What Lies Between Read Online Free PDF

the weight of momentum hurling it toward disaster—I now understood the relief the driver felt when spotting a rescue ramp. I pointed myself in the general direction of the incline.
    Cresting its top my body slowed to a stop. Legs gave way without a moment’s consideration, and I collapsed on the soppy grass—eyes closed in relief, body still and heavy as a pile of wet leaves, legs drained and useless.
    “Och, that was a sight to see! Practicing the Highland Charge, were you? You should ken you were doing it wrong. It’s to be done with your kit off, naked as the day you were born.”
    What on earth is a kit?
    I opened my eyes to see a man standing over me, his body blocking out the light. He squatted next to me, unruly dark hair falling across his forehead, and for a second I thought I’d been knocked unconscious. Eyes so pale they were barely any color at all peered into mine, and then when he smiled they transformed to deep blue. I had never seen eyes so light and then so dark in the same person. Whether because of the jet lag wrecking my body or my run-in with the Sheep King, I got lost in their wild, blue mess for a moment or two . . . or three.
    Closing my eyes to break my frozen gaze, I released a long sigh, sure when I opened them I would discover I was back in Oklahoma and had merely spaced out again listening to one of Leland’s marathon rants.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    3
     
    The man offered me his hand and hoisted me to my feet. Momentum landed my face square against a wall of muscle, which turned out to be his chest; faded aftershave, mixed with cut lumber and fresh sweat, filled my lungs. I steadied my still wobbly legs, stepped back, and ran my eyes over the man.
    The Scotsman wore cargoes and a black t-shirt, not a kilt, and he had to be well over six feet. His farmer-tanned arms and labor-hewn muscles told me he was comfortable outdoors and engaged in physical work. A broad smile spread over an attractive face, but it was a faint, thin scar almost in the shape of a crescent curving from his forehead around his left eye that made his features more interesting to me. I tended to keep my distance from people who cozied up too close to perfection. Safe to say, neither this man nor Calum, with his lean, rangy look that reminded me of Leland’s runner’s body, matched Kami’s preconceptions—or her research, if that’s where she’d gotten her ideas.
    His smile widened further. “Ben MacIver. And you are?” The Scottish accent rolled and curved his words, making them sound too exotic to be part of the English language. He extended a hand again, this time to shake mine.
    I glanced at my own, only then remembering the remnants of sheep dung smashed in the palm and realizing the dark smudge on his wrist where I had grabbed hold was my doing. Cringing but attempting to disguise it, I gave a dainty shake with only my fingers. His eyebrows rose in question, judging my wimpy grip, no doubt. Little did he know my intentions were to spare him.
    “Ellie. Elliotte Jameson. People call me Ellie.”
    Smooth.
    He released my hand, a bright smile once again lighting his face. “Those war whoops of yours are impressive. Thought I’d better come see who was worrying the sheep. You’re American, eh?”
    “I don’t think you need to be concerned about the sheep. And yes, I’m American,” I managed to say after a too-long pause brought on by lingering embarrassment and the intense gaze of those chameleon eyes.
    What is he thinking about so hard?
    “I had a run-in with a ram up the hill.”
    “Aye, I ken the one. That would be Brodie. That tup is a temperamental bugger, but Helen MacKinnon had a soft spot for him, gave him a name. You’d be wise to stay clear of him.” He lifted a brow as he turned his attention to the darkening hill, then back to me, a concerned expression crossing his face. “Good thing you came off the hill when you did. You’re all right, then?”
    My grandmother named that old ram? My