Must Love Highlanders by Patience Griffin Grace Burrowes Page A

chose the cheeses. Main dishes were Liam’s province, and salads and dessert were negotiated.
    Though what in God’s name would they talk about now?
    Say, Louise, did you know that Saxe’s insults to your work weren’t even original? I sneered and snickered my way past all those lovely vases, those intriguing drinking cups, and the teapot that shed rainbows in all directions, though even I admitted a student’s derivative work was superior to what Hellenbore had displayed a week earlier.
    Saxe had left that part out, of course. Liam took a sip of wine, but just a sip. He’d earned this misery, and by God, he’d endure it.
    Though not alone. Before conversation could turn awkward or intimate, Uncle Donald came clomping onto the porch.
    “I smell dinner,” he said, setting his tackle down outside the front door. “Don’t suppose there’s room for a lonely old man at the table?”
    “A shameless man in his prime,” Louise said, joining Liam at the door. “The boots can stay out here, though, and you will wash your hands.”
    “I like her,” Donald said, toeing off a pair of green Wellies. “Has a confident air and a nice behind.”
    “No dessert for you, auld man,” Louise said over her shoulder. “We’re politically correct at Dunroamin Cottage, if we know what’s good for us.”
    For once, Liam was affirmatively glad to see his uncle, who could tell story after story, about everything from the Battle of the Shirts to Mary Queen of Scots, to epic rounds of golf at St. Andrews.
    When the meal had been consumed, the coffee and tablet had made the rounds, and Donald had told stories on half the Cromarty clan, he kissed Louise’s cheek and rose.
    “I’ll be off then. Shall I feed your puppy, Liam?”
    “You have
a puppy
?” Louise asked.
    “He has an old blind dog,” Donald said. “Or half-blind. She’s good company fishing, is Helen.”
    “Helen’s getting on,” Liam said, taking his dishes to the sink. “She’s not blind in the least, but she is good company if you’re inclined to stay in one spot for hours.”
    “If you like spending time with bears,” Donald said, snitching another piece of tablet. “Louise strikes me as the better bargain.”
    Louise rose and shoved the mostly empty wine bottle at him. “Time to go, you. Comparing ladies to dogs is no way to win friends and influence women. Don’t forget your fishing pole.”
    Liam loved hearing Louise talk. Bits of Georgia crept in—fishin’ pole, instead of fishing rod, or rod and reel—and her tone was always warm.
    “I’ll do the dishes if you want to take your shower,” he said when Donald had gone stomping on his way, singing about the rashes-o, and drinking from the bottle.
    I don’t want to be like that
. Liam didn’t want to be old and alone, smelling of river mud, swilling leftover wine, and deriving a sense of usefulness by feeding a dog who barely woke up between meals anymore.
    “I’m dead on my feet,” Louise said, putting plastic wrap over the salad. “If you’re sure you don’t mind cleaning up, I’ll see you upstairs.”
    Reprieve. Another forty-five minutes when Liam wouldn’t have to make conversation, wrestle guilt, and count the minutes until Louise’s departure. He kissed her cheek and patted her bottom.
    “Away with you, then, madam. Dougie and I will manage. Don’t wait up for us.”
    She hugged him—Louise was unstinting with her affection, something Liam would not have guessed about her when he’d fetched her from the airport.
    And then she was gone, leaving Liam with a messy kitchen, and more heartache than one tired, lonely Scot should have to bear.

    By Louise’s last day at the cottage, an invisible elephant in pink Scottish plaid had joined her vacation entourage. The elephant carried around a load of questions nobody was asking anybody.
    So, what happens after the plane takes off?
    Will you call me?
    Will I see you again?
    Liam made endlessly tender, quiet love to her, then came at