All for the Heiress Read online

  “It’s not you,” she sniffled. “I’m having a quarter-life crisis.”

  “That sounds too trendy for ye to have. And ye aren’t even old enough.”

  “People always say how mature I am for my age, perhaps I’m ahead of the game,” she said.

  He sat back on his heels and studied her. “Aye that’s true,” he said, nodding. “Ye’ve always been so reliable and sensible—”

  “That’s fine, thank you,” she interrupted, as it seemed he would drone on forever. Somehow hearing the good qualities she used to have made her feel worse.

  “A real goody two-shoes, our Mellora is. Oi, mind my injury” he said, dodging her half-hearted attempt to thump him in the head. “But seriously, what’s up with ye?”

  It felt like an avalanche was coming down on her. She’d been skipping her classes for so long, she really feared she couldn’t make up the work at this point. She hated disappointing her parents, and wasting the money they’d given her the last two years. Her dreams were crumbling like pie crust and the worst part was she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  “Ye look miserable,” he said. “And I know misery from the mirror. What can I do to cheer ye up? I know ye wanted to laugh at me earlier, so feel free.”

  She looked at him, smiling helpfully up at her, the silly green band-aid peeking out from beneath his messy hair. It was almost the same shade as his eyes. This wasn’t right at all. He wasn’t supposed to be showing concern, he was supposed to be hounding information out of her. She felt like she might erupt in a volcano of angst. There didn’t seem to be one thing in her life that made her happy anymore.

  Out of habit, she fished the pewter cross she wore on a long chain out from under her sweater and rolled it between her fingertips. Shane held out a bite of his muffin, but she shook her head. What was she, the dog, being offered pity scraps? Narrowing her eyes at him, she leaned back in the rocker and thought about the last time she’d really had a good time. It had been on the late night drive with Oliver. He was a suave, cosmopolitan Londoner. Tall, with good manners, entertaining her with lively stories and his plummy English accent…

  “Say something, Mel, ye’re making me nervous.” Shane leaned forward and grabbed her knees.

  She jumped guiltily, and abruptly stopped her dreamy train of thought. The handsome and charming Oliver Cliffstone was not hers to think about in such a manner. He was possibly Catie’s fiance by now, or even husband, with the way the Fergusons had seemed so eager to marry her off. Thinking about that gave Mellie a clenching feeling in her chest, and pushed aside the fact that it felt like disappointment and regret.

  Catie had seemed genuinely interested in Shane during her time here, and even though she’d chosen to go back with Oliver, she’d gone back largely due to Mellie’s meddling. What if she had an alternative to Oliver back in her own time?

  “You’re handsome and charming,” she said without thinking, making Shane take his hands off her knees in a hurry, and causing her face to heat up when she realized she’d said it aloud.

  “Ah, thanks?” he said, his eyes widening. “Did ye want to make out or something?”

  She laughed despondently and pressed her foot into his chest, knocking him onto his ass. “No, numpty, I do not. But I’ve decided to help you. I’ll try and find out how to do it.”

  He scrambled to his feet and pulled her into a hug, actually lifting her off the floor and twirling her around. His happiness was infectious and she found herself grinning along, excited for him.

  He was strong, probably from all the hard farm work, and the way his palms pressed against her back gave her a bizarre electrical shock feeling. Alarmed, she chalked it up to her daydreaming about Oliver only a moment before, because there was no way she was attracted to Shane. She was just slightly unhinged now, and susceptible.

  “Like I told you,” she reminded him, after she’d wriggled out of his grasp. “If I can find out how to do it, there’s no guarantee it will work.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “All we can do is try.”

  She nodded, then stared at him. “What do you mean, we?”

  “Ye’re coming, right?” He took her by the shoulders and leaned over, peering right into her eyes.

  “You’re joking.”

  “Certainly not. Ye have to go with.”

  “You must tell me your reasoning behind that.” She sat back down and crossed her knees and folded her arms in front of her.

  Shane sat on the edge of the hearth and turned the arms of her chair toward him, then pulled it closer so their knees practically touched. She snorted at his blatant attempt to use his adorableness as a bargaining tool and he wisely ditched the blinky-eyed look from his face and got down to business.

  “Well, ye liked that English prat, aye? If ye think about it, we might both come out winners.”

  She continued to stare at him, carefully keeping her expression discouraging, but a tiny light kindled in her. She had liked Oliver, no matter how she tried to tell herself she hadn’t, or how wrong it was, she had liked him. And she was positive he’d liked her, too.

  “I’m a distraction?” she asked, raising a brow with what she hoped looked like disdain. “Bait?”

  He clapped his hands gleefully and then waved them in a rude figure eight gesture in front of her. “Exactly! Look at ye, ye’re so flipping hot when ye want to be. Ye wouldna just turn his head, ye could make it spin away from Catie.”

  She silently cursed herself for blushing at his words, and kicked him in the foot. “Catie is my friend,” she said.

  “Exactly,” he repeated, seeming even more delighted, as if she agreed with him. “That’s why ye should help her get with the right guy.”

  “And that’s you.”

  He nodded and leaned back, letting his self-assured smile be his final argument. Damn him. Why did she think this might work? And worse, why did she feel so eager to get started? Okay, so Oliver lived hundreds of years in the past, but other than that, he fit the bill of her ideal man to a tee. Posh Londoner, with a country home to keep him grounded, considerate and gentlemanly, serious and authoritative. She sighed, remembering how much he’d liked Catie, how much he’d gone through to get to her, and felt a rush of guilt and envy.

  “Ah, ye want him, ye know ye do,” Shane said, jumping at her traitorous sigh.

  There was no use trying to lie about it, the wicked lad could see right through her, and there was a strange comfort in being able to show her true colors without being judged.

  “You’re like the devil on my shoulder,” she said.

  He held his fingers behind his head like horns and started up with the puppy eyes again. She didn’t feel like wasting the energy to swat him and leaned back in the chair. A surge whooshed through her, excitement, eagerness, hope. Things she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll go.”

  Chapter 2

  Evie collapsed onto the couch and put her feet in Sam’s lap. She’d got in so late, Magnus was already asleep, angelic in his footie pajamas, his little bottom in the air.

  “I tried on forty-two dresses today,” she informed him, as he diligently set about massaging her aching feet. Even though she was exhausted, disappointed, and irritable, she couldn’t help but beam at him, she loved him so much. And the foot rub was amazing.

  “Nothing?” he asked. “Is forty-two not the answer to life, the universe, and everything, then?”

  She groaned. “It’s not the answer to what I’m going to wear to marry you, that’s for sure.”

  “Why are we doing all this?” he asked, jumping when she kicked him with her free foot.

  “You want both your children to be bastards?” she asked, trying to keep a straight face at his look of indignation.

  “You know that’s not what I mean,” he said. “But why all the bother with the carriages and flowers and such? I never took you for that sort.”

  She thought long and hard. On the one hand, of course she
wanted the wedding of the century. Her love for Sam was so strong and huge, she wanted their ceremony to reflect that, but the planning was killing her. Something small and quiet seemed especially attractive after the day of failed gown shopping. Special and intimate, and Mags could still wear his miniature tuxedo, which he looked way too cute in. But then there was Piper.

  “I’m afraid if Piper didn’t have the wedding to focus on, she might go off the deep end,” Evie admitted.

  “But all that nastiness with her granny and Daria is over. She’s got her powers under control, and she and Lachlan are ridiculously happy, yeah?” He edged the leg of her jeans up to massage her ankles and her eyes rolled back in her head at the ecstasy of it.

  “Yes, but you have to remember, Piper’s a nomad at heart. All the craziness with her batshit ancestors was keeping her busy, but now that things are settled down, I bet she gets antsy.”

  “You mean she’d leave Castle on Hill?” Sam stopped massaging and looked worried. “Everything she’s done— the renovations, the museum, and the historical camp— the town’s really been the better for it all.” He shook his head. “She’d never up and leave us.”

  “Maybe.” Evie said. “I hope not.”

  She knew her best friend had changed a lot since she’d inherited her castle and billions, but she’d also had a lot to distract her and keep her occupied in that time. She hoped she’d stick around, but ever since they’d been adults, Piper had never spent much longer than six months in one spot, with Evie flying to whatever exotic locale Piper had found a job at, or waiting for her to come home for holidays.

  “I think she’s really enjoying planning the wedding,” Evie said. “I couldn’t take that away from her after all she’s been through.” She awkwardly hoisted herself closer so she could kiss him.

  “I’d marry you tomorrow in your polka dot pajamas,” he said, hooking his finger into the neckline of her sweater to keep her close.

  “No, those make me look fat,” she teased, kissing him again. She closed her eyes and savored his lips lingering on hers. “I would love it if we could have our own secret little wedding, though.”

  “Shall we enter into trothplight, then?” Sam asked.

  She giggled and leaned back, the stress of the day melting away. “It sounds like crop blight, and about as romantic. But if it’s easier than all this rigmarole, let’s plight it up.”

  “We can call it handfasting, if you’d rather. You basically clasp hands and do the vows. It’s legally binding. At least, it used to be.”

  “Sweet,” Evie said absently, until she looked up at him.

  He looked completely serious, and the idea began to take hold. They could be married right that moment. He leaned across her lap and she shivered at the intensity in his eyes.

  With a tremor, she reached out and he slid his palm against hers, wrapping his fingers around her hand, filling her with the warmth and strength of his touch.

  All her life she’d always thought the best things, the most thrilling adventures, the most perfect romances, could only be found in books. Before she came to Scotland, she’d barely dared to dream she might find someone she could tolerate, who wasn’t a complete jerk, and that she might not get stuck in Dilbert, Texas.

  Instead she’d found Sam, her handsome, sweet, funny and kind, book-slinging Highlander who put up with her nonsense. She’d had an adorable angel child, and lived in a fairy tale, ivy-covered cottage. It was almost too much, there was no way she deserved it all.

  All of her old fears crowded out her happiness and she looked down at their clasped hands. Even though she finally broke down and accepted a salary from Piper for helping with the castle management, she couldn’t do that forever. She still didn’t know what would happen with her career, if she’d ever even manage to start one. It made her feel guilty, how much she loved being with Mags, as if all the hard work, money, and time she’d put into getting her degree had been wasted.

  “Where have you gone off to?” Sam asked, leaning over to kiss her and pulling her back to the moment. He always knew exactly when to reel her in from her downward spirals.

  “I’m here,” she said with a smile. “Let’s do it. Not the crop blight thing, but let’s do vows that’re just for you and me. We can even have it at the church if you like.” She pictured herself holding a small bouquet of flowers from their own front garden. All the other details were hazy, but nothing else mattered, except that it would be her and Sam.

  “We can do a civil ceremony,” he said.

  “No, I don’t mind. We’ll have some Jewish traditional bits at the circus wedding so I’m fine. So long as it’s you and me and Mags.”

  He nodded. “And wee sprout,” he added, patting her belly. “I’ll speak to Father Branaghan, but I’m certain he’ll do it whenever we want, seeing as we’ve been living in sin so long.”

  She laughed, all her worries completely gone. She knew Sam loved her whether she ever had a stunning academic career or not. He would be perfectly happy if she helped him run the store, or stayed home to take care of the babies full time, or kept working with Piper. She didn’t have to have everything sorted in order to be with him, he was happy as long as they were together.

  She grabbed his face and kissed him passionately, so grateful to have him.

  “What was that for?” he asked when she released him. “I liked it, mind.”

  “You’re perfect,” she said, twisting around so she could rest against him, rather than have her feet in his lap.

  Sam hugged her tight and smoothed her hair, turning to give her a nice kiss near her ear. “I’m pleased you finally realized that.”

  She was too comfortable to poke him in the ribs and snuggled closer instead, her blood beginning to race as she ran her hand over his muscular expanse of chest. It seemed the squishier she got, the harder he got, but she certainly wasn’t going to complain. He sympathy ate whenever she did, so probably just went to the gym more to make up for it, bless him.

  “We have to take it to our graves though, and Father Branaghan has to treat it like confession. I don’t want Piper’s feelings to be hurt after all the work she’s doing for us.”

  “Aye, I don’t want her to be hurt, either.” He scooted down so they were more on a level and pressed his lips gently to hers. “I only want this, forever.”

  She melted into the lingering kiss, then pulled away and blinked several times. “We still have the photo session tomorrow. You can’t get out of that.”

  He groaned so hard she thought he might burst a vein. “Really, Ev? That was your idea, wasn’t it? Not Piper’s? You’re way too excited about it.”

  “It’ll be fun,” she wheedled, working her hands under his shirt.

  “But all of them?”

  “She already got all the costumes, sorry. We have to do all of them.” She grinned at him, not the least bit sorry about her fantasy engagement photo shoot.

  “You do know the actual versions of those fairy tales all ended in gruesome, unhappy ways, right?”

  She tugged at his sweat pants tie. “That’s why we’re going to re-enact the happy, musical cartoon versions. You’re going to do all the princes proud.”

  He groaned again, but mostly because her hand was now moving steadily lower. “As you wish,” he murmured as she kissed him some more.

  “Oh my gosh, we never even thought about The Princess Bride. We can probably add it, though. I’m sure we’ll have enough wardrobe choices.”

  He laughed against her mouth and pulled her closer.

  Chapter 3

  Mellie opened the door to an exhausted and irritated looking Evie. Not even the promise of pancakes put a smile on her face.

  “Piper’s not down yet?” she asked with a scowl. “If it’s so all-fired important that I get here at the crack of dawn for this, she should have her butt down here.”

  Mellie glanced at the clock. It was close to nine, so miles from the crack of dawn, but she just smiled and nodded, which made Evie hu
ff and tear up.

  “Oh my God, am I being a pregzilla again already? Or is it a bridezilla now? I’m definitely being a monster of some kind.”

  “Not at all,” Mellie said soothingly. She pointed to a tall stack of old books and papers. “I’m sure she’ll be down soon. There was a poem she wanted you to read, but couldn’t remember which of those it was in. It’s supposedly really beautiful and perfect for before the vows.” She watched Evie look at the pile with disdain, and waited for her to take the bait.

  When Piper had complained about her ancestors’ lousy record keeping abilities the night before while trying to find that old poem, Mellie had begun concocting her plan.

  “It’s probably scrawled on the back of a receipt for barley,” Evie said. She sat down and took the first book. “I don’t know why I’m bothering. I won’t know what I’m looking for.”

  “Aye, it’s a shame the old Glens didn’t properly catalog everything for future generations. I mean, think of all the information that was probably lost completely.” Mellie kept a straight face, and she thought her voice sounded natural enough.

  Evie nodded vigorously, not seeming the least suspicious. “Right? Hopefully Piper keeps things straight for everyone after us.”

  Now that she’d taken the bait, Mellie began to slowly reel her in. “Can you imagine what horrible things might happen if someone got accidentally blasted back in time and no one knew how to go after them?”

  Mellie felt a little bad when all the color drained from Evie’s face. Having been an accidental time traveler herself, it was no laughing matter to her to think about some poor soul being trapped forever in a different time.

  “I never thought about that,” she said. “You know, we destroyed Daria’s disgusting old grimoire, and as far as I know, that was the only written record of that spell. Piper and Lachlan just do it the other way by memory.”

  “Huh,” Mellie said, pretending to lose interest while adding pancake batter ingredients to a bowl. Inside she was a roiling mess of nerves as she waited for Evie to put it together on her own. She was silent so long, Mellie couldn’t stand it and said, “Well, that terrible spell with the bones is better off lost—”