Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(10)

Embarrassment…or ire…Grant wasna certain which colored her features an even deeper shade. Joanna slowly backed away, one hand barely touching the side of the bus while her feet gingerly searched for the broken curb behind her. “I’m sure we’ll bump into you tomorrow at the park. Thanks again, but I’ve got this bunch handled.”

“Nay…” For every inch Joanna shifted back, Grant edged forward. Lore, she’s even lovelier when her color runs high. He gently tapped on the rear hatch of the bus. “I insist. Ye must allow me t’help ye. I canna go home and no’ be able to truthfully defend m’self against whatever scurrilous tales Ramsay and Ross have already told Esme and Máthair about me.”

“Scurrilous?” Joanna repeated. Her frustrated look shifted to a lopsided grin of amusement.

Good. She’s calmin’ herself. “Aye,” Grant said with an exaggerated nod. Now what the hell do I say? ’Twas one thing t’tease and flirt with a lovely lass and easy enough t’talk about everyday matters. But when it came to tryin’ to draw her closer—a woman of this wretched century—what exactly did a man say?

He nodded again and started over. “Aye and for certain, those two brothers of mine will have my entire family believin’ I didna give a whit about yer arse hittin’ the floor so hard that it made yer teeth rattle.” He clamped his mouth shut. Sons a bitches. I canna believe I said that.

Joanna huffed out a giggle and a bit of the tension seemed to melt from her stance.

Lore, what a beauty she is when she laughs. “Have I e’er told ye that when ye laugh, it reaches clear to yer eyes? Makes them spark wi’ fire. Even in this darkness.”

Joanna cleared her throat and looked down at her feet. All mirth left her just as quickly as it had appeared. “Uhm…no. I’m pretty sure I’d remember it if you had said something like that.”

Hell’s demons. I shouldna have said that either. Grant squared off behind the bus, grabbed the handle of the hatch, then looked back at Joanna. “Be a good lass and hit the button t’unlock this beast and I’ll have the bags carried into Mistress Martha’s lobby in no time at all.”

Three of Joanna’s elderly charges came toddling around the street side of the bus and one of them tapped Grant on the shoulder. “I’m Hazel, president of the Alverest Knitting Chicks and Textiles Club, and my bags have the red, white, and blue ribbons tied to the handles. If you’d be so good as to pull them out of there, I’m quite able to carry them myself, thank you.”

Grant had no doubt the woman was quite capable of totin’ her own bags. If not for the skirt and blouse she wore, he’d have mistaken her for a good-sized man. Grant straightened, politely nodded at each of the ladies, and said, “I’m Grant MacDara, and ’tis my pleasure t’help ye all with yer bags.”

Grant silently thanked the old hens for showing up at such an opportune moment. He knew verra well how t’speak to his elders. That mannerly behavior had been ingrained in all the MacDara lads at a young age. He glanced back at Joanna and wiggled the handle of the hatch. “The button, if ye please?”

Joanna rolled her eyes, then pointed her key fob at the back of the bus. The lock on the hatch chirped and the bus’s lights flashed in response. “You’re not gonna leave until I let you help, are you?”

“Aye. Ye’ll find I’m a verra stubborn man.” He ducked his chin to hide the grin he couldn’t quite seem to control. Without looking up, he motioned toward the inn. “Ye’ll find Mistress Martha keeps a cart on the side porch. If ye’ll run and fetch it, I’ll load up the bags.” Perhaps if he entrusted the hardheaded woman with a task, she’d look a bit kindlier toward him. Even in the half-light of the streetlamp, he could tell the lass’s strained patience with the events of the entire evening was near its end.

“Run and fetch it?” Joanna stared at him as though he’d just told her to jump off a cliff. “Seriously?”

“Aye.” Grant pointed again at the side of the old Victorian house that Martha Higgins had restored and turned into the town’s only bed-and-breakfast. “Over there. On the side porch. See it?”

“I know where it is.”

Again, it sounded as though she spoke through clenched teeth. Joanna took a hard-stomping step off the curbed sidewalk and stood so close the heat of her body washed across him, and she further hypnotized him when he took in an intoxicatingly deep breath of her scent. Sweet and fresh woman’s musk. Sultry. Lore, woman. Yer killin’ me.

She pointed a finger at him. “Just to be clear, I’ll go get the cart, but I don’t ‘run and fetch’ anything.” She glared at him, eyes narrowing when he didn’t respond.

One of the old ladies standing behind him poked the small of his back.

Grant blinked. Ahh…I’ve insulted the lass. Need ta explain m’self. She’d ne’er seemed this sensitive before. Of course, he reckoned her pride had been stung a bit back at the café. Pride he understood. He scooped up one of Joanna’s hands and pressed a quick kiss to the silky back of it. “Forgive me. ’Twas just a figure of speech, ye ken?” Still holding tight to her hand caught up against his chest, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I’d ne’er mean to imply anythin’ ill about ye. Ye ken I think yer a fine woman, Joanna, a fine woman indeed.”