Page 20 of Not Quite a Scot


Font Size:  

Chapter 9

I ate shepherd’s pie alone.

Finley’s note on the kitchen table was short and direct: The food is hot. I’ve gone to get your car and your things. Be back soon.

Tamping down my disappointment, I served myself a generous helping of the casserole, poured a glass of milk, and sat down to my supper. The meal was astonishingly good. Except for my seafood meal last night, I’d not been overly impressed with Scottish cuisine up until now. Finley’s housekeeper, though, was a culinary queen. The chunks of chicken were moist and savory. The broccoli and carrots and potatoes were neither crisp nor soggy. Even better, Finley’s unseen employee had managed the perfect ratio of vegetables to meat. And the crust…oh, the crust! Golden brown. Flaky. My stomach did a high five. I’d have to walk a few extra miles this week to offset the rich, calorie-laden treat.

By seven, I had finished my meal and tidied the kitchen. Still no sign of Finley nor Cinnamon. Clearly, the man didn’t trust me around his dog.

At seven thirty, I began to juggle anger and worry.

At seven forty-five, the back door opened along with a flurry of wind-driven leaves and a galloping spaniel. “You’re back,” I said. Wow. My conversational expertise had dried up entirely. I wasn’t immune to the spark of sexual interest between Finley and me, but it was pretty clear that neither of us was interested in pursuing the attraction.

My host shrugged out of a light jacket and tossed keys on the kitchen table. “These are your new ones. I parked the car right outside. Pretty much like the one you had before, except this one is black.”

My first rental had been a dull beige, so that wasn’t altogether a bad trade. “How did you get out there?” He surely hadn’t walked.

“Hamish gave me a lift. He owed me one for dragging his sorry hide home to his wife one night in June when he closed down the bars. He had just been told the little woman was expecting, and the news made him a wee bit agitated.”

I grinned, imagining the enormous Hamish quaking at the thought of a tiny baby. “Please thank him when you see him again.”

Finley nodded. He must have been starving, because he rummaged in the fridge for the shepherd’s pie and held it up like a prize. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

“Would you like me to heat it for you while you wash up?”

“I know how to use a microwave, Duchess. But thanks.”

Again, that sharp edge telling me not to overstep unseen boundaries. His sarcasm lit the fuse of my temper. “Is it me in particular you dislike? Or simply having your routine disturbed?”

If I thought plain speaking was going to rattle him, I was way off course.

At first, he said nothing. He simply busied himself heating a plate of food, gathering cutlery and a napkin, and popping open a beer. When he had his meal prepared to his satisfaction, he sat down and stared at me. “Stay or go. Don’t hover.”

I wanted badly to walk out of the room and leave him to his lonely meal. The only thing stopping me was a contrary inclination to do the exact opposite of what he wanted. Plus, I was curious, damn it.

Pulling out a chair with exaggerated care, I sat down and watched him eat. He attacked his food with single-minded relish. Did he only get home-cooked meals once a week when the housekeeper came?

The thought of Finley eating peanut butter sandwiches on cold, wintry evenings made me sad, which was ludicrous. Not every single man was helpless. Most of them enjoyed their lifestyles, despite the lack of services a wife might provide.

Though I loved to cook, I vowed then and there not to let myself be swayed by sympathy for a very happy bachelor. Finley Craig didn’t need apple pies from me, nor warm cinnamon rolls on a chilly Highland morning.

As I watched him eat, I held my tongue, expecting him at any moment to answer my question. Either he had forgotten what I said or he didn’t intend to respond, so I tried again. “Have I done something to offend you?” I asked. “You seem to be a reluctant Samaritan at best. Tell me. I really want to know. Is it my imagination, or do I annoy you in some way?”

With a sigh, he finished his last bite, wiped his mouth, and drained his beer. Twisting the brown glass bottle between long masculine fingers, he studied me. “Aye. You do. It’s not your fault. I’ve not had a good experience with women like you.”

“Women like me?” I frowned.

He clarified. “Blond. Gorgeous. Loaded.”

In another circumstance, part of that description might have been complimentary. The grimace on his face took away any pleasure in the first two adjectives. My stomach churned. I’d never been dismissed quite so succinctly. “I see.”

“I doubt ye do, lass. It’s my problem. Not yours.”

I shoved back from the table and stood up, righting my chair as it wobbled wildly. “Thank you for retrieving my rental car. Good night, Mr. Craig.” My throat was tight and my eyes burned. I’d often been judged and found lacking by people in my life, but Finley’s derision stung badly.

Before I could storm out of the room, he grabbed my wrist. “Don’t run, lassie. I’ll behave.”

“Why should I stay where I’m not wanted?”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like