His regret took an exponential rise when the air-con did nothing to combat the heat. The air being pumped into the cab was sun scorched. He flapped his dark blue kilt and rolled down the windows. Even the shade was uncomfortable.
The tires crunched pea gravel on the truck’s stuttering start. Trees lined the narrow private lane and dappled light danced across the arm he had crooked out the window. Rich scents of verdant greenery and wildflowers filled the cab. While pleasant, his nose twitched as if in search of the loam and salt of home.
The sea had been his lodestone and his anchor. While he relished and appreciated the life his da had given him at Cairndow, he wasn’t sure he wanted the same. His da’s expectations of passing the care of Cairndow to Iain as Gareth would pass the earldom to Alasdair had turned claustrophobic, and he didn’t know how to extricate himself from his birthright without breaking hearts.
Iain took a deep breath, smelling freedom and opportunity. Had the Scottish settlers of generations past felt the same? Away from the rigid caste system of the aristocracy, the poor immigrants had had a chance to make their own way.
He turned onto the paved main road toward town. The trees gave way to scattered houses. One even had a stereotypical picket fence. The squeals of children playing in backyards and biking on side streets reached him and made him smile.
A decorative hand-painted sign with a cartoonish Scotsman playing the pipes welcomed him to Highland: THE HEART OF THE HIGHLANDS IN THE BLUE RIDGE. Beyond a four-way stop stretched a long street lined with colorful Scottish-themed restaurants and shops and pubs. Alasdair had done his level best to describe the place, but hadn’t done it justice. It was over-the-top and ridiculous, and Iain couldn’t decide whether he was appalled or bloody well loved the place on sight.
He traveled almost to the end of the street before finding a parking place in front of the Dapper Highlander. The mannequins in the window were kitted out in full Scottish regalia, signaling it was a tailor’s shop.
He turned the truck engine off and sat in the cab for a few minutes taking in the vibe. Flowers overflowed baskets hung from wrought-iron light poles. People strolled up and down the sidewalks, some sipping on drinks, others licking ice-cream cones. They ducked in and out of shops. Almost everyone carried a shopping bag. Highland was a bustling little village.
A man in green-and-black-checked tartan trousers tucked into black Wellies turned in Iain’s direction and squinted. He hopped off the curb and put both hands on the sill of the open cab window, ducking a little to smile a greeting.
“You must be Iain.” The man exhibited such good-humored welcome, Iain smiled back.
“Yes, sir. Iain Connors.”
“I’m Dr. Elijah Jameson. Local veterinarian and current mayor of Highland, although my tenure as leader of our fair town will soon be at an end.” He stuck his hand through the window, and they proceeded to engage in an awkward shake. “When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday in the wee hours of the morning. I’m meeting Anna Maitland in a bit.” Iain gestured at the door, and Dr. Jameson stepped back so Iain could exit the truck.
While Dr. Jameson was small in stature, his wiry strength was evident. His eyes twinkled and his mouth crooked into a smile when he looked up at Iain. “Well, aren’t you a big boy?”
“Bigger than some, I’d say,” Iain said dryly. He had spent his life as the biggest man in the room. If only size equaled confidence.
“I hope you’ll have time to compete in the athletic events during the festival. You’ll be surprised at the level of competition you’d face.” Dr. Jameson steepled his hands and tapped his fingers together. “I’m the games manager, you know.”
“Yes, Isabel mentioned that. She also mentioned your kickoff party the Friday before.”
“The whisky ensures a good time.” His graying eyebrows cocked over the black rim of his glasses. “I assume you and Anna will be performing the traditional opening of the games at the tasting?”
He had no idea what the traditional opening consisted of. The banging of a gong? The bleat of the bagpipes? “Erm. Of course, we will.”
“Excellent. I’ll make note of it. Seeing the truck, I thought for a second Izzy was home.” Dr. Jameson patted the bonnet of the truck. Although a smile remained in place, a melancholy refrain weaved through his rich Southern accent. Between his clothes and his accent, it was as if Dr. Jameson wasn’t sure whether he was playing William Wallace or Rhett Butler. “But I suppose Highland is no longer Izzy’s home.”
“Isabel speaks of Highland fondly.” Iain felt the need to comfort the older man.
“We miss her sorely around here. The wedding looked lovely. Everyone in town was sharing the pictures.”
“Aye. It was a lovely day.” Actually, the day had been blustery with a sideways spitting rain pinging the windows and a draft whistling through the chimney in the drawing room straight up his best kilt, but the sentiment and affection between Isabel and Alasdair as they had exchanged vows had been warm and sunny.
“How’s our girl feeling?”
“Poorly. She’s on bed rest until she labors. She was happy to see her mum.” At least, Iain had assumed her tears had been happy ones. Observing Alasdair comfort Isabel made Iain feel like he’d missed a pertinent lesson in school. Iain had sidled out of the room and tackled the less scary task of immunizing head-butting, biting, kicking sheep.
“Have time for a coffee? Or tea, if you prefer?” Dr. Jameson asked.
Iain checked his watch. “I have a quarter hour, as long as Maitland Dance Studio is nearby.”
Dr. Jameson pointed down the street. “Just at the end on the left. The Brown Cow is on the way.”
They walked shoulder to shoulder except when Iain gave way to let a clump of tourists by on the sidewalk. “Highland is a vibrant little village,” Iain said.
“It is now. Downtown wasn’t always like this, though. Thirty years ago, Highland was run-down with empty storefronts and no way to keep the young people from leaving for the bigger cities. It was rotting away from neglect and a lack of investment. Izzy’s father was the one with the vision of what Highland could become. He hosted the first games at Stonehaven. It started small, but the promise of what it could be was obvious.” Dr. Jameson opened the door to the Brown Cow Coffee and Creamery and gestured him to enter first.
Iain took a deep breath, the sweet scent of ice cream mingling with the richer undertones of coffee. It was heavenly. A line populated by families with kids had formed in front of the ice-cream station. Only one man stood at the coffee bar waiting for his order.
The woman behind the counter made a fancy coffee drink at one of the machines. Her messy ponytail was hot pink to complement her light pink T-shirt. She handed the drink off and shuffled to the counter to give them a gummy, wide smile.
“Hey-oh, Dr. Jameson. What can I do you for?” Her accent was different again from Dr. Jameson’s and Anna’s. It was coarser and more difficult to parse.
“Black coffee to go for me, Millie, thanks.”
“And what about your friend here?” She flipped her ponytailed hair and gave Iain a pointed look under her lashes.
Iain was suddenly uncomfortable and not sure where to look.
“This is Iain Connors,” Dr. Jameson said. “Would you prefer tea, Iain?”