Page 3 of Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector 2)

Author’s Note

If you’ve readSadie’s Highlander—Highland Protectors Book One (and I hope you did), you know the goddesses brought the MacDaras forward in time from 900 A.D. Scotland to present-day North Carolina to not only save their lives but also their legacy to protect the Heartstone. The four brothers had barely reached adulthood when they arrived in the future. Alec was twenty, Grant eighteen, Ramsay sixteen, and Ross fourteen. Once settled in the present, they aged naturally as they would have had they remained in their original time.

InJoanna’s Highlander,Highland Protectors Book Two, our story picks up sixteen years after their life-changing shift in centuries. Alec and Sadie are happily married. Grant is now thirty-four and has spent the past year and a half plotting and waiting for the most opportune time to level up with the most beguiling redhead he’s ever met. Yes, a year and a half is a long time for a man to finally make his move. But Grant’s a Highlander, and winning a woman is a great deal like planning a battle or raiding a neighboring clan’s cattle. Some things canna be rushed.

Chapter 1

BRADY,NORTHCAROLINA

PRESENTDAY

“Aww, come on. You can tell us. Those hooters real or store-bought?”

Ignoring a chorus of sputtering hisses and coughing coming from the table behind her, Joanna Martin calmly lowered her glass and placed it beside her plate without taking a sip. She’d artfully negotiated a lot ofinterestingquestions when she’d been a pharmaceutical rep, but no HR training in the world could’ve prepared her for this. Apparently, nothing but raw shameless audacity was key to surviving the tour guide business.

A weary, albeit nearly silent, sigh escaped her. They’d had such a pleasant stretch of normal chatter during dinner, but apparently that short span of mild behavior from this particular group was now over. Of course, no question would shock or surprise Joanna after the last twelve hours spent in the company of the esteemed ladies of the Alverest Knitting Chicks and Textiles Club, the latest group of senior citizens that her best friend, Lucia, had signed up for a five-day tour with Carolina Adventures.

Might as well grab the bull by the boobs.Joanna sat up straighter, arched her back, and proudly posed the subjects of the conversation to the most flattering cover-shoot angle. “These girls are all mine, Miss Annamae. Had them since the sixth grade.”

More coughing and table pounding came from somewhere behind them.Sorry, folks.Joanna sent up the silent apology without turning around to see who was choking to death because of her group’s conversation. She glanced around the table at the wily old ladies and shook her head. The peaceful little town of Brady, North Carolina, which skirted the boundaries of the Scottish theme park Highland Life and Legends, had no idea what they were in for with this bunch.These grannies are over the top.Thanks a lot, Lucia.

“Impressive,” replied Georgetta Millsap, Miss Annamae’s best friend and partner in all things daring. She nudged a fleshy elbow into Annamae’s plump side, then snapped her fingers within inches of Annamae’s nose. “You owe me a dollar. I told you they were real.”

Shifting to address the group in general, Georgetta raised both hands, slightly curled her pudgy fingers inward, and made twisting motions as though opening two jars of pickles. “You see, ladies…falsies are too round and perfect. Like plastic balls or balloons. Real tatas are always a little lopsided. Look around the table. Not an identical boob among us.”

Chairs scraped behind them. Glasses clinked, and somebody wheezed and coughed as though he needed oxygen.

I’ve gotta get the check and get these women out of here before they kill somebody.Joanna raised a hand and motioned for Mary, the waitress, but the wide-eyed young girl almost broke into a run heading in the opposite direction.

“Georgetta, would youpleaselower your voice. I’m sure everyone in this county and the next county over would rather not hear your observations regarding the female physique.” The impeccably neat club recorder for the ladies’ knitting group, Miss Irene French, leaned in close enough for Joanna to get a pleasant whiff of the delicate rosewater spray the older woman used. “I am so very sorry, Joanna. Please excuse those two. I’m doing my best to rein them in, but they’re just impossible.”

Joanna couldn’t help but grin. The group of old ladies had turned out to be bawdier and more likely to get into mischief than any demographic of tourists she’d researched when she’d left her job at the pharmaceutical company and offered to buy in—or debt in, as it were—and help Lucia get the tour business she’d always dreamed of successfully launched.

Joanna glanced over at the lively, laughing Georgetta and felt a twinge of envy.I so wanna be Georgetta when I grow up.The thought powered her grin into a full-blown smile and the tension melted out of her shoulders.

Joanna gave Irene’s thin, blue-veined hand a reassuring pat and winked. “No harm. No foul.” She took the paper napkin out of her lap and tucked it under the rim of her dessert plate, which was streaked with what was left of the dark chocolate lava cake that was going to add at least two miles to her daily run this evening. Time to get these feisty golden-agers delivered to Brady’s Bed and Breakfast and tucked in for the night. “You ladies good on the itinerary? Everyone have their copy?”

The rosy-cheeked vice president of the knitting club sitting directly across the large, round table from Joanna leaned to her right, with one costume-jewelry-encrusted hand shielding her brightly lipsticked mouth. Eyes dancing, she whispered something to the nothing-but-business, big-boned woman beside her. High-pitched hissing spiked with breathless chuckles that mimicked the bubbly enthusiasm of a newly uncorked bottle of champagne effectively camouflaged whatever she was telling the president of the group of rowdy women.

“Secrets at the dinner table are rude, Frances,” Irene said, rapping her butter knife sharply like a warning bell against the edge of her plate. “Miss Joanna asked us a question. I think we should all be good enough to grace her with an answer. Does everyone understand our schedule for the next few days?”

Hazel Abraham, the recipient of Frances’s covert conversation, leaned far to the right until her chair creaked in protest at the shifting of her generous weight. Long, square face locked down in an intense scowl, she peered at something just past Joanna’s left shoulder. Slowly, she adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses, then finally straightened in her seat and nodded. “I believe you’re onto something there, Frances.” She turned and fixed Irene with a look that had to be a pre-agreed-upon signal among those in the club, then barely flicked an arthritic finger in Joanna’s direction. “I need to visit the ladies’ room. Don’t you need a visit too, Irene?”

A chorus of “I do’s” echoed around the table, all seven of the elderly ladies sounding off as though answering roll call at the bingo hall.

Irene barely shook her head, thin lips moving in what had to be silent prayer as she rolled her eyes and slowly rose from her seat.

An ominous shiver tingled up Joanna’s back, starting at her tailbone and ending in the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck.Nowwhat were they up to, and how could she get this tour of Highland Life and Legends back on track?

“We won’t be long,” Georgetta announced, as chairs scraped backward and the liquid in the half-empty glasses littering the table shimmied back and forth with every bump as the ladies rose from their seats.

Georgetta’s smile was a little too bright for Joanna’s comfort. The older woman pointed at the table and winked. “Now, you just wait here, sweetie. When we get back we’ll make sure we’re all up to snuff on the itinerary—okay?”

“Okay,” Joanna agreed weakly. What choice did she have? She had the distinct feeling that the Alverest Knitting Chicks had just called an emergency meeting in the Brady Townhouse Café’s restroom and she was the topic.

The ladies, ranging in age from Annamae’s young sixty-five to Hazel’s mature eighty, toddled single file through the maze of mostly empty tables in the café. Heads bobbing, and speaking to each other in low tones, every damn one of them stole a glance back at Joanna, then smiled at something or someone behind her before disappearing through the restroom door.

What the hell are they looking at?Joanna swiveled around and hugged the back of her chair with one arm.

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