A Highlander in a Pickup - Laura Trentham Page 0,101

him. “I was afraid I lost my chance.”

“You came awfully close. By the way, I love you too.” Anna examined him from head to toe before shoving him backward by his shoulders. The unexpectedness of the move caught him off guard, and he toppled, landing on the soft mattress.

Anna unzipped her boots and kicked them to the side, then she climbed over him, straddling his hips. “It’s time for your tongue-lashing,” she said in a decidedly wicked voice.

“You’re going to make me pay for my idiocy, aren’t you?”

“It’s going to be absolute torture, Highlander. I’m going to make you scream and beg for mercy.” She smiled as she shimmied down his body and flipped up his kilt.

And it was the best sort of torture he could imagine.

Epilogue

Holt Pierson ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his ball cap so the brim rode low, making it easier to avoid eye contact. He wasn’t in the mood to make polite small talk, and it seemed like the entire town had come out to watch Highland’s new mayor, Anna Maitland, cut the ribbon on the new shop on Main Street, Highland Antiques. Even the brisk November wind cutting through the crowd couldn’t diminish the current of excitement.

Holt had forgotten about the ribbon cutting. He’d only come to town to replenish his beer supply and to grab some easy frozen foods. His parents were leaf peeping in Vermont in their RV. They had been as giddy as newlyweds on their last call home. Was Highland still their home? They had broached the possibility of heading to a Florida RV park for the winter. His mom thought the warm weather might help her arthritis.

Iain Connors stood at the back of the crowd, leaning against the brick storefront of the Dapper Highlander. He had opted for jeans over a kilt in deference to the cool day.

Holt sidled up next to him. “Anna has really energized the town.”

His smile held a quality Holt couldn’t identify but left him with a strange sort of emptiness. “She’s a rare one. Her enthusiasm will drive the town to new heights.”

“The Christmas party the town is putting on sounds like fun.”

“It’s a bastardized version of Burns Night. Good food, great songs, plenty of fun. The lads and I are already practicing.” Since making his move to Highland, Iain had become a permanent member of the Bluegrass Jacobites.

Iain had also launched a renovation business specializing in bringing out the classic beauty of older homes. His first project was the craftsman-style house he and Anna had bought on a quiet tree-lined street within walking distance of downtown.

Meanwhile, Holt was living in the same one-bedroom cabin on the farm he’d moved into after high school graduation. Back then, the autonomy had made him feel like a big-shot bachelor. At some point in the intervening years, the feeling had turned to melancholy and then loneliness as he watched friend after friend pair off.

Anna finished her speech and cut the ribbon to a wave of applause. The crowd milled about, some pushing into the antiques store, some clogging the sidewalks and street to socialize. Rose Buchanan and Gareth Blackmoor backed out of the crowd.

Rose gave him a half hug while Gareth shook Holt’s hand. “Where are your parents, Holt?” Rose asked.

“Traveling the backroads of Vermont at the moment.”

“Oh, how nice. I would take Gareth up north to sightsee, but his blood has gotten too thin from living in Georgia, hasn’t it, darling?” Rose tossed her silver hair and sent Gareth a teasing smile.

“That is has, Rosie.” Gareth wrapped an arm around Rose’s waist.

“How’s little Annie doing?” Holt asked politely.

“She’s grand. Already rolling over. She has Isabel and Alasdair wrapped around her little finger.” Gareth beamed. “It’s good to hear a child’s laughter echo through the castle again. We’re going to spend Christmas at Cairndow.”

“That’s great. Really great.” And it was. Holt didn’t begrudge Izzy and Alasdair their happiness. In fact, he’d been integral to getting them back together after Alasdair had nearly screwed it up.

A woman stepped out of the Highland Drug and Dime. Holt’s gaze homed in on the petite figure, a vague feeling of familiarity washing over him, but his churning brain failed to catalogue her. She pulled her hoodie up and darted down the sidewalk with her face down.

For the first time in weeks, energy zinged through his body. Smiling absently at Rose and Gareth, Holt excused himself and set off in the direction of the woman. The two stuffed grocery bags