Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(70)

Neither Grant nor the horse moved. They remained in the middle of the road. Waiting. Grant stared at the bus with a murderous scowl and lifted his hammer.

“Open the door!” She pounded on the steel pole. “Open the damn door,” she repeated with a firm shake of the driver’s shoulder to break him free of his stupor.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, never taking his eyes off the strange sight blocking the road.

Joanna bounded down the steps and ran to Grant. She came to a halt within a few feet of him, suddenly at a loss for words. What the hell would she do if he didn’t forgive her and take her back? She reached inside her shirt and fished out the MacDara brooch she’d fastened to a ribbon and worn every day since the minute Grant had given it to her. She cupped it in her hand, sent up a silent prayer, then pressed a kiss to the colorful stone before letting it fall back on her shirt in full view.

“Grant…” What could she say? Better yet—what should she say?

“Aye?” Grant slowly lowered his hammer and rested it atop one bulging thigh.

She moved a few steps closer, swiping the tears off her cheeks. She chewed on her bottom lip, wishing like hell she could figure out exactly what Grant was thinking so she’d know what to say. Finally, she gave up. Either he’d forgive her or he wouldn’t. She pressed her hand on top of the engagement pin hanging between her breasts.

“Grant,” she started again as she walked toward him. “Grant, can I please come home?”

Grant’s eyes flared wider the barest bit, but just enough for her to notice. The fingers of the hand he had resting on the lip of his saddle flexed open then slowly curled into a fist.

“Home?” he repeated. “You?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Home.”

“How long?”

“Forever.”

Grant didn’t answer, just stared at her with an unreadable expression for what seemed like an eternity.

“Please,” she whispered in an even quieter voice that she doubted he could hear.

In one smooth motion, Grant dismounted and stood in front of her. Hesitantly, he drew her close, slid one finger under her chin, then gently but firmly lifted. “Forever? Ye swear it t’me?”

Joanna reached up and cupped his face, rubbing her thumb across the overgrown stubble shadowing his cheek. “I swear it. There’s not a thing on earth that will ever make me leave you again. No job. No amount of money. Nothing.” She sniffed, blinking fast as the tears started again. “I’m so sorry that I was such a fool. Please let me come home.”

Grant answered with a kiss.

Cheers erupted from every window of the bus. The driver honked the horn and flashed the lights.

Joanna tucked her head to Grant’s chest, then wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “Take me home, Grant.”

“Gladly,” he said as he swept her up into his arms, placed her at the front of the saddle, then took his place behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and snugged her back against him. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “One more thing, lass, t’seal the bargain. No more condoms, aye?”

“Aye,” she laughed. “No more condoms.”





Epilogue


“Unfasten it. I can’t breathe.” Joanna held tight to the bedpost while Lucia unhooked the dress of the lightest ecru lace that had fit quite nicely just four short weeks ago. Apparently, the breast-milk fairy had outdone herself with the magical boob-growing wand and her stomach was already developing a slight baby bump, rendering the lovely fitted dress of lace unwearable. “What am I going to wear—a freaking bedsheet?”

“You can’t get married in a bedsheet.” Lucia slid the dress down Joanna’s arms, helped her step out of it, then put it back on the hanger. “You want people to think your wedding has a toga party theme?”

Joanna sagged down to the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. “At this point, I don’t care what they think. All I know is that I’m miserable and I’m not even out of the first trimester yet. You weren’t this big this early with T. I can’t believe I’m already this huge.”

“You’re not huge, and I wasn’t that big at this stage because I only had one bun in the oven—not two.”

The faint strain of bagpipes, fiddles, and drums sounded from down beside the river. Sunset would be in just a little under an hour. It was almost time.

Joanna glanced toward the window, then down at her rounding stomach. “What the hell am I going to wear to marry your father?”

“Here. Wear this.” Lucia emerged from the closet with a sleeveless maxi-dress made from a gauzy slinky material, tie-dyed in spiraling shades of aqua to the deepest navy blue.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It’s this or the bedsheet. What’s it going to be? We’re out of time.” Lucia pulled the dress off the hanger and gathered it up to pull it over Joanna’s head. “Now, here. Lift up your arms.”

A loud banging shook the bedroom door. “Mama! Auntie Jo! Uncle Grant said you two need to hurry up. He sent me up here to make sure y’all hadn’t run away.”

Lucia rolled her eyes, then jerked her chin for Joanna to raise her arms higher.