Page 48 of Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector 2)

Joanna hunkered down lower and propped her knees on the seat in front of her.Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.Maybe if she repeated the mantra over and over, she’d drown out the old hens and finally get some sleep.

“My, my, my. A man on a horse is sexy enough, but in a kilt? And nearly shirtless? If I was a few years younger…”

Joanna’s eyes popped open.Kilt?She whipped off her hat and sunglasses and looked out the window. It only took a moment to home in on the unbelievable sight the old ladies had spotted.

Léineuntied and opened to the waist. Kilt fluttering back across the horse’s rump. Man and animal moved as one, galloping across the undulating hillside, running along the right side of the road.

“He looks like one of them Highland warriors out of the movies,” remarked one of the ladies. “Damnation, Esther. Damnation, I’m gonna need my oxygen.”

Joanna couldn’t agree more. Her heart thumped harder, making it difficult to breathe.

Broad chest revealed. Muscular thighs flexing with the ride. Reins resting easily in the palm of one hand, hammer clenched in the other. Grant’s blond hair was tied back away from his face and he rode crouched forward with his clenched teeth bared. Occasionally, he stole a glance down at the bus, then spurred his mount on to draw ahead of it.

The longer she watched him, the more certain she became.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, white-knuckling the top of the seat in front of her. She jumped up, grabbed her bag, and bounced and weaved her way up the aisle. “Stop the bus!” she shouted. “Stop the bus!”

The driver looked up, frowning at her in his overhead mirror. “You’re going to have to take a seat, ma’am. It’s unsafe for you to be up walking around on this stretch of road.”

“Stop the bus!” Joanna repeated as she lurched into the front seat behind the driver. “Please stop it. Now. I’ve got to get off.”

“I can’t stop the bus and put you out here in the middle of nowhere,” the driver argued. “Unless you’re feeling sick. The restroom is at the rear of the bus if you think you’re going to vomit.”

What a good idea.Joanna slapped her hand over her mouth and pretended to gag. “I can’t make it to the restroom,” she gasped. “Please stop or I’m gonna—look out!”

Grant and his horse galloped down the hillside at breakneck speed, cut across the highway in front of the bus, and reared to a stop in the middle of the road.

“Holy shit!” the driver yelled. He stomped down on the brakes and pulled the emergency brake lever at the same time. Tires squealed, air brakes hissed, and both passengers and loose bags lurched forward with the sudden stop.

Joanna rose from the front seat and sidled into the aisle. Icy fear clutched her heart and squeezed, making it impossible to breathe as she bent and looked out the windshield. She sagged against the steel pole curving around the driver’s seat and didn’t bother fighting the tears any longer.

Neither Grant nor the horse moved. They remained in the middle of the road. Waiting. Grant stared at the bus with a murderous scowl and lifted his hammer.

“Open the door!” She pounded on the steel pole. “Open the damn door,” she repeated with a firm shake of the driver’s shoulder to break him free of his stupor.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, never taking his eyes off the strange sight blocking the road.

Joanna bounded down the steps and ran to Grant. She came to a halt within a few feet of him, suddenly at a loss for words. What the hell would she do if he didn’t forgive her and take her back? She reached inside her shirt and fished out the MacDara brooch she’d fastened to a ribbon and worn every day since the minute Grant had given it to her. She cupped it in her hand, sent up a silent prayer, then pressed a kiss to the colorful stone before letting it fall back on her shirt in full view.

“Grant…” What could she say? Better yet—whatshouldshe say?

“Aye?” Grant slowly lowered his hammer and rested it atop one bulging thigh.

She moved a few steps closer, swiping the tears off her cheeks. She chewed on her bottom lip, wishing like hell she could figure out exactly what Grant was thinking so she’d know what to say. Finally, she gave up. Either he’d forgive her or he wouldn’t. She pressed her hand on top of the engagement pin hanging between her breasts.

“Grant,” she started again as she walked toward him. “Grant, can I please come home?”

Grant’s eyes flared wider the barest bit, but just enough for her to notice. The fingers of the hand he had resting on the lip of his saddle flexed open then slowly curled into a fist.

“Home?” he repeated. “You?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Home.”

“How long?”

“Forever.”

Grant didn’t answer, just stared at her with an unreadable expression for what seemed like an eternity.

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