Must Love Highlanders (21 page)

“Dammit,” she yelled. The rabbit had returned, and the dogs were gone.

No amount of hollering and chasing after them made them stop either, or let her catch up to them.

Now what was she to do? She should’ve thought to stick her phone in her pocket. Or even better, she should’ve accepted Hugh’s offer to come along.

And wouldn’t he be angry with her for losing his dogs! She trudged into the forest in the direction that the ornery buggers had gone, figuring she’d find them first before making her way back to civilization. The dogs’ barks became fainter and fainter, until she didn’t hear them at all.

That’s when snow started to fall.

Hugh stood at the back door, thinking the lass really should have returned by now. The temperature had plummeted, and the air was heavy with moisture. She was a grown woman, not a little girl. But then it started snowing. Hard. He waited ten more minutes—certain she would show herself any second—and willing himself not to be anxious. He had seen her heading toward the Munro, but had forced himself from the window to leave her in peace to walk alone. Thoughts of her stayed behind in the kitchen as if she’d never left him. He wished she hadn’t.

“Blast it all!” He grabbed his coat, hat, and gloves and stepped outside. He would ring her neck for making him worry…about his hounds.

He started down the path that led up to the Munro until he heard a noise. He turned and saw the Wallace and the Bruce trotting up to him from the opposite direction, dragging their leashes behind them.

Hugh looked beyond, waiting for Sophie to materialize at the edge of the woods, all the while formulating the lecture he would give her. She didn’t appear.

Holy hell. This was why he would never have the responsibility of a family. He’d let his parents down once, and the consequences had been horrific. Images flashed through his brain, but he put them aside.

Where was Sophie? What if she was hurt?

He took off at a run. The dogs thought it was a great game and ran after him. Hugh stopped and grabbed at their leashes, pulling them to him.

“Where is she, lads? Where did ye leave yere lady?” His voice sounded a little frantic to his own ears.

The Bruce whined, but the Wallace’s ear perked up. They were a couple of worthless hounds, but something had gotten into the Wallace.

“Can ye take me to her? Can ye remember where ye left her?” Hugh rubbed his head. “Show me.”

The snow was coming down almost sideways now, working itself into a whiteout. He prayed to God that Sophie was okay. And if she wasn’t, he was going to kill her!

The dogs led him deep into the woods, and Hugh was starting to worry that he himself might get lost with the weather the way it was. But when they came upon the clearing with the boulder, he knew his exact location. The problem was, he didn’t know hers!

A hint of burning wood hit his senses. He looked skyward for smoke but could see only snow. The smoke had to be coming from the crofter’s cabin on the other side of the clearing. The cabin that he and Amy had played in as children…their make-believe castle.

He put his head down and started plowing in the direction of the cabin, praying Sophie was there, safe and sound.

As he got close, the dogs began barking and dragging him along. When he stepped onto the porch, the door flew open, and the dogs barreled past her, leaving a shocked and relieved Sophie in their wake.

He stepped in and slammed the door behind him. “Thank God! You worried the hell out me!”

“Hugh,” she said on a breath.

He didn’t think—he couldn’t, his relief was so great. He tracked her down, like an animal on the scent, leaned her up against the wall, and kissed her, punishing her—most specifically her lips—for upsetting him.

Kissing calmed him. Soothed him. Made him harder than the boulder in the clearing.

He was covered in snow from head to foot, but Sophie wrapped her arms around his cold body anyway and kissed him back—hard.

“God, Sophie,” he growled as he pulled away, but only far enough to tug at the neck of her sweater so he could kiss her there. “Why would ye do that to me, lass?”

She moaned, dropping her head to the side as he kissed the base of her throat. “I got lost.”

He looked into her eyes. “Don’t do it again.”

“Don’t kiss you again?”

“No.” He chuckled. “I’m not daft.” He liked that he could kiss her until she was foggy. He pushed her blond hair back from her face and gave her one more quick kiss on the lips.

Things started registering around him. The smell of bacon reached his nose. No, canned ham. She’d made use of the provisions that he kept at these outlying crofters’ cottages.

His clothes were wet, and he’d soaked her while forcing his torrid kisses on her. But she’d kissed him back!

The Bruce and the Wallace had stretched out on the twin bed, making themselves at home, soaking it as well.

“Down, ye fools,” he growled at them.

They slunk off the bed.

Sophie stared at the bed, too. Was she also imagining what she and Hugh might do there? He sure as hell was!

Maybe it was just as well that the hounds had ruined the bedding. Hugh wouldn’t make Sophie lie on a damp bed while he drove himself into her.

“The food smells good,” he said awkwardly. He stood by the fire, his clothes and boots dripping all over the floor.

“Get out of yere things,” she said matter-of-factly. “Ye’ll catch yere death. I’ll make ye a cup of tea.”

He wondered irrationally if she wanted him to strip down to his nothings, how she’d seen him last night in his bedroom. Nah, probably not.

“There should be whisky here somewhere.” He shrugged off his snow-covered coat and hung it on the back of the chair. He dragged the chair in front of the fire.

The cabin was small with the four of them in the one room. The more he stared at Sophie, the less he could breathe. At the same time, all her bustling around and taking care of things made it all seem pretty damn cozy.

As Sophie made a plate of ham and beans, the Wallace and the Bruce put their noses in the air, sniffing.

“It’s not for ye.” Though the Wallace had known where to find her. “Come here, boy.” Hugh dug in his pocket and pulled out a dog biscuit, patting the dog firmly when he came to get his treat. “Ye did good.”

Because the Bruce never missed out on a treat, he nosed his way between them, and he got a biscuit, too.

“Come sit at the table,” Sophie ordered with her still-swollen lips. As if for proof, she put a finger to the bottom one, rubbing it.

“Let me get the dogs’ food first,” Hugh said. “I’ve got a container under the counter.”

He had to pass by her on his way. It took everything in him not to pull her into his arms again…and maybe not stop this time.

After he took care of the dogs, he joined her by the hearth, taking a bite of ham. He was warming up and couldn’t completely credit the fire.

“You scared the shite out of me,” he said as way of conversation. Better to be angry than to be drawn to her. “Why would ye head off into the woods?”

“Like I had a choice in the matter.” She nodded to his hounds. “Yere beasts saw a rabbit they took a liking to.”

“Well, ye should’ve agreed to have me come along.”

“Aye.” She poked the fire like she didn’t want to meet his eyes. “Hugh? Last summer, why wouldn’t ye dance with me at the céilidh? Why did ye ignore me so thoroughly?”

The question caught him off guard. But turnabout was fair play. He’d caught her off guard when he’d kissed her a bit ago. He’d like to do it again. Instead, he faced her, the firelight catching the blue of her eyes. He could make out the old hurt in the depths of them, and he felt bad for it.

He pushed back her hair and hoped she could see the earnestness of what he felt. “Aw, lass, last summer, didn’t ye know? Ye took my breath away. But my life wasn’t my own. It still isn’t. My parents had died in the crash a month before, and I had only just moved home to take over the wool business. I was half-dead inside, and ye had too much life for me.”

Aye, even now.

She laid a hand on his arm, as if steadying him. “I’m going to finish eating, and then I have to get back to the big house.”

She’d knocked him off-balance again with her statement…another non sequitur.

“Sophie, we can’t go anywhere. It’s a blizzard. We’ll have to wait out the storm.” Couldn’t she see that? “Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. We’ll need the light to see our way home.”

She pulled back the curtain and gazed outside. “You don’t understand. I need the light now.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “We have the fire. There should be a torch or two somewhere and new batteries in the cabinet. I know there are candles. We’ll have enough light.” Was she as scared of the dark as he’d been as a child? “Ye’re safe with me, lass.”

“Ye’re not the problem.” She yanked the damp quilt off the bed and hung it over the second chair back. “I am.”

“What?” Hugh looked at Sophie as if she’d gone mental.

Which was pretty spot-on. How could she tell Hugh about her disorder? She liked him. If she was being honest with herself—which she wasn’t—she liked him a lot, and had since the moment she’d laid eyes on him last June. She was being ridiculous. She didn’t have a future with Hugh, or with any other man, for that matter. Her spinster status had been a foregone conclusion ages ago. Summer Sophie had dated, but nothing ever lasted as Dead-of-Winter Sophie surfaced in early fall. She’d known her whole life that she’d never be able to marry. She was too messed up to have a relationship. Then her parents confirmed it—too old and bossy—unmarriageable.

“Take me back to the house,” she commanded. “Please.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on here. There’s nothing wrong with ye,” he argued.

For a second, hope flickered inside her that Hugh was blind to her disorder. But it wouldn’t do any good if he was. He’d made it clear that he was too busy to be in a relationship. Or maybe he had been making it clear that he didn’t want to be in a relationship with her!

It didn’t matter. Emma would tell her to be honest. Own her disorder and not be ashamed of it.

Sophie squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye—the best that she could—by cranking her head back.

“You met me in the summer, Hugh, when, yes, I’m full of life.” She motioned to the world beyond the cabin. “But we’re in the dead of winter now, when, I assure ye, things can be quite the opposite.”

“What are ye talking about?” He scanned her from head to toe. “Ye look fine to me. Ye’re not sick, are ye?”

“Aye. In a manner of speaking.”

She told him all about her disorder. How overwhelming and hopeless life became. How listless she felt. How dressing, hygiene, and proper nutrition became nearly impossible. How even the simple task of getting out of bed didn’t seem feasible during the long winter months.

“Ye see, I have to get back to the house,” she said, finishing. “I need my light, or I might step back into the darkness.”

He took her hand and squeezed. “I told ye, lass, that ye’re safe with me. I’ll be here to help ye find yere way.”

She stepped from him, embarrassed. He was sweet for offering to see her through the sadness, and for a second, she almost believed him. But he was perfect and she was damaged. The hurt bubbled up. “I may’ve shared my deepest, darkest secret with ye, but I’ll not let ye witness Dead-of-Winter Sophie.” He had pity in his eyes, which only infuriated her. “You and yere perfect six-foot-three, world-traveling, castle-owning and keeper of two lovable dogs self can’t possibly know what it’s like for me.” She thought about the small cottage she shared with her parents in Gandiegow. About how her disorder would keep her from having even their small town happiness, from getting married, from having a family to call her own. “Ye can’t possibly know,” she repeated sharply.

He grabbed her shoulders. “So ye’ve cornered the market on pain and suffering.”

Because Sophie didn’t know why he was so mad, and she was already feeling pretty crappy and irrational, she stood up to him. “What do you know about not being able to drag yereself out of bed? Or about not having enough energy to care about anything or anybody?” Her voice cracked, but she finished. “Ye can’t possibly understand.”