{"product_id":"some-like-it-scottish-isbn-9780451468314","title":"Some Like It Scottish","description":"\u003cb\u003eIn the delightful new Kilts and Quilts novel by the author of \u003ci\u003eTo Scotland with Love\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eMeet Me in Scotland\u003c\/i\u003e, the Real Men of Scotland are waiting. And it’s a match made in Gandiegow… \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKit Woodhouse’s matchmaking business is such a success, she’s expanding to the Highlands of Scotland where the hot, prosperous, and kilted are anxious to connect. Now, looking to fill her stable with eligible bachelors, Kit’s arrived in Gandiegow to recruit potential Real Men of Scotland. It’s not until she meets her tour guide that she discovers just how real they can be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith his sexy grin, jeans, and black wellies, Ramsay Armstrong is an unpolished hulk of a Scottish fisherman—and a skeptic when it comes to romance. Not exactly a man of “pairing attributes” when talking marriageable matches, but he does make Kit’s heart beat a little faster. Maybe it’s the scent of the sea in his hair. Maybe it’s the challenge. Maybe it’s the thrill of the unexpected. Then again, maybe it’s love.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eMeet Me in Scotland\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A captivating story of four friends, two madcap romances, an idyllic Scottish town, and its endearingly stubborn but loyal inhabitants. Add scones, quilts, and kilts? Griffin sews this one up. Witty, warmhearted, and totally charming!”—Shelley Noble, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e Bestselling Author of \u003ci\u003eBreakwater Bay \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eTo Scotland with Love \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A magnificent triple-hankie debut written straight from the heart, by turns tender, funny, heart-wrenching, and wise. Prepare to smile through your tears at this deft, brave, and deeply gratifying love story.”—Grace Burrowes, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the Lonely Lords and the Windham series\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Griffin has quilted together a wonderful, heartwarming story that will convince you of the power of love.”—\u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author Janet Chapman\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Griffin’s style is as warm and comfortable as a cherished heirloom quilt.”—\u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Lori Wilde\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A life-affirming story of love, loss, and redemption. Patience Griffin seamlessly pieces compelling characters, a spectacular setting, and a poignant romance into a story as warm and beautiful as an heirloom quilt. Both heartrending and heartwarming, \u003ci\u003eTo Scotland with Love\u003c\/i\u003e is a must-read romance and so much more. The story will touch your soul with its depth, engage you with its cast of endearing characters, and delight you with touches of humor.”—Diane Kelly, author of the Tara Holloway series\u003cb\u003ePatience Griffin\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of \u003ci\u003eMeet Me in Scotland\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eTo Scotland with Love.\u003c\/i\u003e She grew up in a small town along the Mississippi River and has a master’s degree in nuclear engineering but spends her days quilting and writing stories about love, family, and the fictional small town of Gandiegow, Scotland.\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003ePRAISE FOR \u003c\/b\u003eTO SCOTLAND WITH LOVE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMore from Patience Griffin’s \u003cbr\u003eKilts and Quilts Series\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSIGNET ECLIPSE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAcknowledgments\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePRONUNCIATION GUIDE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAileen \u003c\/b\u003e(AY-leen)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAilsa \u003c\/b\u003e(AIL-sa)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eBethia \u003c\/b\u003e(BEE-thee-a)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eBuchanan \u003c\/b\u003e(byoo-KAN-uhn)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eCait \u003c\/b\u003e(KATE)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eDeydie\u003c\/b\u003e (DI-dee)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eLochie \u003c\/b\u003e(LAW-kee)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eMacleod\u003c\/b\u003e (muh-KLOUD)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emo chridhe (mo hree) my heart\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eMoira \u003c\/b\u003e(MOY-ra)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eshite \u003c\/b\u003e(shite) expletive\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eburn\u003c\/b\u003e—small river or large stream\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003ecéilidh\u003c\/b\u003e (KAY-lee)—a party\/dance\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003efash\u003c\/b\u003e—trouble\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eGandiegow\u003c\/b\u003e—squall\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eGhillie\u003c\/b\u003e (GIL-ee)—an attendant or guide for hunting or fishing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eken\u003c\/b\u003e—understanding\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eselkie\u003c\/b\u003e—mythological creatures who live as seals in the ocean but shed their skin and become human on land\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter One\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTwenty-six-year-old Ramsay Armstrong pulled the fishing boat alongside the dock and hollered to his oldest brother, John. “What’s so important that ye’ve called me back? I haven’t checked the north nets yet.” He threw the rope to his brother.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll take care of the damned nets.” John tied off the boat. “I have a job for you, and it can’t wait.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Do it yereself!” More often than not, Ramsay got stuck with the crap jobs in the family.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I had planned to.” John ducked his head and, stepping aboard, muttered, “Maggie won’t let me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay grinned. “Yere wife telling you what you can and can’t do.” He pounded John on the back. “There’s the reason I’m still single, brother.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nay.” John shook his head. “Ye’re an arse, Ramsay. That’s why ye’re still single. No woman would have ye.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“So what’s this job you need done?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJohn didn’t meet his eye. “It has to do with the maintenance we scheduled for the boat.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I thought we set enough money aside for that.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I thought so, too, but a revised quote came in. The price has gone up. Way up.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“By how much?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJohn shook his head.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay frowned. John never shared the actual numbers with him, always keeping him in the dark, always treating him like the babe in the family. “So what’s this have to do with the favor you want?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ross and I’ll take care of the boat while ye’re doing it,” John hedged.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Spit it out, man.” Ramsay was about to knock his brother into the drink. “What is it?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJohn pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and thrust it at him. “It’s all there. Her itinerary.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay took it and opened the crumpled paper. The letterhead read:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKit Woodhouse Matchmaking, Inc.\u003cbr\u003eKit Woodhouse, CEO\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eReal Men of Alaska                            Real Men of Scotland\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay snapped his head up and glared at his brother. “What the crank is this? Matchmaker? From the U.S.?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Read on.” John busied himself with two empty buckets, but really he was avoiding Ramsay’s glare. He should be chagrined.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was indeed a detailed itinerary—beginning with when this woman would land and her schedule for each day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“For the next three cranking months?” Ramsay yelled. “Surely, you don’t expect me to play nursemaid \u003ci\u003efor three months\u003c\/i\u003e to some sappy matchmaker!” The word made him feel like he could breathe fire.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJohn hung his head. “I saw her ad for a driver on the Internet. We need the money. I thought you and Ross could run the boat for the summer and I’d put up with driving Ms. Woodhouse around. But when Maggie found out, she nearly chopped off my balls.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It would serve you right.” Ramsay ran his eyes down the length of the paper. “Did you never think to consult Ross and me in your scheme?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m the oldest; I make the decisions.” John acted like he had decades on Ramsay, but he was only thirty-five, nine years older than Ramsay.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay huffed. “Well, ye’ve screwed up this time. You better call it off and tell this woman we can’t do it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But I signed a contract.” John’s brow furrowed as he ran a hand through his hair. “Ms. Woodhouse doesn’t care who lives up to the contract, as long as somebody does.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay wadded the paper in his fist. “So you volunteered me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ye better get back to the house and clean up.” John started the motor. “You’ll have just enough time to get a shower, \u003ci\u003eand shave\u003c\/i\u003e, before you have to rush off to the airport.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay considered cramming the itinerary down his brother’s throat. He stepped off the boat instead, too angry to speak. On autopilot, he loosened the line and pushed the boat away with his foot.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJohn shouted above the motor. “Be on your best behavior and don’t screw this up. We need the money.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay flipped him off, and then, shaking his head, trudged off the dock.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe sure as hell wasn’t going to let John’s asinine matchmaker interfere with his own plans. In one month Ramsay intended to have enough money to buy ole man Martin’s boat. Between the odd jobs at the North Sea Valve Company and helping the surrounding farmers after he was done fishing for the day, he would have enough. \u003ci\u003eOne month. \u003c\/i\u003eAnd dammit, if he didn’t get the old codger the money by then, the boat would be put up for auction and go for twice what Martin had agreed to.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWell, Ramsay had no intention of losing his chance to get out from under his brothers’ thumbs. He wasn’t born the youngest for nothing. He’d learned early on there’s more than one way to wiggle out of a chore. He would make short work of the matchmaker, he decided. Three days with him and the interfering ole biddy would be paying him to go back to her nice cushy life in the States, where she belonged.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*   *   *\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKit’s plane landed late—way late. Of course she couldn’t control the weather, but she prided herself on being prompt. She’d learned a thing or two about how to come into a remote area and set up shop. First and foremost, she had to gain the locals’ trust. Getting off on the wrong foot wouldn’t do.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter Kit deplaned and made it to the other side of the gate, there was no one there holding a sign with her name on it, no one to pick her up. She waited around a few minutes, in case whoever it was had run to the bathroom. But no one came.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Dammit.” She marched off to baggage claim to get her luggage. After filling up a trolley, she checked one more time at the gate—no one. She pulled out her folder and found the phone number for John Armstrong. When he answered, the background noise of an engine was loud and obnoxious.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mr. Armstrong, I thought we agreed that someone would be here for me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Och, I sent my brother Ramsay to fetch you. He left eons ago. Is he not there waiting?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKit looked around in vain, trying to keep her cool. “No.” She started walking, heading for the parking lot. “Do you think he might be waiting outside?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hold on, lassie. I’ll give him a call.” John seemed to be struggling with something on his end, wherever he was.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKit stopped and snatched a pen from her pocket. “Why don’t you give me his number and I’ll call him?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sure.” John rattled it off. “I’m sorry about this, Ms. Woodhouse. It’s a hell of a way to start out in Scotland.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTell me about it. \u003c\/i\u003e“It’s okay.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey said goodbye and hung up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKit pulled her trolley outside to see if the brother waited at the curb. There wasn’t anyone. She dialed the number. As it rang, a phone in the parking lot played the song “Kryptonite.” She hung up and dialed again—“Kryptonite” played once more. Exasperated, she dragged the trolley out into the lot to hunt for the owner of the phone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe dialed once more and followed the song to a muddy Mitsubishi Outlander SUV where the door was open and a sleeping man sat inside. He had earplugs in, an iPod on his knee, and the cell blasting “Kryptonite” beside him. She hung up and stared at him for a long minute.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was the same type of man she’d fixed up with her East Coast socialite clients through her Alaskan operation. \u003ci\u003eA real man\u003c\/i\u003e. He wore a red plaid shirt, jeans, and black wellies. The boots were awful and she couldn’t imagine anyone wearing them anywhere beyond a fishing boat. His dark hair was long and wavy, and framed a handsome, rugged face that also sported a day-old beard. Very attractive. But definitely not her type.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe dialed again, but this time as the phone rang, she nudged him. “You’ve got a call.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe came awake on a slow inhalation and focused a heavenly groggy smile on her. “What?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe pointed to the seat. “Your phone is ringing. It might be important.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh.” He picked it up. “Hallo.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe put her phone to her ear, frowning, while maintaining eye contact with him. “I’ve arrived in Inverness. I’d like to go to Gandiegow now.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe place between his eyebrows squinched together. “Fine,” he said into the phone, a quick flush of pink on his neck. He hung up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe gave him a curt nod, pleased she’d embarrassed him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe frowned at her. “They said your flight wouldn’t be in until eight p.m. I came out here to rest my eyes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s eight thirty.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe glanced at his phone and his brows knit together again. He unfolded his tall frame from the SUV. Scrutinizing her, he leaned against the side and crossed his arms over his massive chest. The puppy-dog sweetness was gone now, replaced by a mutt who didn’t like the smell of what had been dropped in his dish. “So ye’re the matchmaker.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe slapped a smile on her face and stuck out her hand, determined not to let this skeptic get to her. After all, he was obviously not one of the wealthy Scottish bachelors she needed to win over. “Kit Woodhouse at your service.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe considered her hand, and for a moment, she wondered if he might not take it. Just as she was about to abandon her effort at being civil, his hand enveloped hers. It was callused and firm. Normally, she had a good read on a person in the first five seconds, male or female. But she wasn’t clear on this guy. He was gorgeous if you liked rough-hewn and unpolished, which she didn’t, but that dark gleam he gave her hinted at more.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe held her eyes hostage while he gripped her hand. “Ramsay Armstrong. Unfortunate brother to John Armstrong, who contracted services with ye.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe dropped his hand and shifted her eyes away from his gray ones. “Why are you the \u003ci\u003eunfortunate brother\u003c\/i\u003e?” She glanced up at his face again. “Or maybe I don’t want to know.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe shrugged. “I’m a sea lover, not a land dweller. I understand that I’m to take ye all over the Highlands by auto. \u003ci\u003eTo do yere job.\u003c\/i\u003e” He was indeed unhappy with her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yes, I need to fill my stables.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yere what? Is it man or beast ye’re after?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“\u003ci\u003eStables. \u003c\/i\u003eIt’s an expression. I’m after men.” \u003ci\u003eGreat! \u003c\/i\u003eThat hadn’t come out right. Her delayed flight had her rattled. “I need to find eligible bachelors to fill my database.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer phone rang; it was Donna, her office manager in Alaska. “Excuse me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We’ve got a problem,” Donna yelled into the phone. “Morgan has arrived from Connecticut, but Greg, her date, can’t be found. He isn’t answering his phone, either.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKit’s stomach dropped. “\u003ci\u003eSon of a bitch\u003c\/i\u003e. Greg assured me he’d show up to meet her, but I had a feeling he’d go MIA. \u003ci\u003eDamned bachelor\u003c\/i\u003e.” She’d been in Scotland all of three seconds and everything was going to hell back home. And here was this Scottish brute listening in on her conversation. She turned her back to him for privacy.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What do I tell Morgan?” Donna said, fretting. “That’s a long way to come here for nothing.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Tell her not to worry. She just needs to hang on. I’ll find her a man in Scotland. Tell her that I’ll take care of her flight, everything.” It would cost a pretty penny, but Kit prided herself on customer satisfaction. It took another couple of minutes, but Kit was able to calm down Donna; then she hung up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen she turned around, Ramsay was assessing her. “Ye know, don’t ye, that what you want to do here won’t work.” He lifted one of his smug eyebrows.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What?” She couldn’t believe her ears; he’d given voice to her biggest fear—that she wouldn’t be able to make things work here in Scotland.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKit had gone with her gut and gotten lucky with her operation in Alaska. The single women she’d known from the country club set—before her family had been forced to exchange caviar for bologna sandwiches—tended to be quiet and romantic; she sensed that what they wanted was a “real man” with a traditional approach to relationships. So she’d foregone the lower forty-eight entirely, bypassing not just the financiers and tech millionaires but the ranchers and oilmen who sounded rugged but who were just business tycoons, and sought out men from Alaska. And she was right. Real Men had proven to be what her clients’ hearts desired.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut when it came time to expand, Kit didn’t go solely on instincts this time. She’d hired a team of consultants to figure out her next move. The consulting firm’s recommendation: Expand her Real Men operation into Scotland. The firm had a great track record, but Kit had been worried ever since that they’d gotten it wrong. She worried whether her clients really yearned for a bigger adventure in a foreign location. She worried about the Scots and their compatibility. And she worried whether her East Coast socialite clients really longed for a Highland romance like the consulting firm said they did.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKit’s father used to say \u003ci\u003enever let them see you sweat\u003c\/i\u003e. But right now, she could use more Arrid Extra Dry. She went on the defensive with the Scot before her. “You don’t even know what I do.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay crossed his arms over his massive chest again, a man relaxed and sure of himself. “I have a pretty clear idea. If ye think your Alaskan \u003ci\u003eboys\u003c\/i\u003e don’t like to be told what to do, what makes ye think we Scottish \u003ci\u003emen\u003c\/i\u003e will?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe \u003ci\u003eScottish man\u003c\/i\u003e standing in front of her may have a lot going on in the looks department, but he had a lot to learn when it came to Kit and her tenacity. “I’m very good at what I do, Mr. Armstrong.” She had a high marriage rate to prove it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Why are you even here?” he questioned. “If you wanted to fill yere \u003ci\u003estables\u003c\/i\u003e, as you say, you could’ve done that with yere computer from the Hamptons or Martha’s Vineyard or wherever ye call home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe took a cleansing breath. The Martha’s Vineyard house had been auctioned off with their other homes to pay their creditors. But she wasn’t telling this brute about her family’s plunge into poverty.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe straightened her shoulders and stood as tall as her five-foot-two frame would allow. She’d endured some stubborn men before and now it looked like she would have her hands full with this one. She stood her ground with the Scotsman. “For your information, Mr. Armstrong, I do things the old-fashioned way. I interview my clients and their prospective dates in person.” It was the best way to get an accurate assessment of them. “Skype or FaceTime might be considered the face-to-face of the twenty-first century, but I believe in the personal touch.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe raised his eyebrows as if a crude comment was forthcoming.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe put her hand up to stop him. “Computers are for storing databases, not for getting to know one another.” It was bugging her that she still hadn’t pinned down this Ramsay Armstrong. She decided it must be because he was all brawn and no brains.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe had been leaning nonchalantly against the vehicle but pushed away from it, standing to his full height. He skimmed his eyes over her, from her summer sweater to her Lee jeans, right down to her new Doc Martens.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe wasn’t intimidated. She’d learned from her Alaskan adventure to dress properly. For the weather and the culture. \u003ci\u003eAnd the natives\u003c\/i\u003e. It was best to try to fit in, but not to try too hard.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he was done with his perusal, he gestured at her person like she was nothing more than a mannequin. “You don’t look like an old-fashioned kind of lass. You look to me like you saw this outfit in an outdoor magazine and ordered it online.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Are you trying to provoke me, Mr. Armstrong?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe shrugged. “I think what you want to do here is a crock of . . .” He stopped himself as if he’d thought better of it and stepped forward. “I don’t believe in matchmakers. People should come together naturally without the help of a third party, unless it’s the Almighty. Haven’t ye ever heard \u003ci\u003ethree’s a crowd\u003c\/i\u003e?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“All brawn, no brains,” she murmured. She wished she was taller, but her feminine stature was no match for him. He had to be six-two at least. She made sure her attitude made up for the difference. “You’re arguing against history. Matchmaking has been around since the beginning of time. Look it up.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“If ye’re so good at this, then how would you match me?” he challenged.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe maintained eye contact. She was going to enjoy putting this arrogant cave dweller in his place.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“First, we’d have to discuss your assets. Do you own a manor house or an estate?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Not exactly.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What do you mean \u003ci\u003enot exactly\u003c\/i\u003e?” It felt good to wipe that smirk off his face.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I live in a cottage.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe raised her eyebrows. “Is it at least a nice-sized cottage?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s the house I grew up in.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You still live with your parents?” He didn’t look like he’d \u003ci\u003efailed to launch\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I live with my brother Ross. And of course John, and his wife, Maggie, and their boy, Dand.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eGood grief\u003c\/i\u003e. “That’s quite a crew.” She bet they were stepping all over one another. But back to the business at hand. She tilted her head back, trying to stare him down. “What about other property? A ranch? Any sheep? Cattle?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe looked riled, his neck and chest creeping with red. “My brothers and I own a fishing boat.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe shook her head. “Maybe if you owned \u003ci\u003ea fleet of boats\u003c\/i\u003e. Sorry, Mr. Armstrong. I won’t find you a bride.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis eyes narrowed. Brawn looked like he was barely holding back a few choice obscenities.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn Alaska, she didn’t require the bachelors to possess major assets, just a decent job, but she was changing it up here in the Highlands. She was tired of running interference between her socialite clients and their parents. It had been a monumental task, trying to prove to the girls’ families that a man’s substance didn’t lie in his wallet. Kit was done with that hassle. She couldn’t change the paradigm for Alaska, but she sure as hell could require her bachelors here in Scotland to have money, or property, or both. \u003ci\u003eMummy and Daddy \u003c\/i\u003ewould feel better about losing their daughters to the wilds of Scotland if their offspring were matched with millionaires.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe great hulk of a Scotsman before her stood rod-straight, a warrior ready to make a scene here in the parking lot.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe could bluster all he wanted. Tough guys like him needed to be brought down a notch. Especially if they were attacking how she made her living.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe’d gone on the offensive; now, it was time to help the poor lout out. “I have a list of \u003ci\u003eMarriageable Attributes\u003c\/i\u003e. You should check out my website.” She reached in her bag, pulled out a business card, and slid it into the front pocket of his flannel shirt, patting it. She couldn’t help but notice he was rock solid, all muscle under her hand. She had the urge to pat a little longer. “Maybe after you review the list on my site, you can work at being a better catch.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe caught her hand before she’d fully withdrawn it, turning the tables on her. He oozed with latent sexuality. “I do fine all on my own. I don’t need help to find a mate,” he drawled.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe word \u003ci\u003emate\u003c\/i\u003e hung in the air. He let go of her hand.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eGads. \u003c\/i\u003eHer imagination raced into overdrive. She was either extremely jet-lagged or she needed a date herself. She hadn’t been out in ages; she was too busy bringing other couples together. From the beginning, she’d drawn a clear line. She chose rugged men for her clients and picked Wall Street suits for herself. That way she was never tempted to mix business with pleasure. She hadn’t found a man with the qualities she wanted, but one day she would. As it turned out, her greatest gift—reading people—was also her biggest impediment to finding someone for herself. The stockbrokers and bankers she’d dated so far had only had money and sex on their minds, and little else.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay grabbed her bags. “Let’s get going.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe glanced up and saw his muscles ripple under his shirt. Her breath caught. \u003ci\u003eYeah, I need a date.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe opened the back and threw in her luggage with brute force. She started to protest, but inhaled deeply instead. It would be best to choose her battles with this one. Otherwise, it would be a long, long summer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe slid into the passenger seat and chewed her lower lip. There was a subject she had to broach with him and he wouldn’t like it. But it was important. She turned toward him in the seat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mr. Armstrong—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ramsay,” he corrected.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ramsay, then.” She paused. “We need to talk about my expectations.” She scanned his person one more time, really hating those black wellies of his. She steeled herself for what had to be said. “The bachelors I’ve selected to interview are men of substance.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAlmost imperceptibly, he shook his head as if he was barely tolerating her. “Don’t confuse substance with worldly goods; they’re two different things, lassie. Ye mean men of wealth, power, and standing.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt wouldn’t do any good to try to convince him that she knew the difference. Hell, she’d put it in her business plan. “Yes, I’m speaking of wealth, power, and standing, as you put it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Then what’s the rub?” he asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I was wondering if you might reconsider your attire. Wear something a bit more upscale.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe glanced at her with raised eyebrows. “Ye have a problem with me being a fisherman?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No, of course not. It’s an honorable profession.” She meant it but hurried on. “There’s nothing wrong with being casual and comfortable.” She gestured toward her own clothing. “But when I interview these men, I’ll be dressed professionally.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I see. And since I’ll be with ye, ye’ll be wanting me to convey the right image as well.” He put his eyes back on the road and jammed the gearshift into drive. “Don’t worry, lassie. I’ll be dressed the part.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thank you, Ramsay. I appreciate your cooperation.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t tell him that everything was riding on this trip. Every dime she’d made and saved. Her sister Harper’s fall tuition for graduate school. The cost of community college for her younger sister, Bridget. Kit expected she’d have to help her mother with her living expenses now that Bridget had graduated high school and her social security survivor benefits from Daddy had run out. Even Kit’s self-worth and ego were on the line. \u003ci\u003eEverything\u003c\/i\u003e. She had to make a go of it in Scotland or lose it all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs silence filled the car, Kit gazed out the window. It was late and the sun still hung in the sky. The summer days were long in the north of Scotland, the view desolate and beautiful. The mountainous hills rose out of the earth like giants. There were few trees and she couldn’t help but compare it to the Alaskan bush with its vast forests of green. The stark landscape around her had a soothing quality, but Kit couldn’t tamp down the fear rising within her. Fear of the future and the unknown. In the past, she had never let the fear overtake her. She’d always made it through the tough times and she would again this time, too, wouldn’t she?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe must’ve dozed off because she came awake abruptly as Ramsay brought the vehicle to a stop.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Are we here?” She looked out and saw the roadblock in front of them.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nay. But we’ll be there shortly.” He shifted into four-wheel drive and drove the car down an embankment.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWarning bells should’ve gone off, but the man in the seat next to her must’ve instilled a walloping dollop of trust. Or she was too exhausted to be concerned at his sudden foray into off-road four-wheeling. “So do you want to share with me what’s going on?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The road into Gandiegow is being repaved. We’ll have to go in by boat.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDread swamped Kit and she twisted her hands in her lap. She hadn’t been on a boat since her father died. “Is there another way?” She hated how weak her voice sounded.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe glanced over at her. “Ye have my word that ye’ll be safe.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe nodded. He couldn’t know what this did to her. As they rose over the last dune, the water appeared. \u003ci\u003eHer father’s grave.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay pulled the SUV to the edge. “There it is.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA wooden dinghy was tied to a post with a long rope that drooped in the mud. “Low tide, I presume?” She looked down at her new Doc Martens, not happy to have to break them in this way. But more importantly, did Ramsay have a life vest?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer father used to call her \u003ci\u003etrout \u003c\/i\u003ebecause she was a born swimmer. But that was before.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay turned off the car and shoved the keys in the glove box. He jumped out and retrieved her bags.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey walked through the grass to the edge of the mud. There Kit hesitated.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRamsay shook his head and muttered, “New shoes.” He dropped her bags, scooped her up, and began trudging toward the boat like she was nothing more than a piece of luggage.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe gasped. “What are you doing?” She clung to him for dear life as he walked her toward the water. “Stop!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ye’re lucky I don’t sling you over my shoulder.” His wellies hit the water and he held her higher, making sure she didn’t get wet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe could only stare into his determined face, forcing herself to calm down, focusing on his chiseled features, weathered from the sun and wind. His solid arms and shoulders made her feel safe, reassured he wouldn’t drop her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe relaxed just enough to get why he wore the wellies.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhatever lingering thought she’d had that he’d behaved gallantly slipped away as he none too gently deposited her in the boat. She had to grab the gunwale to keep from falling on her butt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs he waded back to shore for her bags, she scrambled for the life jacket stored under her seat and quickly secured it around her, buckling it into place. She ignored that it was wet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe frowned at her in the life vest for a long second before putting her bags in the boat. She didn’t care if he thought she was a chicken or not.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe untied the rope from the post and looped it to the front of the dinghy before climbing in next to the motor. “You better hold on.” He pulled the rip cord and they\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303233016037,"sku":"NP9780451468314","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780451468314.jpg?v=1767736905","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/some-like-it-scottish-isbn-9780451468314","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}