Real Men Wear Plaid!

She grimaced. But she did know that her position at the bank, where she worked as a loan officer, wasn’t doing it for her and if she didn’t make a change soon—the right one—she was going to suffocate under her own skin.

Initially Gemma had imagined that she would have rather traveled the country in a car or luxury coach, but she had to admit she was happier making the actual walk. There was something about knowing that her feet were walking the same ground as her mother and grandmother, that they were seeing the same things—albeit generations apart—and that, while the actual journey was the same, their experiences were wholly unique. She’d met a host of interesting people, all of them of the same mind with the same ultimate goal—reaching the end of the journey—and the breathtaking views of moors and lochs were something she knew she’d never forget.

Though there were several people who were camping along the way—in designated areas, of course—most were like her, looking for an open room at a bed and breakfast or hostel. It was nothing to pass someone at one juncture of the journey and later have them pass you, sling-shotting across each other’s path over and over again. That’s what had happened with Willem and Jenny, which was probably why Jeffrey had entrusted them with his message and pack. The traitor, she thought again. She still couldn’t believe that he’d actually left her. That he’d bailed in such a cowardly fashion, gallingly, via proxy.

They’d also been crossing paths with a beautiful, bold Scotsman she wished she hadn’t noticed. Ewan MacKinnon had first caught her attention on day one from the corner of her eye and her heart had given a strange sort of jolt. Before she could get him properly in her sights, he’d vanished behind a small crowd of people, leaving her curiously dejected, as though she’d had a present snatched out of her hands. By the end of day two she’d been covertly watching for him with a keen sort of unprecedented anticipation, she’d been gratified to catch him watching her. Jeffrey’s gimlet eyes hadn’t missed it, either, and he had tried to get her to act on her obviously mutual interest.

An incurable romantic, Jeffrey had cited the once in a lifetime opportunity to “bag a Scottish hottie” and had reminded her entirely too helpfully about her non-existent sex life. She and her last boyfriend had parted ways eight months ago—oddly enough, she didn’t like sharing and fidelity turned out to be beyond Andrew’s grasp—and, despite Jeffrey’s insistence that she needed a little orgasm therapy, she simply hadn’t been in the mood.

Until now.

Until him.

She’d been having fantasies about Ewan, dreaming of him at night and daydreaming about him come the dawn. Wicked, depraved scenarios which had involved lots of heavy breathing and copious amounts of clotted cream. It was insane and yet completely undeniable. Her belly clenched, remembering, and she felt heat sizzle over the tips of her breasts. The need was secondary to the strange expectation she felt, though, this bizarre sense of destiny all tangled up with the desire.

Neither of which she had time for, especially now.

With effort, she pushed his distracting image aside and told herself to focus. She’d just been abandoned by her best friend, quite unceremoniously, on foreign soil. She grimaced.

Clearly she had bigger issues.

A quick inspection revealed that Jeffrey had left her a first-aid kit, a package of granola and quite a bit of cash. Guilt money, she thought, but it would spend just as easily and now that she’d be footing the bill for her room by herself she was going to need it.

No doubt he’d be seeing Scotland the way he’d wanted to see it to start with—in grand style, touring all the places she’d like to see as well. Rosslyn Chapel and the Royal Mile, Sterling Castle, Culloden Battlefield, Loch Ness. Though she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about it, she’d planned on asking him about changing their return tickets and spending another week in the country. It seemed a shame to leave when there was still so much she wished to do. And curiously, the idea of going back to Jackson, Mississippi—even to the quaint little farmhouse she called home—filled her with varying degrees of dread and panic.

Bizarre.

Regardless of anything, she refused to become Willem and Jenny’s third wheel. Though she and Jeffrey had started on the trail early in the week, planning ahead so that the end of their walk would fall on the more congested weekend, there were still plenty of people along the way. Sticking strictly to the path, she would be safe. Or as safe as she could be, at any rate.

Perhaps this was for the best, Gemma told herself. Neither her mother nor her grandmother had taken a friend along when they’d made their walk. Maybe this was a journey she was meant to make on her own. Her gaze took in the beautiful, lush green landscape—the shaggy highland cows in the field across the street, the enormous rhododendrons—they were more like trees here than the decorative shrub variety she was used to seeing at home, the lovely thistles bobbing in the breeze—and a little sigh slipped past her lips.

Determined to think of the glass as half full, she couldn’t imagine a better setting.

2

NO DOUBT ABOUT IT, Ewan decided. The animated hand-talking American guy had left her. Gemma—he’d overheard her tell someone in that lilting southern drawl. Something about her name conjured a soft warming in his chest. Caused a bizarre shift that made the balls of his feet tingle and his heart race.

Ridiculous.

He muttered a few choice expletives under his breath and passed a hand over his face. This was not his concern. She was not his concern. He shouldn’t care that her happy-go-lucky boyfriend had abandoned her and yet…

He couldn’t seem to overtake her, had purposely hung back so that he could make sure she was okay. His lips curled. Which sounded chivalrous, until one considered he’d been ogling her ass for the past six miles.

And intermittently and hungrily over the first forty they’d traversed.

There was nothing bloody noble in the way his dick had been straining against his drawers, that was for damned sure. Over a plump-reared American female whose laugh made his pulse leap.

It boggled the mind.

He’d first noticed her when they’d left Milngavie, just a fleeting glance as she blended in with the initial crowd, but there’d been something…significant, for lack of a better explanation, about that small glimpse that had stuck with him and made him purposely continue to seek her out despite the fact that she was obviously attached. But not too attached, he thought, smiling. Because inasmuch as he seemed to be insanely fascinated and attracted to her, she appeared to be equally affected by him. Bad form since she clearly wasn’t alone, but gratifying all the same. Hell, who didn’t want to be irresistible?

Nevertheless Ewan was supposed to be taking this opportunity to figure out just exactly what it was he wanted to do with the rest of his life. This journey was supposed to be about inner reflection, getting away from the noise—the expectations of his family—and simply discover what his true path was meant be. He’d jumped around from job to job within MacKinnon Holdings, his family’s business, and hadn’t been even marginally satisfied with any of them. Sales, marketing, web innovation…they’d all left him feeling bored and unfulfilled. He needed to be moving, to be making a difference on a larger, global scale. To make matters worse, his father had made no bones about the fact that he was ready to retire and, as the oldest, Ewan was certain his father wanted him to step in and fill his shoes.

The mere idea made him physically ill.

Holed up in an office all day, wearing a suit and tie to work, making decisions which would impact the family’s bottom line and the ultimate income of hundreds of people, decisions that, despite having a business degree, he felt no confidence in making.

At least he was in good company, Ewan thought, because none of his younger brothers wanted to take over for their father, either. In fact, his little sister was the only one who’d ever been interested in the workings of the family company and certainly had a better grasp of it than any of the rest of them did. Surely their father would see sense soon and realize that putting Genevieve in charge would be best for all of them.

It was disconcerting that this journey was more than half through and he still didn’t have a bloody clue what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. The only thing he could confidently say he wanted to do was…her. He chuckled low, pulled his water bottle from his side and took a healthy drink. Gemma trudged on ahead of him, her shapely rear making those horrid cargo pants she wore look impossibly sexy. He could tell she was tiring. She’d slowed a bit and paused every once in a while to stretch and gaze at the scenery. He wasn’t fooled, of course. She needed the break.

Though he hadn’t spoken a word to her, he’d be willing to bet that she’d never attempted a hike of this sort, or any other, for that matter. Her boots were new—no doubt her feet were killing her—and he’d glimpsed the top of a plain cotton tube sock when she’d paused to retie her shoe. Tube socks? Seriously? He’d thought, smiling. Newbies always underestimated the value of a good sock. He’d paid fourteen pounds for the pair he was wearing and didn’t regret a single cent of it.

Self-preservation told him that he needed to avoid her, that her misfortune didn’t mean he had to be her hero. He didn’t have time to be anyone’s hero, reluctant or otherwise. Just because she was an inexperienced hiker alone in a foreign country didn’t make her helpless. After all, she’d pressed on when her boyfriend had left, right? Definitely ballsy. But could determination, irritation and stubbornness get her up Devil’s Staircase and down into Fort William? Unharmed?

Shit.

They were nearing Crianlarich and he fully expected her to find lodging there. He had planned to do the same thing, but had hoped to have enough daylight to press on to the other side of town before stopping to get a jump on the next day’s hike.

He’d lagged behind her instead and now that was no longer an option. Because he’d abandoned any semblance of objectivity or good sense, Ewan knew he would “conveniently” find lodging where ever she stayed and would continue to “conveniently” mother duck her along the rest of the journey, following behind to make sure that she didn’t come to any harm.

And, of course, he would stare at her ass. His lips quirked.

One had to find perks where one could, after all.

He slowed as she stopped to take another picture of another cow. How this animal could possibly look any different from the sheep and cattle they’d passed up until this point, Ewan had no idea, but she seemed determined to document every bit of wildlife between here and their final destination. It was irritating as hell and he briefly wondered if she were doing it on purpose. He didn’t recall her taking so much time before. But she’d had to keep pace with Jeffrey then, and now she could move along as she saw fit.

He wasn’t opposed to taking pictures—he’d snapped a few himself, particularly when they were walking the Loch Lomond stretch. Beautiful land. The mountains, hills and valleys, the taste of the loamy air. Ewan was sure the rest of the world was just lovely—and had even seen a great deal of it on various trips—but nothing could ever compare to this splendor. Cities held no appeal for him whatsoever. Too crowded, too loud, too…much. A man couldn’t see the sky for all the buildings—and the smell? The combination of car fumes and concrete? No offense to urbanites, but it wasn’t for him.

But then what was for him? He didn’t have any problem figuring out what he didn’t like; it was nailing down his preferences which seemed to be the problem. He had no idea what prevented his family from being exasperated with his continued indecision, but miraculously—sometimes irritatingly—they were all behind him, waiting patiently for him to find his true course.

Truthfully, what Ewan liked to do wouldn’t be of any help to the family business. Somehow he didn’t see going into war-torn countries or natural disaster–affected areas—like New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, where he’d volunteered with the Red Cross—or any other place he was needed—just his two hands and a willingness to work—contributing to MacKinnon Holdings’ bottom line. Just the opposite, really, because in seeing the need, one also saw how much capital was required to truly make a difference.

Foolishness, Ewan told himself, scowling. He needed to be figuring out what skill he could bring to the company, something profitable his father would be proud of. MacKinnon Industries had many diversified holdings, from woolen goods to boat-making—his youngest brother’s calling—and all services in between. His father had given him a list of their interests and had told him to look it over, to see if anything struck his fancy. Because he’d wanted a more organic epiphany, Ewan had avoided looking at it. He glumly suspected he’d be perusing it soon.

While he’d anticipated that she’d stop at the first B&B they came to, Gemma inspected the garden and moved on. For reasons he couldn’t explain, B&B number two didn’t make the cut, either. Dusk was settling and though he had out a torch, he wasn’t sure if she did. Sure enough, she paused and began rummaging through her bag. She set it aside and started rifling through another—Jeffrey’s no doubt—and the sound that emerged from her throat when she didn’t find what she was looking for made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

It also made him grin. She had a bit of a temper, that one. For some irrational, crack-brained reason, he liked that.

“He took the damned flashlight!” she exclaimed to no one in particular in a voice that brought the phrase “last straw” immediately to mind. Another growl of frustration. “Why would he need a flashlight? He’s not here. He left.” She kicked his bag with her little booted foot.

Ewan was so startled, he laughed aloud.

“He’s sorry,” she said in mocking tones, gesturing wildly. She gave it another kick and when that didn’t satisfy her irritation, to his astonishment, in a fit of pique she started jumping up and down on the backpack. She continued to mutter under her breath and, though he couldn’t make out everything she was saying, the occasional word came through.

Traitor was the running theme.

Ewan sidled forward and with a flick of his finger, trained the beam on her delightfully startled face. Big green eyes rounded and a sharp inhaled gasp wheezed through her soft, pink lips. She stopped jumping at once, which was good because it made it easier to stare at her.