This is why I came here, I reminded myself.
This was why I’d traveled across a continent to start over.
Venturing onto Stòr today might have been out of my growing curiosity, but it was also from a need to enjoy some “me time” before the chaos of renovation and running a business changed my daily life.
Opening my backpack, I took out the sandwich I’d bought from Leth Sholas Bakery & Tearoom. There were a surprising number of businesses within those rainbow-colored buildings along the harbor. The bakery, I’d discovered, was run by married couple Harry and Bryan Weaver, Australians who had moved to the island seven years ago. They were warm and friendly, and their cakes and sandwiches were so far among my favorite discoveries in my new home.
I had to force myself to slow down and savor the spicy salami, pancetta, and Monterey Jack cheese ciabatta. There was a whole lot of other stuff going on inside the loaded gourmet sandwich, and it was a whole lotta amazing.
“Oh my gawd,” I moaned around a mouthful. This sandwich was better than any of the orgasms I’d had with a partner (I’d had pretty amazing orgasms on my own, so the distinction was necessary).
Orgasmic snacks—check. Peace and isolation—check.
It was perfect.
For about fifteen minutes.
I didn’t even hear him approach.
“Youare on private land,” the deep, male voice growled ominously behind me.
2.Tierney
“Arggggh!” I launched off my knoll, whirling around and stumbling on pebbles as I backed up toward the water.
Towering above me on the grassy dune was a mammoth, bearded, would-be killer. My heart hammered in my chest as I gaped up at the intruder.
I could barely make out his face for the bushy salt-and-pepper beard surrounding his lips and covering his cheeks. He had massively broad shoulders and his navy plaid shirt strained against thick, muscled biceps. Long, long legs were clad in dirty jeans, his big feet in well-worn hiking boots. His brown hair was as shaggy as his beard. Piercing wolf eyes glared at me. They were the most striking pale gray I’d ever seen.
A warning growl drew my terrified gaze to the stunning dog sitting perfectly at his side. The Alaskan Malamute had startling blue eyes. Its white, black, and tan fur was better groomed than its apparent owner.
“Hush, Akiva,” the stranger rumbled, and the dog quietened.
Uncertain of its nature considering the glowering man at its side, I took another step back.
“Watch it or you’ll end up in the water,” the man said blandly. “I won’t hurt you. Neither will Akiva.” He patted the dog’s head. “Unless I tell her otherwise.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Unfortunately, you’re not the first tourist to bumble their way onto my island and get stuck. You all seem to deliberately miss the private land signs.”
Realization dawned and a little relief with it. “You’re Ramsay McRae?”
The man gave me a brief nod. “Who are you?”
“I’m Tierney Silver.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The American who bought the guesthouse?”
“That’s right. We’re … Quinn told me we’ll be working together. Right?” The reminder was more for me. Surely, the stranger was harmless if he and Quinn were business partners.
Right?
Instead of answering, he scowled and asked in his anglicized Scottish brogue, “Do you not know how to read then, Ms. Silver?”
“The private land signs? I didn’t see them and Quinn said you wouldn’t mind me taking a look around the island. I’m afraid my curiosity sometimes gets the better of me.” I offered an apologetic smile that usually charmed people.
Not the yeti, apparently.
“I’m talking about the safe crossing times.”
I frowned. “I did check them. I’m good until nearly eleven o’clock this evening.”
