Big Sky Ever After: a Montana Romance Duet by M. L. Buchman & Grace Burrowes

Author:M. L. Buchman & Grace Burrowes [Buchman, M. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Buchman Bookworks, Inc.
Published: 2017-04-10T18:30:00+00:00

Magnus could explain whisky all day and half the night. He had a routine that included the history of distilling—if the monks did it, we know it’s good for us—and a demonstration of the traditional whisky glass’s ability to hold a correct sipping portion when toppled on its side.

When Harley and the three college students were sagely sipping their drams, Magnus rose.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve a dance to catch. The sandwiches should be here shortly, and I’d be obliged if you’d consider this my treat. I would never have puzzled out that part about the four downs and ten yards.”

American football was as tedious as cricket, though considerably more profitable.

Harley considered his drink. “You asking Bridget to dance?”

It was more the case that Bridget had asked Magnus. “I thought I would. Why?”

“Go easy,” Harley muttered. “And mind your manners.”

“Of course.”

The lady had asked Magnus about his choice of whisky, and was thus another potential convert. She was back on her barstool near the drink station, and as Magnus approached, he was mildly surprised to realize that Bridget was… pretty.

Her name suited her, for she had freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, dark auburn hair, and green eyes that held neither flirtation nor guile. She was between average and petite in stature and appeared to be drinking ice water with a slice of lemon.

“If the offer of a dance is still open, I’d like to take you up on it.” How much easier to start a conversation when the woman had done the initial asking.

“I’m Bridget,” she said, offering her hand. “And we either dance now, or the floor will soon be too crowded.”

Magnus took her hand. “Let’s seize the day, shall we? Or the night?”

In Scotland, he would never have stood up with a strange woman. He’d been dragged to endless ceilidh dances as a child and spent most of them nipping from the adult’s drinks. As an adolescent, he’d seen the potential rewards for actually learning the dance steps and subjecting females to his company on the dance floor. What the females had got out of the business, he could not have said.

The fiddlers tuned up, the lights dimmed, and as luck would have it, Magnus was about to spend the next five minutes slow dancing with a pretty stranger.

“You’re sure?” Bridget asked, taking another sip of her lemon water.

“I’m sure.”

“Over there,” she said, sliding off her stool and marching through the tables.

Magnus followed and got looks from the other men, particularly one man sitting with a leggy blonde in the corner. The other women didn’t look at him so much as they inspected him.

The Scots had invented the you’re-not-from-around-here glower. Magnus smiled back at all of them. Bridget had asked him to dance, after all.

The introduction was in triple meter, the violins in close harmony. Magnus arranged himself and his partner in waltz position, though Bridget kept him at a firm distance.

“I’m not very good at this,” she said. “I know most of the line dances, but not this couples’ crap.

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