Page 3

“Hey, Dad,” I mutter, rubbing my thumbs across the sleek curve of the urn. “Look where we are.” I straighten, holding it close to my chest as I turn back to the water. “I brought you back,” I say to the air. “Just like I said I would.”

A deep ache settles in my chest and lower in my stomach; I thought I would find more peace here, knowing I was giving him the send-off he wanted. I can’t even be sure if this is what heactuallywanted or if it was just more ramblings brought on by the slow loss of his mind, but itfeelsright, I think. Sure, he never spoke of his family, or of his life here beyond silly childhood stories—but I could tell he missed it. There was a sadness in his voice sometimes that I could hear no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

I realize after a few minutes that I’m just standing here, that I’m stalling, really. It’s silly; I quit my job, flew across the ocean, practically uprooted my entire life just to come here, and now that I’m here…I’m not sure if I can do it.

The wind picks up, whipping my sun-blazed curls around my face, and I tell myself that it’s just the brightness out here that’s making my eyes water. I candothis, damnit.

I turn to try and scope out a good place; I’ve never spread someone’s ashes before, obviously, but it doesn’t feel very special to just walk up to the shoreline and dump my dad out onto the algae. Surely there has to be a better way.

With that in mind, I start pacing along the edge of the water, nearing the expanse of jutting rocks that the signs and Hamish and probably God at this point have warned me about. There’s a relatively flat one only a few steps out, just a short climb and a few hops away from shore. Surely I can manage that. I’m not a kid, after all.

I hold my dad tighter as I carefully step out onto the raised stone that leads toward the larger flat rock, hovering with one foot still on the shore as I test my balance. My sneakers aren’t the best choice for this, and I’m wishing now that I’d read a few more travel blogs about dressing for Scotland. Not, I think, that any of them would have accounted for rock climbing on the coast of Loch Ness. I curl my fingers to grip my dad’s urn as I blow out a breath, readying to step farther onto the rocks and finish this so I can head off to meet the family. Something else I’m not sure I’m looking forward to.

I move to take another step, feeling the soles of my shoes slip against the wet surface as my balance suddenly becomes off-kilter. A surge of panic jolts through me as I start to fall backward—but I’m snatched away before that happens.

“Hey!”

Something thick winds around my waist, hauling me backward, using enough power that I nearly stumble as I’m forced back to both feet on the shore. The thick something—anarm, I realize—lingersfor only a moment before releasing me, and I whirl around with hot anger flooding my cheeks as I prepare to tell off whoever interfered.

And then, funnily enough, I seem to forget how to use words.

The stranger is…beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful that one might attribute to rare works of art or a sunset or anything like that. No.Thisman is the kind of beautiful that makes you think of sex and sweat and all sorts of other filthy things that are currently flitting through my thoughts.

He’s taller than me even at my five foot ten—easily by six inches, maybe more. His golden brown hair seems almost highlighted by the sun, but the stubble at his chiseled jaw is darker, adding a rough edge to the prettiness that his high cheekbones and straight nose give him. He’s all soft mouth and broad shoulders andholy hellhis pants can barely contain his thighs—but it’s his eyes that hold my attention most. So blue, they almost appear silver, they hold my gaze for more seconds than is probably appropriate as I struggle to think of something,anythingto say to this ridiculously hot man that might sound halfway coherent.

“I—I’m—”

“Stupid,” he finishes for me, his sinfully deep accent—a literal brogue that makes my skin heat—enough to make it take a few seconds for me to fully comprehend what he’s said. “That’s what you are.”

My mouth gapes when it hits me, and I blink at him in a manner that is probably as stupid as he’s just accused me of being.

What thehell?

2

Lachlan

The momentary surprise in her features quickly morphs into a ruddy sort of anger that pinkens her cheeks and makes her already prominent array of freckles all the more noticeable—her too-red mouth pursing and her titian brows knitting together as she clutches the black vase in her arms tighter.

“Excuse me?”

Bloody hell, I think.Of course.

“You heard me,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Did you not see the signs on the way here? Or maybe you reckoned they didn’t apply to you, aye?”

Her mouth parts, her ire briefly flickering with surprise before she straightens her shoulders. “I saw them.”

“And you…what? You thought you knew better? Typical American.”

“Hey! You don’t even know me. I was being careful!”

“You were two seconds away from busting your arse on the rocks.”

“I wasn’t— That’s not—”

Her cheeks heat further, and she actuallystompsher foot at me, which might amuse me in other circumstances, but my eyes are toobusy darting past her toward the rippling surface of the water with worry weighing heavily on my chest, looking for signs of movement.

“This isn’t a place for clumsy tourists,” I tell her. “Best you head back where you came from. There’s a nice gift shop in town.”