Chapter 2
Lucy crashed through the woods, cursing under her breath.
Her hair stuck out from underneath the cap—she knew because she could see the frizzy halo it formed in her peripheral vision.
She was muddy and her brand new white sneakers were ruined.
There were scratches on her hands from the thorn bushes she'd gotten tangled up in and frustrated tears stung her eyes. To top it all off, it was getting dark.
Back when they were kids she, Riley, and their other cousin Kate had initiated the "unbreakable bond".
Lucy was seriously considering breaking that bond.
From their very beginnings, Riley had been the trouble-maker—they'd dubbed her Ruh-Roh Riley after Scooby-Doo.
Kate was the wild child, the wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve type.
And Lucy? They'd probably say she was the flighty one, the quiet dreamer, the one who could never make up her mind, stick to any one thing or person, the one who still, thirty years after she'd come into the world, didn't have a plan.
And as far as plans went, this was, for once, not one of her epic failures. It was Riley's. All Riley's.
"Please, Lucy," her cousin had begged several weeks ago. "Mark asked me on this trip because he wants to work things out. I have to go to Aspen."
"No. You have to go to Scotland."
"Not if you go in my place. The folks at the guest house will be fine with it.
It happens. Tell them I had a last minute emergency and you're my replacement.
Look, I realize this is crazy. I realize I could lose my job if Byron finds out.
But…" Riley's voice had dropped then, becoming shaky, "I don't know what else to do, how else to fix things. I feel like this is my last chance."
As she stumbled over the uneven ground, Lucy remembered the pale skin and the dark shadows beneath her cousin's eyes.
"I want this marriage to work, you know?
I didn't go into it thinking I'd get out when things got tough.
.." Riley laughed then, a hollow sound, as she stared out her office window.
"I've already taken my vacation days and sick days from when I had the flu.
All of our freelancers are out. Please do this for me, Lucy.
Please. Here, take this." Riley had given her the thick leather journal she now carried in her backpack.
"I've never been out of the country, Riley. How am I supposed to write an entire article about some hotel?"
"It's not a hotel. It's a guest house. You still have your passport from when you were going to go to Italy."
A trip of a lifetime that had never happened.
"Take your camera—you're a whiz with pictures—and the journal.
Record everything, the sights, the food, your room, all the little details.
I'll write a kick ass article from that.
It's simple. MacLaren will love it. And I'll be in Aspen getting back together with the future father of my children.
Byron will never know the difference. He never calls me when I'm on the job, so you'll be in the clear.
All he cares about is the article and how it reads. "
Riley had been desperate. Her cousin loved her job. She never cut corners or cheated like this. Never. That Riley had suggested the ruse at all showed Lucy how precarious her cousin's relationship had become and how desperate she was to fix it.
So far, none of it had turned out simple.
When she slipped again on a wet slope of ground, landing hard on her rear, Lucy's gasp turned to a sob.
She'd come to Scotland to help Riley, but she'd also agreed because something had to change in her own life.
The time away was supposed to help her start thinking about the future, a new life where she, Lucy Walker, was in control.
She wanted a purpose, to stop feeling lost and figure out who the hell she wanted to be, and then have the balls to go after it.
And here she was lost again. Not exactly the start she was aiming for.
The wet ground had soaked through to her underwear. Her pants were torn and muddy, but still vibrant and oddly hypnotizing. Her outfit was so outrageous she couldn't help but laugh.
After wiping her nose, and trailing mud across her face, Lucy patted her ridiculous cap with camaraderie and then pushed her jet-lagged body to its feet.
A booming shot rang through the woods, jarring and shocking like a sudden crack of lightning.
A gigantic wolf-like creature bounded from the bushes and raced toward her, mouth salivating, eyes gleaming.
Oh, God.
There was no time to run. No time to think.
A garbling sound and the fluttering of wings, out of place in the ensuing nightmare, caused her to look up. The sight left her momentarily dazed. Her mouth fell slack. A giant chicken fell from the heavens.
It was the last thing Lucy saw in the forest.
What Ian saw, he could neither explain nor imagine in his worst nightmare. He was stunned, only able to watch in disbelief as Dimon stood excitedly over the body of a woman.
The outfit mesmerized him.
Her cap perched sideways atop her head and covered one eye. The bright red pompom stood straight and proud. The wood pigeon lay next to her shoulder.
Ian pulled off his ball cap and dragged his fingers through his hair. "Bloody hell," the oath came out slowly.
Dimon licked the woman's muddy face, but she didn't stir.
Ian knelt down and checked her vitals, relieved to find nothing alarming.
A small knot was forming on the back of her head where she'd fallen and hit a rock.
A red mark was on her cheekbone. Loose feathers were in her hair and cap.
He was slow coming to it, mainly because it seemed so ludicrous.
The wood pigeon had struck her in the face.
What the hell had she been thinking, looking up and just standing there, not moving out of the way?
What the hell had she been doing traipsing through his property?
And what the hell had inspired her to select that outfit?
With a thin grimace, he bent down, and picked her up, wondering if he'd just rescued a lost, colorblind golf enthusiast.
"Sorry, Nick, but looks like we have a passenger." Once she was secured, stomach down, across the pony's back, there was nothing to do but hold onto her, take the lass home, and call the doctor. It couldn't have come at a worse time, and he hoped it wasn't a sign of things to come.
By the time Ian made it into the barn, he was strung so tight his blood pressure was through the roof.
Devin stopped stacking hay bales to watch Ian's approach. Dev rarely said much these days and this time was no exception, though he did lift his brow in surprise.
Jamie, the youngest, stepped from a stall, pitchfork in hand. "What the hell happened?" he asked, eyes on the body flung over Nick's back.
"Found her in the woods. Vitals are fine." He was by no means a doctor, but checking vitals and having to be first responders was something they'd all learned in the military. "She's just passed out."
"You sure?" Jamie moved closer, lifted the woman's limp wrist and checked her pulse, and then pulled one of her eyelids open to check her pupil, which only made Ian even more annoyed.
"She's fine, Jamie. Got knocked out by the bird, hit her head on a rock."
"You're joking right?"
"Wish to hell I was."
Jamie studied the strange woman, taking in the outfit, and Ian just knew where his brother's mind was headed. "What'd you do, Ian, infiltrate a rainbow convention? Is this their leader?"
Ian leveled a glare at his brother. He was cold, irritated, and didn't need or want to be saddled with some stray piece of baggage. "Shut up, Jamie."
"No, wait. The Lollipop Guild was in town and—"
Ian elbowed Jamie in the gut.
Dev laughed softly as Jamie doubled over, wheezing. "Christ, Ian." After catching his breath, Jamie straightened and gave the woman the once over again. "Well, the vomit of colors aside, she's not all bad. Definitely has a nice as—"
Ian slapped a hand over Jamie's mouth as Dev's laugh deepened. "Remind me again why I asked you to spend your leave here?"
Jamie grinned over Ian's hand, his voice muffled as he answered. "Because you missed me and someone has to be the brains of the operation."
"Yeah right." Ian dropped his hand.
"You want me to take her?"
"No." Ian gathered the woman off Nick's back and slung her over his shoulder. "Can you deal with the rest, though?"
"Aye. That I can do, bro." Jamie ruffled Nick's forelock, took the lead rope in one hand and the pigeon in the other, and then meandered down the aisle, whistling the tune to the Lollipop Guild.
With the melody now stuck in his head—probably for the rest of the night—Ian strode from the barn toward the main house. Despite his irritation, it was hard to be mad at Jamie's antics. It had been a long time since the three of them had been on the same continent at the same time.
Careful not to bang the woman's head on the door frame, Ian angled through the opening. But the door slammed shut behind him before he could catch it and the leader of the rainbow convention woke with a start.
She groaned. "Put me down."
Ian leaned forward, one hand around her waist and the other below her rear, and set her on her feet. He kept a grip around her waist and was ready when her knees buckled. Her body trembled and her head rolled back. He noted the bluish tint to her lips and the shadows under her eyes.
Frowning, he lifted her up again, only this time cradling her like a child.
Her head thumped against his chest. She needed a bed, and he sure as hell wasn't taking her to the guest wing where Ms. Brooks' luxurious suite awaited along with seven others.
He'd have to take her to the family wing.
There were too many unanswered questions, and he couldn't have some crazy plaid-addicted golfer screwing up his plans.
Upstairs, Ian pushed open the door to a small bedroom down the hall from his room and placed the woman on the bed. Immediately, she drew her knees to her chest, snuggled deep into the clean down comforter with a content moan.
Damn it. He should have put her on the floor. The blanket was smeared with mud now. Fran was going to have a cow. And just his luck, as soon as the thought came, Fran entered and switched on the lamp.
"Oh, dear… What happened?" She stepped closer to the bed, eyes widening as they fixed on the colorful woman. "Who's this?"
Ian glanced at the figure. Grudgingly, he admitted she had a nice face; pretty even, with long eyelashes that rested on smooth pale cheeks.
Her lips were puckered since the side of her face was squished into the pillow.
They were nice too, he supposed. And she was tall.
He did like tall. He rubbed one temple as if pained by the sight of her.
Her kaleidoscope of an outfit was messing with his eyesight and giving him a headache.
"Ian?" Fran prompted him.
"What?" He cleared his throat, realizing he hadn't answered her question. "She was hit by the pigeon I shot. Has a nasty bump on the head. Think she's fine otherwise. I'll call Finn to come check on her."
Fran's eyes narrowed. "I see. And how did all this come about?"
"Well, the plaid-loving lass was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Will you take care of her? Brooks should be here any minute, and I need to clean up."
"Aye, I'll see to it." Fran returned her attention to the oddly dressed woman. "Go on. I'm sure I'll find you in the front hall, wearing down the wood if I need you."