Scot of My Dreams by Janice Maynard Page A

but with his sister and uncle listening to every word, any interactions I had with Bryce were mundane at best.
    I tried not to take it personally. I knew Bryce was dealing with a lot of responsibilities. According to Abby, he was trying to find someone as a live-in companion or nurse who would keep tabs on Horatio and make sure there wasn’t a repeat of the incident that occurred the night of my one and only date with Bryce.
    In the meantime, I set my sights on enjoying Scotland. It might be years, if ever, before I had the chance to repeat a trip of this magnitude. I shouldn’t waste it mooning over a man who was never going to be more than a pleasant memory once I returned home.
    Abby was the one who drove me back to Glenmurr so I could collect the remainder of my belongings and officially check out. I was able to get all of my prepaid deposits refunded, so now I had a nice nest egg to spend however I wanted.
    As I got to know Bryce’s sister, I found a kindred spirit. We shared a similar snarky sense of humor. And like me, Abby had suffered a few hard knocks in her life.
    It seemed logical to begin my explorations in Inverness. Abby offered me a vehicle to drive, but I convinced her she should go with me. I suspected she had spent far too many hours on her own brooding about what she had lost.
    When the weather finally broke, we made a list of sites and began ticking them off. “Isn’t there a castle right in the middle of town?” I asked one morning as we planned our outing. “Inverness Castle? That’s a pretty unimaginative name.”
    Abby smiled. “It is. To be honest, it’s not a very old castle. It only dates back to the 1830s, if I remember my history.”
    “Back home we’d call that really old. But I get your point.”
    “The site itself is historic,” Abby said, as if trying to sweeten the pot. “There have been castles on that hill overlooking the river for the last thousand years. The current structure houses the sheriff court. But the grounds are open to the public.”
    “Okay,” I said. “We’ll keep it on the list. Let’s go. We’re burning daylight.”
    “I’ve not heard that one before,” Abby said.
    “If you come to Georgia to visit me one day, I’ll teach you some great Southernisms.”
    Bryce stopped us on our way out. It might have been my imagination, but I thought his gaze lingered on my lips. “You lasses have fun today.”
    If nothing else, I knew he appreciated my attempts to bring Abby out of her shell. “We will,” I said lightly. “Your sister is a great tour guide.”
    Abby juggled the car keys in her hand. “We haven’t even started yet.”
    “Okay, okay,” I laughed.
    Bryce took my arm, sending goosebumps all over my body. His warm fingers held me firm. “I’d ask one thing of ye, Willow.” His accent was thick, as if what he was about to say was important.
    “Of course,” I said. Perhaps he was worried about Abby.
    “Save Culloden for me,” he said, his voice husky. “I’d like to be the one to take you there.”
    I looked up at him, mesmerized by the unspoken message in his deep cobalt eyes. He was wearing a blue chambray shirt today. The color deepened the tint of his irises. “Of course. I’d like that.”
    Despite our studied indifference towards each other the past couple of days, we had done nothing to extinguish whatever electrical current danced between us. I found myself breathless, my heart hammering as fast as a middle-school girl’s in the presence of the cutest boy in class.
    Abby cleared her throat. “We’re burning daylight,” she said, her proper British accent laced with humor.
    Bryce lifted an eyebrow. “I see you’ve picked up a few things from our resident Southern belle.”
    “I’m no Southern belle,” I protested.
    He put his hand on either side of my waist and kissed my cheek. “We love the way you talk, Willow. Your words are like a warm river of treacle.”
    The compliment was so unexpected and uttered with such