Read Online Must Love Scotland by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Grace Burrowes
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interrupted the noise from the children. “I like your perspective, though.” Niall’s view of history offered hope. Scotland had outgrown its more violent lawlessness. Children outgrew their teenage dramatics. Perhaps the US might need fewer prosecutors some fine day.
“This rain won’t let up any time soon,” Niall said. “Shall we make a dash for it?”
They’d parked as close to the door as possible, but the rain was coming down in torrents.
“I should have worn a damned raincoat,” Julie said. “I hate when I’m not prepared.”
Niall leaned forward and wiggled out of his jacket. “You don’t know the territory like the locals do. Wear this, and last one past the post buys lunch.”
Julie figured out sleeves and zipped Niall’s jacket closed, but a cold dousing was probably a good idea. He’d looked so damned sweet, holding that baby, keeping up a steady patter of man-talk with the infant kicking and cooing on the changing table.
“A boy who kicks like that could go to the World Cup, young Henry.”
“So you like being the altogether, do you? You’re a Cromarty lad for sure.”
“Ach, you could teach old Helen a thing or two about clearing a room, you wee stinker.”
And then, like the bad fairy turning up at the princess’s christening party, Derek’s text.
Call me, baby. I’ve got a surprise for you.
“Ready?” Niall asked, hand on the door handle.
“Ready.” Julie was ready to forget Derek, the practice of law, and at least temporarily, anything approaching common sense. “Go!”
They reached the front door at the same time, but when Julie would have yanked it open, Niall stopped her.
He kissed her there in the cold rain, thunder rumbling in the distance, children yelling and carrying on across the street. The moment was perfect, the kiss a point of heat and certainty in the middle of a chilly and unsettled day.
A chilly and unsettled life.
What should have been a casual stolen moment morphed into something complicated as Julie battled the impulse to throw her phone down the storm drain. She clung to Niall instead, to the promise of two weeks of stolen kisses and simple pleasures.
“Julie?” Niall said, brushing wet hair back from her cheek. His fingers were warm, his question embodying more than her simple name.
I don’t want to go home.
The conviction blossomed at full strength in Julie’s mind, like the punch line to a closing argument that would conclude days of contested litigation.
She didn’t want to suit up for the judgeship sweepstakes while dragging the gossip about her divorce behind her, didn’t want to face Derek and his damned surprises, didn’t want to deal with more hopeless children, hopeless adults, and clever, ruthless defense counsel.
“My father loved Scotland,” she said. “He gave papers here every chance he could. I never understood why. I’m beginning to now.”
“We have the best rainy days?” Niall suggested, holding the door open as if they weren’t both sopping wet.
“You do,” Julie said. “You absolutely do, and the cutest babies, and best flowers, and the nicest roaring fires.”
Somebody had lit a wood fire in the enormous stone hearth at one end of the dining room. Julie crossed to it, shrugging out of Niall’s dripping jacket and leaving a damp trail on the plank floor.
“If it isn’t a pair of wild geese, blown in from the north,” Hamish Campbell boomed from behind the bar. “Sit you down, and I’ll fix you something before the quilters descend. Nothing stops those women, and they can drink even the anglers under the table. The pipers have them beat, though.”
“Donald sometimes joins the quilters,” Niall said. “I don’t think he can whipstitch a straight seam, but they tolerate him because of his stories.”
The quilters tolerated Donald because of his blue eyes and his charm.
“May we eat here by the fire?” Julie asked, draping Niall’s wet jacket over the back of a chair. “I haven’t been
“This rain won’t let up any time soon,” Niall said. “Shall we make a dash for it?”
They’d parked as close to the door as possible, but the rain was coming down in torrents.
“I should have worn a damned raincoat,” Julie said. “I hate when I’m not prepared.”
Niall leaned forward and wiggled out of his jacket. “You don’t know the territory like the locals do. Wear this, and last one past the post buys lunch.”
Julie figured out sleeves and zipped Niall’s jacket closed, but a cold dousing was probably a good idea. He’d looked so damned sweet, holding that baby, keeping up a steady patter of man-talk with the infant kicking and cooing on the changing table.
“A boy who kicks like that could go to the World Cup, young Henry.”
“So you like being the altogether, do you? You’re a Cromarty lad for sure.”
“Ach, you could teach old Helen a thing or two about clearing a room, you wee stinker.”
And then, like the bad fairy turning up at the princess’s christening party, Derek’s text.
Call me, baby. I’ve got a surprise for you.
“Ready?” Niall asked, hand on the door handle.
“Ready.” Julie was ready to forget Derek, the practice of law, and at least temporarily, anything approaching common sense. “Go!”
They reached the front door at the same time, but when Julie would have yanked it open, Niall stopped her.
He kissed her there in the cold rain, thunder rumbling in the distance, children yelling and carrying on across the street. The moment was perfect, the kiss a point of heat and certainty in the middle of a chilly and unsettled day.
A chilly and unsettled life.
What should have been a casual stolen moment morphed into something complicated as Julie battled the impulse to throw her phone down the storm drain. She clung to Niall instead, to the promise of two weeks of stolen kisses and simple pleasures.
“Julie?” Niall said, brushing wet hair back from her cheek. His fingers were warm, his question embodying more than her simple name.
I don’t want to go home.
The conviction blossomed at full strength in Julie’s mind, like the punch line to a closing argument that would conclude days of contested litigation.
She didn’t want to suit up for the judgeship sweepstakes while dragging the gossip about her divorce behind her, didn’t want to face Derek and his damned surprises, didn’t want to deal with more hopeless children, hopeless adults, and clever, ruthless defense counsel.
“My father loved Scotland,” she said. “He gave papers here every chance he could. I never understood why. I’m beginning to now.”
“We have the best rainy days?” Niall suggested, holding the door open as if they weren’t both sopping wet.
“You do,” Julie said. “You absolutely do, and the cutest babies, and best flowers, and the nicest roaring fires.”
Somebody had lit a wood fire in the enormous stone hearth at one end of the dining room. Julie crossed to it, shrugging out of Niall’s dripping jacket and leaving a damp trail on the plank floor.
“If it isn’t a pair of wild geese, blown in from the north,” Hamish Campbell boomed from behind the bar. “Sit you down, and I’ll fix you something before the quilters descend. Nothing stops those women, and they can drink even the anglers under the table. The pipers have them beat, though.”
“Donald sometimes joins the quilters,” Niall said. “I don’t think he can whipstitch a straight seam, but they tolerate him because of his stories.”
The quilters tolerated Donald because of his blue eyes and his charm.
“May we eat here by the fire?” Julie asked, draping Niall’s wet jacket over the back of a chair. “I haven’t been
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