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“Well plotted and wickedly sexy, this one’s got it all—including a completely scrumptious hero. A keeper.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Ranger
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“If you want a sexy, steamy set of Christmas tales, guaranteed to make you blush and giggle, then you need to read Better Naughty than Nice. You won’t regret it. I give this collection 5 books.”
—Long and Short Reviews
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for picking up Real Men Wear Plaid! This book holds a special place in my heart because the idea for it was conceived during a trip to Scotland with fellow writers and friends. (Check them out at the writingplayground.com.) I absolutely loved the country—the lochs and mountains, the shaggy Highland cows, the thistle and sheep. And the history… I felt like I was breathing it in as we visited all the castles and ruins. I couldn’t think of a better place to set my first Blaze Encounters. I also couldn’t come up with any sexier men.
But these guys aren’t just hot—they’re brothers! Ewan MacKinnon finds the woman of his dreams wandering on the West Highland Way. Cam MacKinnon’s soul mate blows him away at a murder mystery weekend at his Highland castle. And Alec MacKinnon meets his match when his mentor’s daughter takes up residence in his seaside town.
Nothing brings a smile to my face faster than hearing from my readers, so be sure to check out my website at ReadRhondaNelson.com. Also, the Blaze authors have just started up a cool Pet Project. Be sure to visit blazeauthors.com to see what we’re up to and how you can help.
Happy reading!
Rhonda
Real Men Wear Plaid!
Rhonda Nelson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A Waldenbooks bestselling author, two-time RITA® Award nominee and RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice nominee, Rhonda Nelson writes hot romantic comedy for the Harlequin Blaze line and other Harlequin imprints. With more than twenty-five published books to her credit and many more coming down the pike, she’s thrilled with her career and enjoys dreaming up her characters and manipulating the worlds they live in. As well as a writing career, she has a husband, two adorable kids, a black Lab and a beautiful bichon frise. She and her family make their chaotic but happy home in a small town in northern Alabama. She loves to hear from her readers, so be sure and check her out at www.ReadRhondaNelson.com.
To my Scotland travel buddies.
Most specifically to Kim, for all her planning,
wonderful in-laws, her car and her ability to
drive on the wrong side of the road.
To Kira, for the unforgettable horseback riding
excursion across the Highlands. (You know I didn’t
type that with a straight face.) To Andrea, the
ultimate navigator who made sure we were
never lost. And to Danniele, who patted my back
while I emptied my full Scottish breakfast
onto the sidewalk a block off the Royal Mile.
Contents
THE WANDERER
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
THE WARRIOR
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
THE WAYFARER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
The Wanderer
Prologue
GENEVIEVE MACKINNON OFTEN marveled over the fact that brilliance and stupidity could occupy the same body—the same mind—and a perfect example of that phenomenon was seated at the desk in front of her.
“Sons,” her father, Hamish MacKinnon, railed for what felt like the upteenth time. “I’ve got three of them—three,” he repeated, as if she weren’t aware of how many brothers she had. “And not one of them willing to take on MacKinnon Holdings so that I can retire properly with your mother and spend our golden years fly-fishing and vacationing in Majorca.”
Genevieve dutifully handed over another paper that required her father’s signature. She cast a glance out the window, observing passersby three floors below in Edinburgh proper. “I wasn’t aware that Mother wanted to take up fly-fishing,” she said mildly, her lips twitching with humor.
Her father shot her an impatient look. “You know very well what I mean,” he told her. “I’m sixty-five. It’s time for me to enjoy the fruits of my labor, to hand over the reins. With three sons at my disposal I never worried about not being able to pass the torch, as it were.” He grimaced, his face settling into one of heart-breaking disappointment. “Instead I’ve spent my life building a family business that none of them seems to want.”
Genevieve wished that she could disagree, but her father was right. Her brothers—Ewan, Cam and Alec—were all either carving their own path, or in Ewan’s case, still looking for it, and weren’t the least inclined to continue along the road their father had built.
They weren’t…but she was and always had been.
Pity that her father didn’t see it.
She handed him another document and inwardly sighed. How much harder could she work? How many hours must she log in before he realized that his company was her life, the only one she’d ever wanted? She was in her element at MacKinnon Holdings, had a knack for making good investments and had a better understanding of the business world than any of her dear brothers ever would. And yet they were better qualified in her father’s eyes because they had a penis? Ridiculous. Utter stupidity.
“Marshall Anderson will be here at one,” she said, trying to get a handle on her temper.
Her father’s keen eyes instantly found hers. “You’re ready for him, I presume?”
“I’ve reviewed the past ten years’ financials, interviewed all pertinent staff—” not to mention the non-salaried workers, who tended to give a better picture of a man’s character “—and am confident that the company is sound. It is not, however, worth what he wants us to pay for it.”
“Then I’ll leave the negotiations to you,” he said. “I’m meeting your mother for lunch.”
She nodded, presuming as much. He often “left things to her” yet seemed inexplicably reluctant to leave her in charge of the company.
“Don’t worry, Genevieve,” he said, sending her an indulgent smile. “At some point one of your brothers has to come round and when they do, I won’t depend on you so much.”
Could he hear the enamel grinding off her teeth? she wondered as it resonated through her own ears. Not trusting herself to speak, she merely managed a weak smile and left the office.
Obviously a talk with her brothers was going to be in order.
1
“SOME BEST friend,” Gemma Wentworth muttered between clenched teeth.
He’d left her? Here? In the wilds of Scotland, a little over half-way along the famous West Highland Way?
Gemma felt the impact of what he’d done fully smack into her. She stared at the young Irish couple who’d delivered his message.
“Are you certain?” she asked faintly. Her stomach gave a sickening little pitch. “You saw him leave?”
The girl nodded sympathetically. “We did. He climbed right into the lorry and took off, he did.”
But—but she’d only gone to the bathroom, Gemma thought, her mind gauzy with shock. She turned toward the little store, then scanned the parking lot and surrounding area just to make sure that Jeffrey—her oldest and dearest friend—wasn’t going to magically appear.
“He said to give you this,” the guy chimed in, handing her Jeffrey’s backpack. It felt lighter, meaning he’d taken his clothes and pounds of grooming products. Her friend was more particular about his appearance than she was, the great jerk. “Said he wouldn’t need it anymore and that…he was sorry,” the young man finished, evidently finding the message and the words distasteful.
Sorry? Anger bullied the initial shock aside as she considered what he’d done to her. Sorry? She gave a grim laugh. Oh, he’d be sorry all right. What sort of friend abandoned another so-called best friend without so much as a goodbye in the middle of a foreign country? One entirely too sure of her devotion, obviously. One who was certain he’d be forgiven. One who had met an attractive Scot ten miles back and, given the choice between her company and that of a handsome stranger, chose the latter. Argh!
In retrospect, she should have predicted this. After all, hadn’t Jeffrey disappeared at many a ball game and party over the years? Particularly when the possibility of romance had presented itself? She whimpered low under her breath. Still, the coward should have had the nerve to tell her he was leaving, not just disappear and leave it to this couple.
“You’re welcome to walk with us,” the girl offered with a pitying smile that confirmed she was under the mistaken impression that Jeffrey had been Gemma’s boyfriend. They were often mistaken for lovers, but aside from the fact that she’d never felt romantically interested in him, Gemma lacked something Jeffrey needed in a partner—a penis. The girl looked up at her companion. “Isn’t that right, Willem?”
Red-headed, gangly and freckled, Willem nodded. “Spot on, Jenny. It’s better to be with a group than off on your own,” he said.
“You are going to continue, aren’t you?” Jenny asked anxiously, as though the thought had just occurred to her. “You’ve come so far. It’d be a shame to quit now.”
That was true, Gemma knew. Still… The West Highland Way was a ninety-five mile hike that began in Milngavie and ultimately concluded at Fort William in the Scottish Highlands. Both her grandmother and mother had made the walk. It had been a rite of passage, so to speak, for the Wentworth women, who were of Scottish descent. While everyone had their own reasons for treading the path, according to her mother, Wentworth women had never failed to find clarity and peace on it, a sense of their higher purpose. They insisted that, for whatever reason, walking this trail had some sort of mystical way of putting their feet on their life’s proper path.
Truthfully, Gemma didn’t know if she bought into the hocus-pocus aspect of it—she was definitely dissatisfied with her life at the present—but she’d felt compelled to make the journey all the same, had felt this bizarre need to do as the Wentworth women before her. Though she would admit to feeling a strange sense of homecoming upon landing in Scotland, a loosening in her chest as it were, she was still no closer to discovering what it was that was going to make her life worthwhile, a credit to the world.
She grimaced. But she did know that her position at the bank, where she worked as a loan officer, wasn’t doing it for her and if she didn’t make a change soon—the right one—she was going to suffocate under her own skin.
Initially Gemma had imagined that she would have rather traveled the country in a car or luxury coach, but she had to admit she was happier making the actual walk. There was something about knowing that her feet were walking the same ground as her mother and grandmother, that they were seeing the same things—albeit generations apart—and that, while the actual journey was the same, their experiences were wholly unique. She’d met a host of interesting people, all of them of the same mind with the same ultimate goal—reaching the end of the journey—and the breathtaking views of moors and lochs were something she knew she’d never forget.
Though there were several people who were camping along the way—in designated areas, of course—most were like her, looking for an open room at a bed and breakfast or hostel. It was nothing to pass someone at one juncture of the journey and later have them pass you, sling-shotting across each other’s path over and over again. That’s what had happened with Willem and Jenny, which was probably why Jeffrey had entrusted them with his message and pack. The traitor, she thought again. She still couldn’t believe that he’d actually left her. That he’d bailed in such a cowardly fashion, gallingly, via proxy.
They’d also been crossing paths with a beautiful, bold Scotsman she wished she hadn’t noticed. Ewan MacKinnon had first caught her attention on day one from the corner of her eye and her heart had given a strange sort of jolt. Before she could get him properly in her sights, he’d vanished behind a small crowd of people, leaving her curiously dejected, as though she’d had a present snatched out of her hands. By the end of day two she’d been covertly watching for him with a keen sort of unprecedented anticipation, she’d been gratified to catch him watching her. Jeffrey’s gimlet eyes hadn’t missed it, either, and he had tried to get her to act on her obviously mutual interest.
An incurable romantic, Jeffrey had cited the once in a lifetime opportunity to “bag a Scottish hottie” and had reminded her entirely too helpfully about her non-existent sex life. She and her last boyfriend had parted ways eight months ago—oddly enough, she didn’t like sharing and fidelity turned out to be beyond Andrew’s grasp—and, despite Jeffrey’s insistence that she needed a little orgasm therapy, she simply hadn’t been in the mood.
Until now.
Until him.
She’d been having fantasies about Ewan, dreaming of him at night and daydreaming about him come the dawn. Wicked, depraved scenarios which had involved lots of heavy breathing and copious amounts of clotted cream. It was insane and yet completely undeniable. Her belly clenched, remembering, and she felt heat sizzle over the tips of her breasts. The need was secondary to the strange expectation she felt, though, this bizarre sense of destiny all tangled up with the desire.
Neither of which she had time for, especially now.
With effort, she pushed his distracting image aside and told herself to focus. She’d just been abandoned by her best friend, quite unceremoniously, on foreign soil. She grimaced.
Clearly she had bigger issues.
A quick inspection revealed that Jeffrey had left her a first-aid kit, a package of granola and quite a bit of cash. Guilt money, she thought, but it would spend just as easily and now that she’d be footing the bill for her room by herself she was going to need it.
No doubt he’d be seeing Scotland the way he’d wanted to see it to start with—in grand style, touring all the places she’d like to see as well. Rosslyn Chapel and the Royal Mile, Sterling Castle, Culloden Battlefield, Loch Ness. Though she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about it, she’d planned on asking him about changing their return tickets and spending another week in the country. It seemed a shame to leave when there was still so much she wished to do. And curiously, the idea of going back to Jackson, Mississippi—even to the quaint little farmhouse she called home—filled her with varying degrees of dread and panic.
Bizarre.
Regardless of anything, she refused to become Willem and Jenny’s third wheel. Though she and Jeffrey had started on the trail early in the week, planning ahead so that the end of their walk would fall on the more congested weekend, there were still plenty of people along the way. Sticking strictly to the path, she would be safe. Or as safe as she could be, at any rate.
Perhaps this was for the best, Gemma told herself. Neither her mother nor her grandmother had taken a friend along when they’d made their walk. Maybe this was a journey she was meant to make on her own. Her gaze took in the beautiful, lush green landscape—the shaggy highland cows in the field across the street, the enormous rhododendrons—they were more like trees here than the decorative shrub variety she was used to seeing at home, the lovely thistles bobbing in the breeze—and a little sigh slipped past her lips.
Determined to think of the glass as half full, she couldn’t imagine a better setting.
2
NO DOUBT ABOUT IT, Ewan decided. The animated hand-talking American guy had left her. Gemma—he’d overheard her tell someone in that lilting southern drawl. Something about her name conjured a soft warming in his chest. Caused a bizarre shift that made the balls of his feet tingle and his heart race.
Ridiculous.
He muttered a few choice expletives under his breath and passed a hand over his face. This was not his concern. She was not his concern. He shouldn’t care that her happy-go-lucky boyfriend had abandoned her and yet…
He couldn’t seem to overtake her, had purposely hung back so that he could make sure she was okay. His lips curled. Which sounded chivalrous, until one considered he’d been ogling her ass for the past six miles.
And intermittently and hungrily over the first forty they’d traversed.
There was nothing bloody noble in the way his dick had been straining against his drawers, that was for damned sure. Over a plump-reared American female whose laugh made his pulse leap.
It boggled the mind.
He’d first noticed her when they’d left Milngavie, just a fleeting glance as she blended in with the initial crowd, but there’d been something…significant, for lack of a better explanation, about that small glimpse that had stuck with him and made him purposely continue to seek her out despite the fact that she was obviously attached. But not too attached, he thought, smiling. Because inasmuch as he seemed to be insanely fascinated and attracted to her, she appeared to be equally affected by him. Bad form since she clearly wasn’t alone, but gratifying all the same. Hell, who didn’t want to be irresistible?
Nevertheless Ewan was supposed to be taking this opportunity to figure out just exactly what it was he wanted to do with the rest of his life. This journey was supposed to be about inner reflection, getting away from the noise—the expectations of his family—and simply discover what his true path was meant be. He’d jumped around from job to job within MacKinnon Holdings, his family’s business, and hadn’t been even marginally satisfied with any of them. Sales, marketing, web innovation…they’d all left him feeling bored and unfulfilled. He needed to be moving, to be making a difference on a larger, global scale. To make matters worse, his father had made no bones about the fact that he was ready to retire and, as the oldest, Ewan was certain his father wanted him to step in and fill his shoes.
The mere idea made him physically ill.
Holed up in an office all day, wearing a suit and tie to work, making decisions which would impact the family’s bottom line and the ultimate income of hundreds of people, decisions that, despite having a business degree, he felt no confidence in making.
At least he was in good company, Ewan thought, because none of his younger brothers wanted to take over for their father, either. In fact, his little sister was the only one who’d ever been interested in the workings of the family company and certainly had a better grasp of it than any of the rest of them did. Surely their father would see sense soon and realize that putting Genevieve in charge would be best for all of them.
It was disconcerting that this journey was more than half through and he still didn’t have a bloody clue what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. The only thing he could confidently say he wanted to do was…her. He chuckled low, pulled his water bottle from his side and took a healthy drink. Gemma trudged on ahead of him, her shapely rear making those horrid cargo pants she wore look impossibly sexy. He could tell she was tiring. She’d slowed a bit and paused every once in a while to stretch and gaze at the scenery. He wasn’t fooled, of course. She needed the break.
Though he hadn’t spoken a word to her, he’d be willing to bet that she’d never attempted a hike of this sort, or any other, for that matter. Her boots were new—no doubt her feet were killing her—and he’d glimpsed the top of a plain cotton tube sock when she’d paused to retie her shoe. Tube socks? Seriously? He’d thought, smiling. Newbies always underestimated the value of a good sock. He’d paid fourteen pounds for the pair he was wearing and didn’t regret a single cent of it.
Self-preservation told him that he needed to avoid her, that her misfortune didn’t mean he had to be her hero. He didn’t have time to be anyone’s hero, reluctant or otherwise. Just because she was an inexperienced hiker alone in a foreign country didn’t make her helpless. After all, she’d pressed on when her boyfriend had left, right? Definitely ballsy. But could determination, irritation and stubbornness get her up Devil’s Staircase and down into Fort William? Unharmed?
Shit.
They were nearing Crianlarich and he fully expected her to find lodging there. He had planned to do the same thing, but had hoped to have enough daylight to press on to the other side of town before stopping to get a jump on the next day’s hike.
He’d lagged behind her instead and now that was no longer an option. Because he’d abandoned any semblance of objectivity or good sense, Ewan knew he would “conveniently” find lodging where ever she stayed and would continue to “conveniently” mother duck her along the rest of the journey, following behind to make sure that she didn’t come to any harm.
And, of course, he would stare at her ass. His lips quirked.
One had to find perks where one could, after all.
He slowed as she stopped to take another picture of another cow. How this animal could possibly look any different from the sheep and cattle they’d passed up until this point, Ewan had no idea, but she seemed determined to document every bit of wildlife between here and their final destination. It was irritating as hell and he briefly wondered if she were doing it on purpose. He didn’t recall her taking so much time before. But she’d had to keep pace with Jeffrey then, and now she could move along as she saw fit.
He wasn’t opposed to taking pictures—he’d snapped a few himself, particularly when they were walking the Loch Lomond stretch. Beautiful land. The mountains, hills and valleys, the taste of the loamy air. Ewan was sure the rest of the world was just lovely—and had even seen a great deal of it on various trips—but nothing could ever compare to this splendor. Cities held no appeal for him whatsoever. Too crowded, too loud, too…much. A man couldn’t see the sky for all the buildings—and the smell? The combination of car fumes and concrete? No offense to urbanites, but it wasn’t for him.
But then what was for him? He didn’t have any problem figuring out what he didn’t like; it was nailing down his preferences which seemed to be the problem. He had no idea what prevented his family from being exasperated with his continued indecision, but miraculously—sometimes irritatingly—they were all behind him, waiting patiently for him to find his true course.
Truthfully, what Ewan liked to do wouldn’t be of any help to the family business. Somehow he didn’t see going into war-torn countries or natural disaster–affected areas—like New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, where he’d volunteered with the Red Cross—or any other place he was needed—just his two hands and a willingness to work—contributing to MacKinnon Holdings’ bottom line. Just the opposite, really, because in seeing the need, one also saw how much capital was required to truly make a difference.
Foolishness, Ewan told himself, scowling. He needed to be figuring out what skill he could bring to the company, something profitable his father would be proud of. MacKinnon Industries had many diversified holdings, from woolen goods to boat-making—his youngest brother’s calling—and all services in between. His father had given him a list of their interests and had told him to look it over, to see if anything struck his fancy. Because he’d wanted a more organic epiphany, Ewan had avoided looking at it. He glumly suspected he’d be perusing it soon.
While he’d anticipated that she’d stop at the first B&B they came to, Gemma inspected the garden and moved on. For reasons he couldn’t explain, B&B number two didn’t make the cut, either. Dusk was settling and though he had out a torch, he wasn’t sure if she did. Sure enough, she paused and began rummaging through her bag. She set it aside and started rifling through another—Jeffrey’s no doubt—and the sound that emerged from her throat when she didn’t find what she was looking for made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
It also made him grin. She had a bit of a temper, that one. For some irrational, crack-brained reason, he liked that.
“He took the damned flashlight!” she exclaimed to no one in particular in a voice that brought the phrase “last straw” immediately to mind. Another growl of frustration. “Why would he need a flashlight? He’s not here. He left.” She kicked his bag with her little booted foot.
Ewan was so startled, he laughed aloud.
“He’s sorry,” she said in mocking tones, gesturing wildly. She gave it another kick and when that didn’t satisfy her irritation, to his astonishment, in a fit of pique she started jumping up and down on the backpack. She continued to mutter under her breath and, though he couldn’t make out everything she was saying, the occasional word came through.
Traitor was the running theme.
Ewan sidled forward and with a flick of his finger, trained the beam on her delightfully startled face. Big green eyes rounded and a sharp inhaled gasp wheezed through her soft, pink lips. She stopped jumping at once, which was good because it made it easier to stare at her.
And stare was really all he could do.
Every muscle in his body had decided to atrophy, with the exception of the one in his chest, which was pounding harder than ever; a rush of heat swept over him, followed by an immediate cold sweat. Something happened to the air in his lungs—there seemed to be less of it—and a whirling sensation tugged behind his navel, making his stomach pitch in an expectant roll. Ewan didn’t have to be a psychologist to know that he was on the brink of something—insanity, probably—yet something about this moment—this particular instance in time—was oddly more important, more singular than any other. And for reasons he couldn’t explain and would sound completely irrational to any right-minded person, he knew without a shadow of a doubt, with absolute unwavering certainty, that whatever his purpose, this girl was a part of it.
His legs wobbled, startling the voice out of him.
“Any particular reason you’re abusing your cargo?” he asked, his voice more normal than he would have imagined given his recent revelation, an epiphany of epic proportions.
Bloody hell. This was so not what he’d been looking for.
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