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Authors: Trisha Telep
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towards Peter, their goalie, who stood before two sticks set in the waterlogged ground. Emulating Peter’s stance, she spread her arms and legs wide and shouted, “We got you now, Highlander!”
Hamish slowed and an evil glint took shape in his eyes. He put the boys down, then, laughing, charged straight at her. As he caught her by the waist and spun, Ty and Mark caught his belt and Hamish toppled, making a great show of being brought down, as much a boy at heart as her students.
“ Ooomph!” While her victorious students shouted, Sarah tried to catch her breath. MacDuff held much of his weight on his arms, but had a muscular leg nestled squarely between her thighs.
Oh my God! Is he aroused?
Grinning down at her, his blue eyes dancing with mirth, he asked, “Did I score, mistress?”
Oh yes.
She’d long imagined what a man’s heat and weight might feel like, but my, oh my, her imagination hadn’t taken flight nearly far enough. Her heart was racing, sending warmth and need sluicing through her.
“Miss Colbert, is it dinner time yet?” Peter wanted to know.
I neither know nor care, Peter.
“What are we having?” Jeremy asked.
Hamish, his hooded gaze fixed on her lips, slowly rose to his knees and cleared his throat. “Crowdie and havers,” he told them, “unless ye can garner more blackberries.”
Almost in unison they groaned.
When the boys walked off, Hamish slowly rocked to his feet and held out a large calloused hand to her. “We’d best get the rest ready. Ty alone can eat his weight in oats and honey.”
Dazed, she took his hand. “He’s … He’s grown very fond of you.”
“And I of him.”
“In ten months this is the first time I’ve seen him really smile. He’s blossomed under your attention.” And he wasn’t the only one. She too had blossomed. She laughed and pondered what might have been under Hamish MacDuff’s sometimes awkward, usually funny, and occasionally heated perusal.
Watching the boys, Hamish absently toyed with the broad brass cuffs decorating his wrists. “He longs for a father.”
Sarah nodded, only too familiar with that particular heartache.
“And they all lust to be home. Aye?”
“Yes, they’re homesick.” With their game over, the boys were again quiet, walking with slouched shoulders and worried expressions. Last night in the darkened croft she hadn’t been able to tell who’d wept in the wee hours of night but several had.
“And ye, mistress? Do ye lust to be home as well?”
Did she?
She no longer had any family, nor any close friends after caring for her mother for so many years. She’d applied for the overseas teaching position in the hope of finding a new beginning. Instead, her lonely life had simply changed addresses. Home was no longer the rented Chicago duplex she’d grown up in but a tiny rented flat in a grey London suburb full of strangers. Her days were still challenging and worrisome. Her nights filled with mundane television and Chinese takeout.
And then there was Hamish MacDuff. He was everything she had ever dreamed of in a man: strong, handsome, funny, not the least self-conscious. Tender and considerate. Firm when he thought it necessary. And he thought her pretty, followed her every movement with hungry eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. When she did look at him, he simply smiled as if he hadn’t a concern or desire in the world.
No, she didn’t lust to go home, but then it never mattered what she wanted. She just put her head down and did what was expected, what had to be done.
Knowing she had no choice but to do so again, she reached out and boldly took Hamish’s hand, threading her fingers through his, memorizing the feel of his touch, of his callouses and strength, of what might have been.
Hamish finished his tale of how he’d come to be in his glen and wished the lads goodnight. ’Twas time to speak his heart to the Spaniel.
He found her, arms wrapped about her shapely legs, sitting at the edge
Hamish slowed and an evil glint took shape in his eyes. He put the boys down, then, laughing, charged straight at her. As he caught her by the waist and spun, Ty and Mark caught his belt and Hamish toppled, making a great show of being brought down, as much a boy at heart as her students.
“ Ooomph!” While her victorious students shouted, Sarah tried to catch her breath. MacDuff held much of his weight on his arms, but had a muscular leg nestled squarely between her thighs.
Oh my God! Is he aroused?
Grinning down at her, his blue eyes dancing with mirth, he asked, “Did I score, mistress?”
Oh yes.
She’d long imagined what a man’s heat and weight might feel like, but my, oh my, her imagination hadn’t taken flight nearly far enough. Her heart was racing, sending warmth and need sluicing through her.
“Miss Colbert, is it dinner time yet?” Peter wanted to know.
I neither know nor care, Peter.
“What are we having?” Jeremy asked.
Hamish, his hooded gaze fixed on her lips, slowly rose to his knees and cleared his throat. “Crowdie and havers,” he told them, “unless ye can garner more blackberries.”
Almost in unison they groaned.
When the boys walked off, Hamish slowly rocked to his feet and held out a large calloused hand to her. “We’d best get the rest ready. Ty alone can eat his weight in oats and honey.”
Dazed, she took his hand. “He’s … He’s grown very fond of you.”
“And I of him.”
“In ten months this is the first time I’ve seen him really smile. He’s blossomed under your attention.” And he wasn’t the only one. She too had blossomed. She laughed and pondered what might have been under Hamish MacDuff’s sometimes awkward, usually funny, and occasionally heated perusal.
Watching the boys, Hamish absently toyed with the broad brass cuffs decorating his wrists. “He longs for a father.”
Sarah nodded, only too familiar with that particular heartache.
“And they all lust to be home. Aye?”
“Yes, they’re homesick.” With their game over, the boys were again quiet, walking with slouched shoulders and worried expressions. Last night in the darkened croft she hadn’t been able to tell who’d wept in the wee hours of night but several had.
“And ye, mistress? Do ye lust to be home as well?”
Did she?
She no longer had any family, nor any close friends after caring for her mother for so many years. She’d applied for the overseas teaching position in the hope of finding a new beginning. Instead, her lonely life had simply changed addresses. Home was no longer the rented Chicago duplex she’d grown up in but a tiny rented flat in a grey London suburb full of strangers. Her days were still challenging and worrisome. Her nights filled with mundane television and Chinese takeout.
And then there was Hamish MacDuff. He was everything she had ever dreamed of in a man: strong, handsome, funny, not the least self-conscious. Tender and considerate. Firm when he thought it necessary. And he thought her pretty, followed her every movement with hungry eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. When she did look at him, he simply smiled as if he hadn’t a concern or desire in the world.
No, she didn’t lust to go home, but then it never mattered what she wanted. She just put her head down and did what was expected, what had to be done.
Knowing she had no choice but to do so again, she reached out and boldly took Hamish’s hand, threading her fingers through his, memorizing the feel of his touch, of his callouses and strength, of what might have been.
Hamish finished his tale of how he’d come to be in his glen and wished the lads goodnight. ’Twas time to speak his heart to the Spaniel.
He found her, arms wrapped about her shapely legs, sitting at the edge
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