Bad Boys In Kilts Read Online Free PDF Page B

hand—she’d taken on his project, as they’d promised it to Hinky before the end of the week. Or her father had, anyway. It was a wonder the damn thing ran at all, but to Hinky it was like a recalcitrant child who needed a bit of coddling or bullying from time to time. The one time she’d suggested that he might consider getting a new car, he’d looked at her as if she’d suggested he murder his youngest child.
    “Maybe I’ll do it for him,” she muttered, thinking there was no amount of bullying that was going to save this rusted hulk this time. But she was also every bit as stubborn as any blasted automobile, and she’d be damned if this one was going to do in two Hendersons in one day. So, with a deep huff, she blew her hair off her forehead—the parts that weren’t mired in axle grease, anyway—and redoubled her efforts. If she could just get this last part dismantled without the whole thing cracking up, she could start actually replacing parts and putting it all back together in the morning.
    What felt like minutes later, she heard the tower clock across the square chime eight times. How in the hell had it gotten so late? At this rate she’d never get upstairs and cleaned up in any decent fashion. She snorted at her foolish anxiety. Like it mattered what she showed up looking like. It was just another evening at Hagg’s. Not a person there hadn’t seen her looking just like this or worse. Which was half the problem. She wondered if Brodie even noticed her appearance anymore.
    It was early spring, generally the height of tourist season in Scotland, but Glenbuie wasn’t exactly a hot spot of activity. Yes, they were known to some degree for the Chisholm family whisky distillery, which had been actively producing the locally famous Glenbuie whisky for over two hundred years. But being located on the westernmost end of the Tayside region, they weren’t exactly in the whisky tour loop that annually brought tourists to the highlands in droves. And with no castle ruins of any repute nearby, Glenbuie had been more or less left to prosper on its own merits. Some time periods in history had proven better than others, and at the moment, they were just hanging in there, doing their best.
    The distillery was still the main source of income for most of the townsfolk, either directly as employees of the family-owned company, or the indirect beneficiary of having a large employer located just outside of the village. More and more, the younger generation had migrated north to Inverness or south to Edinburgh, or even farther, to London and points beyond. Kat, on the other hand, was perfectly content with her lot in Glenbuie. There had been Hendersons here almost as long as Chisholms, who had held the clan seat for close to four hundred years.
    The motor repair shop was the only one in over a fifty-kilometer radius, so they managed okay. And okay was good enough for her. She was happy here, living amongst the same people she’d known her whole life. She’d never harbored dreams of being a big success somewhere else. She was quite content with her modest lifestyle and the security that came with knowing she belonged. She was well rooted to the land, the people, and the town itself, its past and its future. There was enormous comfort in knowing she was but one of a long line of Hendersons who had helped shape the course of Glenbuie’s history. And would continue to shape its future. Unless, of course, the line died out with her.
    Her contentment ebbed, and her stomach knotted a little. Visions of Brodie, smiling and laughing as he served and sang with the townsfolk they’d both grown up with, swam through her mind. He was much like her in his beliefs, his feelings about life in Glenbuie, and his attachment to all that came with it. Why couldn’t he see how perfect it would be for the two of them to continue on together?
    Of course, there was that wee problem of him not knowing she wanted him like that. But honestly ...