Must Love Highlanders (12 page)

They’d toured a distillery in Inverness, and she’d made the most awful face at one of the world’s best-loved Highland single malts.

Of course
, Liam had bought her a ring, and fool that he was, returning it would about kill him. He’d been about killed before and didn’t care to repeat the experience.

“Shall I dress the salad?” Louise asked.

“Please, and I’ll pour.”

Louise chose the wines, because Louise 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 her with ferocious passion. Then it was Louise’s turn to be tender, to memorize the turn of his shoulders, the line of his flanks, the texture of his skin at the small of his back.

She spent hours at the wheel and more hours online doing research—about glazes, collections, art schools, and the past. Hellenbore had retired amid some scandal involving an undergraduate “prone to depression.”

“She should be furious, not depressed,” Louise informed the drinking cup on the wheel. “But if she forced him into retirement, maybe she should be proud.”

The cup spun on the wheel, perfectly symmetric, but plain. No colors, no variations in texture or form to give it life.

“You need to eat,” Liam said from the doorway. He watched her from time to time, but he neither answered questions nor asked them lately. The studio hardly had room for Louise’s heartache, Liam’s quiet presence, and that damned pink elephant.

“I need to finish up,” Louise said, dragging the cutoff wire under her clay. “I’ll be an hour at least cleaning the knives, scrapers, and other tools. You don’t have to help.”

Liam’s brows twitched. As an older man, he’d have bushy brows. That single twitch confirmed that Louise’s elephant was getting restless, putting a sharpness on her words she hadn’t intended.

By this time tomorrow, Louise would have left Scotland, possibly forever.

“I can make dinner,” Liam said. “I notice you haven’t started to pack.”

Whatever the hell that meant.

Louise mashed the clay back into a hard, compact ball. “I’m quick when it comes to throwing my things into a suitcase. If we’re making pizza, we’ll need ingredients. I’ll clean up, you make a grocery run, and we’ll meet in the kitchen.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Liam sauntered over to her, kissed the top of her head, and would have left, except Louise caught his clean hand in her muddy one.

“I’ll miss you, Liam. I’ll miss you terribly.”

Another kiss. “Likewise, Louise Mavis Cameron.”

Then he was gone.

Louise dealt with the tools of her trade—her art—and tidied up the studio until it was as clean and welcoming as she’d found it. She grabbed a shower for good measure and was toweling off when another question joined her already overflowing supply.

How had Liam known her middle name? She’d never told him, not specifically, which middle name went with which Cameron sister, and yet he’d known her middle name was Mavis.

Interesting.

Words stuck in Liam’s throat all the way to the airport, while beside him, Louise held her peace. A woman who’d been cheated out of her future as an artist by a lot of stupid, arrogant men probably learned to keep her own counsel very well.

“Are you nervous?” Liam asked as they tooled over the Forth Road Bridge.

“I have it on good authority that flying to the States is easier than flying to Europe. What will you do with yourself today, Liam?”

He’d get the cottage ready for Jeannie’s next rental, respond to the emails he’d neglected for the past two weeks, and get on with the business of hating himself for the rest of his life—again.

“I’ll catch up on the housework, mostly.”

They reached the southern bank of the firth, that much closer to the airport.

“Liam, you have a beautiful house. I didn’t poke around inside, though when I took Helen back yesterday, I couldn’t help but admire it. Somebody went to a lot of trouble with that house, a lot of expensive trouble.”

This was a question he could answer. “How do I afford that place on a college professor’s salary?”

“You have art everywhere. Nice art.”

“That’s not only art, that’s inventory, Louise. For years, when I saw something I liked, I bought it. Small things at first, then larger pieces. You’d be surprised what major corporations and even law firms are willing to pay for a bit of the pretty for their offices.”

Louise left off pretending to be fascinated with the traffic around them. “You’re a
dealer
? That’s why you get phone calls from all over the world and jabber away in French and German?”

“Not quite a dealer,” Liam said. “I don’t sell the pieces I own, I rent them out. When a client wants a different look, I find them something else, from what’s on hand, in storage, or in various galleries that know what I like. It’s rather profitable.”

The smile Louise aimed at him was both admiring and knowing. “That’s why you don’t bring it up with your family? You’re embarrassed to make money at something you enjoy?”

Liam would miss Louise for the rest of his life, miss her quickness, her understanding, her passion for cheese, and the way she held entire conversations with a lump of wet clay.

“I simply don’t know how to tell them,” Liam said. “I make money, the world has a little more good art to enjoy, the businesses are happy, the artists have a paying client and the occasional commission. It doesn’t seem fair that I’d also enjoy the work.”

The airport was only a few minutes ahead, and yet, what more could Liam say?

I ruined your career years ago, but don’t mind that, because sometime in the past two weeks, I fell in love with you.

“You’ll let Jeannie know when you’re home?” he asked.

“Sure. Or I can text you.”

“Please do. I’ll worry.” And probably kick hard objects, yell at the cat, and ignore messages from family. Familiar territory.

After more pained silence, Liam drew up to the departures curb. “I can park if you like.”

“No need,” Louise said, opening her door. “I’ve got this, Cromarty, and I want you to know something.”

Liam wrestled Louise’s colorful suitcase onto the curb and prepared to die right there in the Scottish spring sunshine that had so captivated her two weeks ago.

“I’ll miss you, Louise Cameron. I’ll miss you sorely.”

“I’ll miss you, too. Terribly, horribly, awfully, very badly, but here’s something to think about, Professor. I spent some time online last night. If I wanted to earn a master of fine arts, some of the best programs in the world are in your backyard. Some of the most interesting and respected programs, right down the lane in Glasgow.”

What is she saying?

Louise wrapped Liam in a fierce embrace.

“You’d come back here, to Scotland, Louise?”

“I can throw pots wherever there’s a wheel and mud. I can hand-build. I can sketch. I can teach. I can wait tables, muck stalls, or impersonate a lawyer. What I cannot do anymore, ever again, is let my life go by while I wait for happiness to find me. You’re right: I need to do what makes me happy, even if I have to fight for it.”

Louise kissed his cheek, then stepped back and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. “Thank you, Liam Cromarty. For everything, thank you.”

Liam stood staring long after Louise had disappeared into the crowd, until the blare of an insistent horn reminded him that he was holding up traffic. He didn’t recall driving back to Perthshire, but he was still pondering Louise’s words when he got home and found Uncle Donald dozing in a chair on his front terrace.

“You’re an idiot,” Donald said, not even opening his eyes.

Liam took a place beside him, sitting right on the hard stones of the terrace. “Aye, and you’re where I get it from.”

“Lad, you cannot let that one go. Move to America, commute across the ocean, or kidnap her, but don’t waste any more time wallowing in your guilt and grief. You’ll end up singing to the fish and wondering how seventy-five years can pass in a summer.”

Dougie joined the discussion, hopping onto Donald’s lap.

“Donald, I’ve wronged that woman, and I didn’t admit it to her. Isn’t it better that she recall me as a Highland fling than learn that I played a significant part in her worst betrayals?”

No, it was not.
Having put Louise on the plane, Liam hated the thought of letting his lies and silence be the last chapter in their story. Could he make it right?