Dressed to Kilt Read Free Page B

sinister. Checking the time, I realized I’d begun sleeping longer and later than I had during the summer months. Days were short and nights were long now as the shortest day of the year approached. Fourteen hours of sunlight were distant memories as we suffered through a mere seven hours at best.
    Today’s sun wouldn’t rise until approximately eight thirty, and it would disappear completely by four, already beginning to fade from sight as early as three. That is, if we even sawthe sun. Mostly we were grateful for the light it emitted through the cloud cover.
    I wasn’t about to dredge up the specifics of what I was sure had been a terrible dream. Let sleeping dogs lie, as the saying goes.
    Speaking of dogs. John Derry, Vicki’s brother-in-law and Kirstine’s husband, had already shoveled a path from the main house to my cottage. He wasn’t in sight now, but there was no doubt that he had done the hard labor. He always did.
    Cup of coffee in hand, I assessed the white world outside my window.
    Coco and Pepper ran along the path and began yipping at my door. They must have been snow pile diving, because they were coated in the white, fluffy stuff. Or rather, they had been, before they shook it all over my floor and pajama pant legs.
    â€œI don’t know why I let you in here,” I scolded them lightly. The truth was I loved the little Westies like my own. I couldn’t think of a better way to brighten up the day than with a visit from them. They were the perfect antidote to this morning’s gloomy beginning, which had been inspired by elusive imagery produced by my renegade mind.
    The two lounged by the fire while I showered in the hottest water my body could tolerate. Then I dressed in warm trousers with leggings underneath and a cotton sweater. The snow had stopped falling sometime during the night, but the weather report had forecast wind and a lingering chill.
    I poured another cup of instant coffee, something I’d gotten used to over time and now found pretty good. Sitting at the table, I nibbled on one of the cheese scones I’d purchased from A Taste of Scotland, my favorite bakery. The Scotspronounce the name of this delicacy much differently than we do in the States. Here it phonetically sounds like “skon,” rhyming with “gone.” This one was baked with Scottish cheddar cheese from the Isle of Mull. It was delicious.
    Vicki had finally installed Internet access at the farm, so I started up my laptop. I still did all my writing at the pub, finding it more conducive to the creative process. At home, I was easily distracted by pretty much everything and everyone, especially by my friend and her canines. But really anything could interrupt my thought process. A quick glance out the window now with a view of the hillside was enough to stop my brain from functioning as it should.
    Because across the lane, framed by the hills, I spotted an enormous red deer stag, with a thick winter coat and a huge rack of antlers. He must have sensed my interest, because he swung his head in my direction, then turned slowly and sprang across the base of the hill, disappearing from sight.
    Glancing down at my laptop, I found a short e-mail message waiting in my inbox. It had been posted several hours before and it was from Ami Pederson.
    â€œI’m excited about tonight’s whisky tasting,” she wrote, as though she were the one going. “What do you think Leith will wear under his kilt?”
    That again? You’d think she’d have some interest in what
I
was wearing. I suspected that Ami was living vicariously through more than her own fictitious tales.
    Ami is a bestselling historical romance author. By bestselling, I mean mega-famous. And she’s a push-and-shove kind of woman who always gets her way in the end.
    â€œShoes and socks,” I wrote back, grinning as I hit the send button.
    I owe so much to Ami in spite of her annoying persistence