“Now, Miss Porter, do you still think it was my Colin you met?”
Abby could only shake her head, waiting for her brain and her tongue to catch up with one another. This was altogether just plain wrong.
He’d lied to her.
He’d come home with her, climbed his naked butt into her bed, and lied to her.
“I apologize for troubling you, Mrs. MacAlister. I was so sure that . . . but, obviously, I was mistaken and I’m sorry for taking up your time.”
He’d lied. To her. God only knew who he really was.
Her face burned with embarrassment and anger. The pitying look on Margaret’s face only made it worse.
“Dinna you worry yerself over yer mistake, lassie. MacAlister’s a common enough name in these parts. Likely you misunderstood the gentleman as to the name of his home.”
Yeah? No, not likely at all. He had lied to her. Plain, bold-faced lied.
Abby’s breath caught as she made her way down the stone steps toward the spot where she’d left the car. The cold mist stung her face, helping her to concentrate on something other than the tears blurring her vision.
Now what? This had been her last hope for getting him out of her head. Now she’d never find him, and that could mean she’d be haunted by him for the rest of her life.
She climbed into the car, slammed the door shut, and leaned her head back against the leather headrest. “Liar!” She spat the condemnation into the empty car as if she confronted him.
Damn him! He’d had absolutely no reason to lie to her. It wasn’t like she was going to turn into some psycho stalker who’d come looking for him.
She stuck the key into the ignition, biting back a bitter laugh as she realized that was exactly what she’d turned into. She’d traveled over four thousand miles to Scotland and spent the whole of today trying to hunt the man down.
No wonder he’d lied to her. A great-looking guy like that probably had women stalking him on at least two continents. And clearly she had turned into one of those stalkers.
“Thanks a whole hell of a lot, Casey.”
No, that wasn’t fair. This wasn’t any more her friend’s fault than it was her own. It washisfault.
Margaret had said that MacAlister was a common name here, so his telling her his name wasColin MacAlistercould well be the Scottish equivalent of introducing yourself as John Smith, for all she knew. He must have thought himself pretty clever pulling that one on her.
Didn’t that just serve her right for picking some stranger up in a bar? All things considered, she had absolutely no right to feel so horribly betrayed. After all, he was nothing more than that: a stranger.
And yet betrayed was exactly what she felt. Hurt, betrayed, lost, and gullible.
“And stupid,” she muttered. That’s really what she was. She certainly couldn’t leave off her growing list how utterly, completely stupid she felt.
With a deep sigh, Abby put the car in drive, pausing before she moved forward to wait for the dark blue car idling across from her to pull out of his space. When the driver simply stared at her but made no effort to move his vehicle, she pulled forward.
“Men,” she fumed aloud, casting an indignant look his direction. “That one’s likely so busy trying to figure out a fake name he could give some poor woman, he’s just sitting there like a lump on a log.” Well, too bad for him. He’d have to follow her now. Hopefully, wherever that woman was, she’d be smarter than Abby had been. For her own part, she sure as heck wouldn’t be fooled by that trick twice.
Abby nosed the car forward but slammed her foot on the brakes as one little detail slipped into her mind.
How could she have forgotten something so important?
Behind her, brakes squealed and gravel flew as the driver of the car she’d seen earlier slammed on his brakes to avoid rear-ending her.
Their eyes met briefly in the reflection of the rearview mirror and Abby mouthed a quicksorrybefore pulling forward again, her mood too lightened to allow her to dwell on feeling guilty for her little driving indiscretion.
Colin might have lied about his home, but he hadn’t given her a fake name and she had proof.
She’d spoken to his cousin on the telephone that day to arrange to have him picked up from her house. She’d seen Mairi MacKiernan Navarro, a woman she knew personally, drive up in front of her house and take him away.
He might not be from Dun Ard, or at least notthisDun Ard, but that didn’t mean she’d never be able to find him. All she had to do was call up her old professor and ask where her cousin was now.
