Must Love Highlanders Read Online Free PDF

often and in public, Scottish reticence be damned.
    Helen’s head lifted, her gaze turning toward the river. Down on the path along the bank, Miss Cameron went marching by.
    “Sit,” Liam said softly. “We have papers to grade, and we’re too old to go chasing after tourists. Besides, she doesn’t kiss men she’s just met.”
    And for her scruples, Liam liked her all the more.

    Robert Stiedenbeck, III, had wanted to remain friends with Louise.
    “We’re colleagues, too, aren’t we, Lou?” he’d asked as he’d packed for New York. “We’ll keep in touch, and you can read my stuff for me, the same as always. If you want to visit the Big Apple, our couch is always available.”
    Our
couch. His and his Sweet Young Thing’s.
    Louise had watched him go, feeling as much relief as heartache. Robert had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he’d also reminded her of Dr. Allan Hellenbore, professor of studio arts, seduction, and ceramic forgery. Same friendly, self-mocking arrogance, same quick intellect coupled with an instinct for self-interest that boded ill for anybody else’s dreams.
    Louise could go for months without thinking of Allan Hellenbore. She’d learn not to think of Robert. Not to be angry at him, not to wonder what in the hell—
    The first step toward not thinking about somebody was to not think of them.
    “Rise and shine,” Louise muttered to the cat plastered to her side. Dougie lifted his head, stared at her, and stretched to a magnificent length.
    “My, what impressive claws you have,” she said, dragging the cat onto her belly. Overhead, the skylight framed a leafy canopy, birds flitted, and morning sunshine poured across it all at a low angle.
    While in Louise’s lavender-scented bed, Dougie was a comforting, warm, rumbly weight.
    “I’ve been here only a day, and already, I know I won’t want to go back to York,” Louise murmured. “This is not good, Cat. I don’t want to teach drawing to a bunch of giggling children. They’re either texting their weekend hookup, or convinced they’re the next Michelangelo. I’m even more sure I don’t want to go back into the courtroom.”
    That prospect loomed like “backup time,” the sentence hanging over a convicted criminal’s head if the conditions of parole weren’t met. A taste of liberty, and then—a speeding ticket, a little too much to drink—wham, back in the hoosegow.
    Dougie took to kneading the sheets.
    “You are a good kitty. I like you. You must be hungry.” Dougie wasn’t a fat cat. He was simply big, all over big, and hairy. “I’ll miss you when I leave, and how pathetic is that?”
    “Hullo, the house!” a man’s voice called.
    Dougie sprang from the bed and disappeared into the hallway, tail up, a cat on a mission.
    “Gimme a minute!” Louise bellowed back. The clock said 7:45, but perhaps Liam had brought more scones. The leftovers from yesterday were in the fridge, minus the chocolate chippers that had been Louise’s dessert and snack.
    Also her dinner. One of her dinners. The other had been a grilled cheese-on-rye sandwich.
    She slipped into jeans and a T-shirt, then grabbed a flannel shirt for the sake of modesty and padded after the cat.
    The guy standing in her kitchen was
not
Liam. “Who are you?”
    Bonnie Prince Charlie’s grandpa left off munching one of the cinnamon scones Louise had been saving for Liam. He was white-haired, tall, thick-chested, and wore a red plaid kilt along with boots, knee socks, and bright red T-shirt.
    “You were fishing yesterday, weren’t you?” Louise asked.
    He’d been wearing plaid waders—the better to attract Scottish trout?—and singing something about rantin’ and rovin’. Louise had stuck to the path and quietly passed by, and when she’d returned, he’d been gone.
    “I might ask the same question, lass: Who are you? I see you’ve passed muster with ma’ wee friend Dougie.”
    Dougie stropped himself against heavy boots, clearly comfortable