Not Quite a Scot by Janice Maynard

Author:Janice Maynard [Maynard, Janice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The next morning, I awoke to gray skies. I didn’t even care. The weather matched my mood. Suddenly, I was desperate to escape from Finley’s house without seeing him again.

I needn’t have worried. The man was nowhere to be found. I packed up my things haphazardly. I wasn’t going far. Part of me needed to make a big dramatic gesture and throw the black dress with the rhinestone clasp into the trash. Not only was it the single really dressy thing I’d brought with me on the trip, I didn’t want to give Finley the idea I was upset.

Let him think our time together was nothing more than a blip on my radar. He was nothing to me. Nothing at all. I cared more about his sweet, mischievous dog than I did about a closed off, emotionally stunted alpha male.

Sadly, even Cinnamon deserted me…no opportunity for goodbyes on that front either. She was probably in the workshop with her master. The same workshop that was off limits to me.

When I was ready, I took one last look at the room where I had spent my first nights on the Isle of Skye. I’d been careful to erase every evidence of my stay in Finley’s home. I felt as if I had lived a lifetime since my car went into a ditch. Certainly not what I had expected. Then again, life rarely went according to plan.

I fell into a weird sort of emotionless calm as I loaded the car and drove away. I was almost positive Finley was around somewhere. Clearly, he had no desire to bump into me. I wouldn’t let his indifference hurt me.

The drive to my new lodgings took longer than it should have. The rain had set in. I managed to find a radio station with a weather report. Apparently, the Scottish Highlands were being buffeted with the remains of Hurricane Mabel. It had made its way across the Atlantic, losing its hurricane-strength winds, but still powerful enough to stall out and dump almost unprecedented amounts of rain.

Mrs. Clark had hidden the house key under a rock. Hunched over beneath an umbrella that was barely able to keep the worst of the rain off my neck, I found the key and let myself in.

I’d prepared for disappointment. It was a raw, gloomy day, and the house would probably be damp and unwelcoming. I had underestimated the sturdy Scottish cleaning lady. As soon as I opened the front door and shrugged out of my wet rain jacket, the smell of lemon furniture polish surrounded me.

Even a cursory inspection told me the house had been totally overhauled. I was so grateful I wanted to sit down and weep. Instead, I wiped my nose, put my coat back on, and unloaded the car. It didn’t make any sense to wait. There would be no break in the weather anytime soon.

At her insistence, Mrs. Clark had also stocked the fridge and cabinets with staples. Even if the storm lasted several days, I wouldn’t starve.

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