Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Ross stepped back and swiped a hand through his hair.
One minute he'd been chopping wood for Hamish and the next his past was standing in the middle of his driveway.
He let out a heavy breath, trying to wrap his mind around it, unable to take his eyes off her.
Unable, despite the shock, to keep from drinking in the sight of her.
She hadn't changed much. All that honey-blond hair twisted up, pieces falling in waves around her face.
Warm golden brown eyes, pert nose, and full lips.
Harper Dean stood there like some divine vision in a white shirt that hugged breasts he'd practically canonized in his brain.
And those low slung jeans outlined hips he remembered grabbing as he. ..
He took another step back.
No, not a vision. A bloody nightmare, because even as he was slammed with the memory of her, the love he thought he felt, he was also slammed with the memory of her rejection.
"Go home, Harper."
He wanted none of it. None of her. He didn't care why she was here now.
His chest was tight. Pain squeezed his heart as he walked around her and back to the truck where Hamish watched with those sharp blue eyes of his.
"Go home?" she repeated in a rising voice, one that made him stop and put an end to any argument she was about to give.
"Aye. I don't want you here."
Hurt flashed across those golden eyes, but then her mouth curved into a sarcastic frown. "Nice, Ross. No need to twist the knife in farther. You did that plenty good the first time."
He paused, not really understanding, but he wasn't going to delve into her version of whatever truth she told herself to make her rejection of him better. Nor did he care why she was here now. "Goodbye Harper."
"Wait a goddamn second. You just ran after me, yelling at me to stop. And now you tell me to go?"
He paused again. True. Chalk it up to the shock of seeing her. Of that small moment before reality set in. He could see now that time had taken the softness, the innocence from her—well, he'd taken the innocence... A moment burned into his memory for all time.
"And what the hell was that don't run away from me again thing? I never ran away from you the first time."
"Funny. I remember things differently."
Anger flushed into her cheeks and her eyes sparked flame. "Of course, you would," she accused. "Anything to make yourself feel better about leaving, right?"
Indignation blew through him, hot and swift. "Aye," he said in a flat tone, "I felt pretty fucking fantastic when I left." The words were like acid on his tongue. In reality, he'd felt like part of him had died when he left.
Harper went pale and for the briefest second Ross felt confused by her reaction. His words shouldn't make her look so . . . devastated. She'd made her choice.
She recovered quickly, however, lifted her chin, and leveled a glare so cold, his skin pricked.
"Ah. Now, who do we have here?" Hamish hurried over, his words jovial, and his look at Ross filled with parental scolding.
Ross shook his head and let out a heavy sigh, paced a bit, trying to cool down, and then parked his hands on his hips as Hamish introduced himself to Harper.
The old man would have harsh words for him later for his behavior.
Never in his life had he spoken to a woman like that. But then Harper wasn't just any woman.
"Oh, right," Harper was saying, shaking Hamish's hand. "You're Fran's husband,"
Hamish put a friendly hand on her shoulder and turned to Ross. "Please forgive Ross' manners," he said with a glare at Ross. "Lad's been alone for some time. Rarely does he converse with females, outside of the family."
Ross suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
Apparently Hamish intended to get his point across now.
Brilliant. Even worse, Harper's lips spread into a satisfied smile of approval.
Her eyes met his and Ross shot her a smart look, his heart feeling a pinch—he remembered her smiles all too well, remembered when she'd smile at him and her eyes would go soft. ..
All he wanted was for this to end, so he drew in a deep breath and lied through his teeth. "Welcome to Scotland, Harper. Enjoy your vacation." With that, he strode off, hearing her about to object when Hamish cut in and began talking about the estate.
Harper's sudden appearance had one good benefit.
It made him chop wood like a man possessed.
By the time he was done, his muscles were shaking, sweat dripped off the tip of his nose, and his hands were blistered.
Hell if he cared. It felt good. To strike the wood.
To get out the memories and leave them on the ground.
Hamish finished stacking the last of the wood and hopped off the bed of the truck. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. "Pretty lass."
He was wondering how long it'd take Hamish to bring Harper back into the conversation. Hell, he was surprised it had taken him this long. The fact that the old matchmaker had gotten through the job silent had been a miracle.
"Aye. She is." Ross tossed the ax onto the grass, grabbed a water bottle, bent over, and dumped the contents over his head to wash away the sweat and grit. He picked up a towel and wiped his face dry.
"Who is she?" Hamish snagged a water bottle for himself and took a long drink.
"A mistake. Ye want me to help unload?"
"Dev will be there ta help me." Hamish glanced at his watch.
"Will get back earlier than I told him." He sat on the massive trunk of the felled tree.
"Ye'll pay for that later." He gestured to the pile of wood in the truck.
"Must pace yerself, Ross. Never seen a lad cut so fast..
." He paused to take another gulp. "She's American. "
"Aye, Hamish." Ross sat down with a sigh.
When Hamish wanted to talk, there was no evading the conversation.
The only thing he could do was get it over with.
Of course, he could just walk away or tell the old man it was none of his bloody business, but Ross didn't have it in him.
Not where Hamish was concerned. That old man loved him like a son.
Ever since Ross' father had died, Hamish and his wife Fran had done all that they could to help him and his family.
"Ye met her when yer mum took ye and Liam away."
Ross nodded, rested his elbow on his knees, and prepared to go back in time. And he was going to make it the shortest trip in history, if he could help it. "Aye. When mum fell for Whitney Dean. Harper . . . She's his daughter."
Hamish blinked in surprise, immediately seeing the drama in that statement. "Ye were what? Eighteen?"
"Turned eighteen a few days after we got to Kentucky. Harper was a year younger."
"I see. And now she's back. What'd ye figure she wants from ye?"
"Have no idea. It ended . . . badly."
"Aye, I remember when ye came back here angry and sullen. Ye've been brooding ever since."
Ross let out a snort.
"Tis true."
"I grew up, Hamish. That's all. And I'm done with Harper Dean. I was done with her twelve years ago." Hamish lifted a bushy red eyebrow, telling Ross he thought otherwise.
"Ye were awfully rude to the lass."
That statement hung in the air, making Ross feel more of an ass than ever. He couldn't deny it. All he could do was nod.
"Curious thing..." Hamish drifted off, leaving the rest of his thoughts unsaid, wanting Ross to ask.
"What, Hamish?"
"I'm not so sure she knows she hurt ye back then, Ross. Lass seemed surprised, shocked even, by yer words and welcome."
"Don't let her fool you. She's a brat who takes what she wants without regard to anyone else but herself."
Hamish said nothing to that, just hummed under his breath as though considering. He drained the rest of the water from his bottle and stood. "Thanks for yer help, lad. Ye'll be coming ta Jamie and Riley's engagement party tonight?"
Ross stretched. Already his muscle were tightening up. "Aye. Someone will have to keep an eye on my brother."
Hamish let out a low chuckle. "Riley's friends arrived from the States. They're staying in the cottage behind the castle. Lad's in heaven. Been loitering around so much, doing odd jobs for me and Fran, just ta get a look at them. Never seen the lad work so hard in me life."
Typical Liam.
Ross said goodbye to Hamish and waited until he was in his truck and driving down the driveway before heading into the house, wiping his face with the end of his shirt as he walked.
It was a long time ago, what happened with Harper. He'd been a lad. Young. Foolish. Believing there could be a happy ending. Believing in her. As a grown man, he should put it behind him, stop holding a grudge. Act like he didn't care.
It burned that he cared at all, that after all this time Harper could still make him crazy.
Ross let the back door slam and headed for the shower, forcing all thoughts of Harper in her tight shirt from his mind.