Read Online Some Like it Scottish by Patience Griffin - Free Book Online Page B

now here in Scotland.
    She studied her map instead of thinking about how she missed her mother and sisters. She and Ramsay had been on the dirt track for a long time. She was beginning to wonder if they weren’t lost when Ramsay pulled onto a road with actual pavement. After a few miles, he pulled into a micro-village—a few houses and a pub. The pub turned out to be the inn they were staying at for the night and the place was packed. She wondered how far the patrons had to drive to get here.
    Ramsay spoke to the pub owner and brought back two keys—one for her and one for him. “The sandwiches will be ready soon.”
    â€œPlease tell me it’s not anything like what you brought me this morning.” The smell was still in her nose.
    â€œHam and Swiss on rye,” he said.
    â€œCan it be brought to my room? I’m bushed.” She clutched her messenger bag to her chest.
    He wrapped his hand around her arm. “Why don’t you stay and have a dram? A dart tournament will be starting any minute.”
    She gave him a weak smile and had the urge to lean in to him for support. “I’m about to drop. Seriously, I need my sleep.” Even though she’d seen Ramsay talking with Ewan McGillivray and believed him the culprit, she wondered if her exhaustion wasn’t the real reason she’d failed to close the deal. “Good night, Ramsay.”
    He let go of her. “Aye. Get some rest.”
    *   *   *
    Like I’ll let you
. Ramsay watched Kit drag herself to the stairway.
    The pub owner slapped him on the back. “The teams are forming right now. Yere idea to have a dart-throwing tournament was a grand one. The bets are already being placed.”
    Ramsay had a twinge of guilt, but he ignored it. Kit would have done the same thing if she were in his place. Business was business, and it was every person for himself. Right? “Are the sandwiches ready yet?”
    The pub owner tilted his head. “They’re on the counter.”
    Ramsay left to take the tray of food up to her himself. At the top of the stairs, he found her room and knocked with his elbow. He expected a
come in
or for her to appear, but neither happened. He set the tray down and was surprised when he turned the knob and the door opened.
    Inside, Kit lay curled up, passed out on the single bed. Guilt pricked him hard, no passing twinge this time. She looked so peaceful, a veritable angel, slumbering away,not realizing that he’d requested the noisiest room for her. Soon she’d be pulled from her sleep by the racket he’d arranged downstairs.
    He retrieved her plate and laid it on the little table, using the napkin to cover her sandwich, in case she woke up and was hungry.
    He felt like a cranking nursemaid, and conflicted as hell, as he gently slipped off her shoes and arranged them under the bed. Then he covered her petite body with the light quilt lying across the foot. Quietly he pulled the door behind him as the first
whoop
of the crowd resounded from below. The tournament must’ve started.
    He trudged downstairs to join them. To drink. To be merry. To make enough noise to raise the roof . . . and the dead. But most of all he hoped Kit took the hint soon and figured out that her matchmaking gig wasn’t going to work. He needed her to get the hell out of Scotland. Now.
    *   *   *
    The next morning, Kit didn’t find Ramsay waiting downstairs as she expected. The earplugs that Amy had sold her from Gandiegow’s store had helped considerably. Or she had been so exhausted that a slew of bagpipers could’ve marched through her room and she wouldn’t have noticed. She didn’t even remember aligning her shoes under her bed, but she must have.
    She went back upstairs and knocked on Ramsay’s door. She heard a groan. She tried the door and it opened. She guessed a big guy like him didn’t have to worry with locks.