The Sweetest Hours. Cathryn Parry
what Kristin had read, haggis was a pudding/meat kind of thing, made with sheep’s heart, liver and lungs all ground up and stuffed, along with oatmeal and onion and spices, inside a big sausage casing and served on a platter.
At least, that was what she had discovered on the internet when she’d been explaining Scottish customs to her niece Lily for the girl’s “What is Your Family Ancestry?” Girl Scout project.
And then it dawned on her. “Oh, my gosh!” Kristin squealed. “Today is January twenty-fifth! You made haggis for Lily, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” Stephanie said. “Though technically, I prepared it for you. Maybe it will spark some sense of adventure in you and bring you back to life. The whole family is invited and we’re going to do it up—bagpipe music, toasts, songs—the works. Pretty good surprise, isn’t it?”
With a smile so big it felt as if her cheeks were splitting, Kristin suddenly remembered George standing beside her.
She stopped giggling and turned to him, her hand over her mouth.
His face had turned paper-white.
Kristin covered the phone so Stephanie wouldn’t hear her. “You know exactly what holiday tonight is, don’t you, George?”
* * *
WORSE AND WORSE. That’s how his day was going. He was in a section of Hades reserved for liars. Or at least, for imposters who were required to take security names as part of their jobs.
Malcolm bit his tongue, hard, not for the first time today, and probably not for the last time, either.
Kristin was right about one thing: he knew damn well what “Rabbie Burns” night was.
January twenty-fifth. Every year, a countrywide supper held in honor of the birthday of Scotland’s national poet: Robert Burns. Malcolm had been out of the country and away from home for so long, he hadn’t been to a Burns event since he was...
Ten years old. Exactly.
Damn it. He should’ve anticipated this. Kristin was obviously obsessed with his home country, romanticizing it like many women did.
The reality was, his home country just wasn’t that damn romantic to him. Not in his experience.
“Have you ever eaten haggis?” he made sure to say in his best American accent. “Because I haven’t. It sounds horrible. No offense to your sister-in-law.”
“Seriously? You’ve never tried it?”
“Seriously. I’ve never tried it.”
She smiled at him. “Then I guess you’ll have to come along and try something new tonight,” she teased.
Obviously, Kristin trusted him more than she had earlier. Her reticence had left her, and this was not good, for either of them.
What was she doing, believing in him?
Don’t, he wanted to tell her. But if he confessed to her what he was really doing visiting her company, then he would violate the terms of his agreement.
You have to make the hard choices, Malcolm.
Really, he had no choice.
CHAPTER THREE
MALCOLM STRODE BESIDE Kristin in the early darkness, his mood matching the light. Snowbanks lined the sidewalk. It was so frigid cold outside that the hard-packed snow crunched underfoot, and his breath made puffs of air as he walked.
They’d left the mill building and were cutting through the middle of what passed for a downtown—a New England-style town green surrounded by shops, shuttered tight, and old homes, typical of the region. It reminded him of the remote village in New Hampshire where he’d first been sent to prep school as a boy, which only depressed him further. He hunched his shoulders in his coat as they passed through a section of street without lamplights. Malcolm pulled his torch from his pocket and turned it on.
“You carry a flashlight with you, too?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Everyone should.” If trouble warranted it, the heavy barrel could double as a weapon. He never went anywhere without considering the security implications.
She showed him her flashlight. Smiling sheepishly, she said, “Not everyone understands it, but a person has to protect themselves.”
Something they agreed on. Still, he thought of his sister who was about Kristin’s height, though slighter. He couldn’t see her bashing anyone over the head with a piece of metal. Too bad.
“Did somebody teach you to carry that?” he asked her.
“Yep, my brothers.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah...will they be present this evening?”
Passing beneath a streetlight, he noticed the dimple form in her cheek. “We may be blessed with their presence, yes.”
Lovely. At least his luck was predictable.
Within another block, they were at her family’s house, a multistory, clapboard Victorian. They climbed a set of stairs to a big wraparound porch. Stamping her feet to warm them, Kristin pulled a key from her coat pocket.
“You have a key to your sister-in-law’s home?” he asked.
“I live in the apartment upstairs. My brother and sister-in-law own the house, and I rent space from them.”
Interesting. Living here was safe, he supposed. “You have a short walk to work.”
“I do.” She smiled at him. Her hair was tucked inside her beret, and she looked...pretty. The fur from her collar framed her face, and her soft, green eyes gazed up at him. It made him ache.
He had too many secrets to keep from her. He only hoped he endured the night without incident. If he kept himself aloof from her and did not let himself care about her or her predicament once he left, then he would do fine.
“I have one thing to ask of you, George—please don’t hold me responsible for what my family might say or do tonight,” she pleaded, her hand on the doorknob.
He blinked. “Why? Are they likely to string me up because I’m with you?”
“Not you. They like strong, silent types.”
Is that what he was? In any event, nobody would think well of him once his handiwork was made known. Kristin certainly wouldn’t.
A gust of cold wind blew by, and he hunched his shoulders against the frigid temperature. “What are the risks tonight, then?” he asked.
“Me. I’m the risk. I’m bringing someone to a family event.” She choked out a laugh, and then glanced at him helplessly. “Trust me, they would love to pair us up. And it turns out the whole clan is going to be here, not just Stephanie and Lily. So, could you please back me up—make it clear that we’re work colleagues only?”
He stared at her. There were so many things ahead that could go wrong—so many potential traps she didn’t even know about. But he could only fixate on one thing.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” She shivered. “I am happily single.”
For some reason he liked that response. He smiled at her. “Then we’ll be happily single together.”
She seemed relieved. Nodding, a look of grim determination on her face, she opened the door. “One more thing,” she said, turning to him. “If you don’t like the haggis, then you don’t have to eat it.”
“I’ll be certain not to. You can count on that.”
She smiled at him, and something in his chest pinged. This wasn’t good. He was getting drawn to her despite himself.
There was a reason he’d done his best