Real Men Wear Plaid!. Rhonda Nelson

living in tents. He had no idea what he would do—what he could do even—but he was able and willing to do whatever was needed. There was honor in that purpose, a sense of satisfaction from knowing that whatever he did was going to make a difference. Was that too much to ask?

      After catching up on a few more things and promising to call when he reached Fort William, Ewan disconnected. He made quick work of unpacking his bag, washed up and made the return trek back downstairs to the parlor.

      He was taking his first sip of hot tea when Gemma entered the room. She’d exchanged her boots for pink bunny slippers and had taken her hair out of the ponytail she’d worn all day. Long fawn-colored curls—the exact shade of tablet candy, his favorite, naturally—tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. She’d washed her face, making her nose and cheeks shiny in the firelight. He didn’t know what was more endearing, that glowing button nose, or the slippers.

      “Better?” he asked, feeling unaccountably nervous. This woman did something to him, affected him on a cellular level.

      She settled into the chair opposite him and selected a meat pie from the tray. “Immensely,” she said, taking a bite. She groaned with delight.

      She had the sexiest mouth, Ewan noted. Full and bow-shaped, the lower lip considerably plumper than the upper. She had a bit of pastry stuck in the corner and he watched with rapt attention as her pink tongue darted out and captured the errant bit. He knew she didn’t mean it as a sexy gesture, but that didn’t keep his blood from heating all the same. The nagging sense of awareness that had plagued him since again setting eyes on her had quadrupled in the past hour, pushing an already irrational attraction into especially dangerous territory.

      Ewan was well acquainted with sexual desire and every nuance that entailed. What he wasn’t used to was wanting someone with this level of intensity. The combination of the virulent attraction and the warm, melting sensation in his chest when he looked at this particular female was, in a word, terrifying.

      If this desire didn’t begin to wane soon then he might just self-combust.

      “Is something wrong?” she asked. “You look a little strange.”

      True enough, he imagined. He certainly felt strange. “I’m fine,” he said, expelling a heavy breath through a grim smile. He helped himself to a piece of bread.

      “So I take it you’re going to continue on to Fort William?” He knew the answer, of course, but needed a conversational opener.

      Chewing thoughtfully, she nodded. “Of course. Jeffrey was here for company, but my goal hasn’t changed. This is a rite of passage,” she said. “Both my mother and grandmother have made the walk.” She frowned. “I thought I’d mentioned—”

      He nodded. “You did,” he said.

      “I’ve come to a bit of a crossroads in my life,” she admitted, another scowl wrinkling her brow. “One path is clearly marked and utterly unfulfilling.”

      That sounded eerily familiar, Ewan thought. He took a sip of tea. “And the other path?”

      She smiled and let go a whooshing sigh. “That one is completely dark,” she said, laughing. “In fact, I’m not even sure there’s a path there. More like a goat trail.”

      He chuckled, sensing a kinship he hadn’t expected. He knew the West Highland Way was a lot of things to a lot of different people, but what were the chances of him finding someone as interesting with the same reason as himself for making the journey? Call it coincidence or fate, he’d been right when he’d thought there was a reason for them meeting.

      “What about you?” she asked. “What made you decide to take the walk?”

      “I’m dealing with my own goat trail,” he said. “I take it you’ve never been on a hike like this before?”

      She smiled and leaned back fully into her chair. She crossed her legs and a slippered foot bobbed up and down, making the bunny ears flop. “Er…no, unless you count hiking from one end of the mall to the other. I’ve walked a lot of Civil War battlefields though, so in a way I guess that has helped. Physically, I can go a lot farther than my feet can, if that makes sense.”

      “New shoes?”

      She winced adorably. “That was a mistake, wasn’t it? My mother warned me.”

      He chuckled. “Look at it this way. They’ll be good and broken in by the time you’ve finished.”

      She laughed, the sound soft and husky. “I’ll try to remember that tomorrow night when my blisters burst.”

      “It’s the socks,” he told her. “You need merino wool.”

      She gasped, feigning outrage. “My father’s a third-generation cotton farmer. He’d have a problem with that.”

      “He’d want you to be miserable?”

      “No,” she said, laughing. “It was a joke.”

      “So your father isn’t a cotton farmer?”

      She grinned. “Nope, he’s an accountant. These miraculous socks you speak of, where can I find them?”

      “I’ll loan you a pair until we can find a shop that carries them.”

      “Much appreciated, thanks.” She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes. “So why didn’t you pass me today? Have you adopted me as your damsel in distress?”

      He felt his mouth twitch with a grin and took another sip of tea, wishing it was something stronger. “Something like that, yes.”

      She winced. “While appreciated, you really don’t have to do that. I can manage on my own. I’ll stick to the path. Were something to happen, someone would be along soon enough to help me.”

      She was right and yet he knew he wouldn’t leave her. For reasons which escaped him, he couldn’t. Since there was no way he could confess that to her—how could he admit something he couldn’t even explain?—he decided to take a different tack. He passed a hand over his face and donned what he hoped resembled an appropriately sheepish expression.

      “Unless you object to making the walk with me, I’d rather us stay together. I started this journey on my own and, to be honest, it’s a bit lonelier than I expected.” He essayed a smile. “Evidently I don’t like my own company as much as I thought I did.”

      She studied him a minute, a direct gaze that seemed to somehow take his measure, peer directly into his soul. “I don’t object,” she said, and there was an inflection in her voice that alerted him to the fact that she’d just made some sort of decision. “I started this journey with a companion and am now on my own.” She peered at him from beneath a sweep of dark lashes. “Looks like we need each other, doesn’t it?”

      Need wasn’t nearly a strong enough word.

      He nodded, unable to speak.

      “I should probably call it a night,” she said, getting to her feet. “We’ve got an early morning and, if the itinerary I’m following is to be believed, that large conic mountain looming in the distance is Ben More.”

      “It is,” he confirmed. “A bit of a steepish climb.” He stood himself.

      She paused. “Thanks, Ewan,” she said.

      “For what?”

      “For making sure that I was all right. It was a nice thing to do.”

      “Would I lose your good opinion if I said I had ulterior motives?” he asked, sidling closer to her.

      A grin turned the corners of her lips and she chuckled softly, then bent forward and pressed a kiss against his mouth. Blood boiled beneath the surface of his skin and a sensation so exquisite it stopped the breath in his lungs ricocheted through him. Every muscle in his body went rigid, then seemed to liquefy beneath her soft lips. She tasted like tea and strawberry jam and something else…something