Suddenly Single (A Lake Haven Novel Book 4)(10)

By: Julia London

The corner of his mouth rose up so fleetingly that it was possible she’d imagined it. “You canna eat Wi-Fi.”

“More’s the pity. But I need to email my dad and tell him where I am.”

“In the lounge,” he said.

“Great. Thanks again, Edan. Good night.”

“Good night, then.”

She walked out with the vision of a pair of muscular legs beneath that kilt dancing in her mind’s eye.

Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into his, she thought, in her best Humphrey Bogart accent.


The sun slipped through the seam between the drapes to wake Edan the next morning. He groaned, sat up and looked about the spacious and fairly empty master suite he occupied in the turret of the old inn. His kilt was on the chair where he’d tossed it last night. His boxers were hanging off the post at the foot of the bed. His shirt was lying crumpled up on the floor. Sandra, his late aunt’s long-time partner, had minded this place for years and would not be happy with his slovenly dispatch of last night.

He hauled himself out of bed. He shoved his hands through his hair and padded naked across the room to the en suite. As he walked by one of the windows, a flash of orange caught his eye. Edan paused. He took a step backward and squinted out the window. That was the motor mouth Jenny, judging by the caramel hair. She was on the first tee of the little 9-hole golf course he’d put in two years ago to attract more guests. She was bent over, her hands and feet on the ground, her hair pooling on the orange mat she’d spread beneath her.

What the bloody hell was she doing? Edan squinted as she suddenly moved one leg back, then rose up, lifting her arms high in the air as she arched her back.

Yoga? On his tee box? What time was it? He glanced around to the clock on the mantel above the hearth. Half past six in the morning. Was she mad? It was a bloody golf course! It was too early for controversy, and yoga on a tee box was definitely his idea of controversy. There was a time and place for everything.

He walked on. Stomping, really, still disconcerted and at odds with the world. Between the wedding and her unexpected arrival, he couldn’t seem to find his bearings.

He was being ridiculous, he knew. Yesterday had been a perfect day—the air had been still and crystal clear, the hills around Lake Haven a verdant-green backdrop to the dancing of inebriated, happy adults. The bride and groom had made a beautiful couple.

Edan had known Rosalyn and Hugh since he’d come over from Scotland five years ago to help his aunt with the inn. They’d come a year before him, two ex-patriot Scots who had happened upon work at the inn. At the time, they’d been merely friends. Edan had known almost the moment they’d fallen in love.

Or rather, Audra, his ex-fiancée, had figured it out and had told him.

It had taken Rosalyn and Hugh a while to make their way to the altar. Edan and Audra were supposed to have been at the altar a full three months before them, but that obviously hadn’t happened.

Still, the wedding for Rosalyn and Hugh had been everything Edan could have hoped for them. They were like family to him, especially since he really had none of his own here now. His aunt was gone, his fiancée was gone. All he had was this bloody inn.

The Cassian Inn was an old family estate, left to his American mother and her sister. It had been in the family for generations, but Edan’s mother had met a Scot and married him, and had given the inn to Clara. When Edan was nineteen, his mother lost the battle with breast cancer. Fifteen years later, Aunt Clara was diagnosed with the same aggressive form of cancer and had died two years ago.

She’d left her money to Sandra, and the inn to him.

Edan had grown up in Balhaire, a tiny village in the shadow of an old Scottish Highland fortress by the same name. He was the son of a fisherman who was generally out of reach physically and emotionally. Edan’s older brother had gone into fishing with his father, and Edan had, too. But when Clara had asked him to come to America and help with the inn just before his thirtieth birthday, he’d lept at the chance. He liked fishing—he just preferred it standing in a trout stream, and not out on the ocean. He did not care for deep-sea commercial fishing at all.