Page 23 of Some Like It Scot
“Aye.” Keeping my smile in check grew harder the longer I spoke.“Which means I should know her better than the others. She’s the most dangerous one of the lot.”
The humored light returned to her eyes, and I flinched a little at the sight.
Humor looked good in those eyes.
The hill grew a wee bit steeper as we climbed, leaving the shelter of the surrounding trees and hills to allow the ocean breeze a more vigorous welcome. The air carried with it the feel of home and life. The blend of salt, buttercups, and phlox.
I paused. But something new today? What was it? A foreign warm scent. Vanilla? Honeysuckle? Something warm but distracting.
Her hair blew untamed beside me, wisping in my path and bringing a renewed hint of that scent.
Was that her?
I drew a deep breath of cool air and honeysuckle into my lungs.
“If I hadn’t spent a good half hour with your momandyou weren’t working so hard to fight a smile, I might believe you.” Katie tossed me a look, lips crooked. “But I should probably forgo the tea at her house for fear of baring my soul or, at the least, buying more books than I can carry on my next flight.”
She kept my pace up the bràigh, her breaths pulsing in time with mine, so she was used to similar activity. My gaze skimmed down her—her legs lean but strong. A tactile memory of her in my arms rushed to the forefront of my rebel mind. And the fact her stride nearly matched mine, highlighting those long legs, sent enough heat into my face to make my beard itch.
“This is a different path than the one I came down to the village on.” Her words came a bit shallow, so I slowed my pace a little and pulled my brain away from long legs back to cool disinterest.
“Aye, it’s a steeper climb along the back of the bràigh where I can point you toward Mum’s house.”
“Does she often invite strangers for tea?”
More than she ought, to my mind. “She tends to collect strangers like pets, and I suspect you’re a particular curiosity with your”—I tried to sort out the right word—“career choice and stories.”
Her pace slowed a little. “There aren’t many exciting things to learn about me, but I have a whole lot of stories I can share about other people and places.”
Did she often deflect from herself? I caught another glimpse of the lost look I’d seen before, rounded eyes like a wounded creature tugging at my dafty heart.
Och! I turned back to the climb. “What is it you’re doing at Craighill besides writing articles and breaking my stairs?”
The gruffness in my voice failed to disarm her.
“Breaking your—” She narrowed her eyes at me in a mock glare. “Very funny.” She shook her head, loosening her smile again. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m here”—she opened her arms wide as if to embrace the sky—“to immerse myself in an Edwardian Experience.”
The way she attempted to mimic Mrs. Lennox on the last two words caused my grin to burst forth again. Ridiculous woman.
“I s’pose since you’ve been invited to the media preview of Lennox’s...” I tried to find the right word. Circus? Spectacle?
“Experience?” Katie tipped her head, expression expectant before she dissolved into another easy laugh. “Believe me, I’ve been on a lot of trips around the world, but I’ve never been attacked by a parrot, nearly killed by a little girl on a bicycle, or tried to fit into dresses made for women half my size, all within two days. So Scotland has already proven to be an... experience,” she repeated before pinching her eyes closed. “Humbling and a bit terrifying.”
“Don’t judge Scotland based on Craighill.” I shook my head. “Or Kirsty. Or the book club grannies.” Why was my life filled with such mad people? “You’d miss out on much better wonders.”
We’d reached the crest of the hill when Katie came to an abrupt stop.
“What a view!” Her palm flew to her chest, and her head took a slow glide from one direction to the opposite. “And the lighting behind the clouds is just perfect.” She began shaking off her rucksack and then frantically unzipped the bag. “I think this will do great as a first reel from Mull.”
Reel?
She pulled a camera from her bag, removed the lens cover, and then proceeded to look around as if searching for something. My attention shot back to her fishing rod. Then realization dawned. Reel, as in social media?
She positioned the camera near her face and pointed in one direction, then another, continuing a little conversation with herself by saying things like, “Not quite that way,” and “Almost perfect. Just a bit to the left, maybe?” and “Is that color green even real?”
I studied her a minute after the last question and then took another look at the view, trying to imagine someone seeing it for the first time. I never grew tired of it, especially on days when the sun brought out all the summer colors, so at least her awe proved Katie had a semblance of good taste.
Then, as if she found an answer to one of her questions, she took the camera away from her face and looked in various places near me, brow puckered in concentration. She shifted back and forth, staring at the ground.
