garage band. He’d take a look under the bonnet later, but for now, he prayed the thing would carry him into town and back.