Suits, suits, and more suits. Guinevere sighed heavily inside her head. A goddamn linen and silk convention. She glanced at her reflection in a mirrored plant stand and grimaced mildly. Tan short skirt, matching jacket, silk blouse, brown hair pulled back in a bun with those little fashionable wisps hanging down the sides of my face. Ick. I've become my worst nightmare -- a professional business- person. Winning a small lottery jackpot had given her the freedom to move to Scotland and change her name, but a supplementary income was useful, and Guin couldn't imagine what she'd do with herself if she didn't hold down a job. Can't play on the net forever, she had told herself, even though most of her friends were on-line. Doing marketing consulting for an import/export company had sounded like a great job -- and it was, most of the time. Except for client-entertaining parties like this one. The elegance of the home of ScotExport's owner Iain McClury only made Guin more uncomfortable in her surroundings. She gave her figure one more glance. Despite having lost most of the weight she'd wanted to lose, Guin thought the suit picked out every flaw in her figure. A man must have designed this, she thought sarcastically.
And speaking of men, she mused, scanning the room, men, men everywhere and not one that is worth my time. They either just want to horizontal tango, or they want to prove they're better and smarter than you are. I should have known better than to hope that my kiltboy hunting would be any more fruitful here than it was in the States. Snagging another glass of wine from one of the waiters wending their way amidst the guests, she mingled her way toward Giles MacCormick, her boss. Now if I can just find an excuse to go home early, I'll be fine.
"Guin, come here," Giles called, waving her over. "I want you to meet some people." Ick, Guin thought as she plastered on a smile and headed toward the group. "Guinevere Barnes, I'd like you to meet Jason Miles, our London distribution man. And this is Andrew Beaton, a friend of mine. He deals in antiques and trades through us quite often." Guin politely shook hands with both men. "Ms. Barnes is quite integral to our operations here. In fact, I know she has to be in quite early tomorrow, so Guinevere, feel free to leave any time now, so as to get enough sleep." Giles' eyes twinkled conspiratorially at her. God bless your soul, Giles my friend. God bless you down to your little toes.
"Guinevere Barnes! Just who I was looking for." The call came from Gary Martinez, Giles' boss. Guin tried her best not to look crestfallen as Martinez approached. She caught one Andrew Beaton laughing at her from behind his glass of wine. Well, at least someone's bright enough to catch on to what's going on. And not bad looking, either, she added to herself casually, glancing over his medium frame modeling an Armani suit, topped with short, light brown hair and deep blue-grey eyes.
"Ah, Mr. Martinez, what can I do for you?" she said, plastic smile remaining firmly in place.
"I wanted you to meet some of the clients for the MacIntyre deal. Please, my dear, this way..." As Martinez led Ms. Barnes away, Andrew Beaton followed them with his eyes.
"So, Giles," he said casually, "what more can you tell me about Guinevere Barnes?"
Giles looked at him in surprise. "Professionally, she's a hard worker, gives it her all. Great lady to work with."
"And non-professionally?"
Giles laughed. "Well, she's single, if that's what you're getting at. But I get the feeling she's not into making a commitment at the moment, either. She's a great person with a rich sense of humor, if a bit sarcastic sometimes." He looked at his friend questioningly. "Showing an interest in a new lady, Andrew? It's been a while, I know."
"Don't jump to conclusions, Giles. Just keeping an eye on the possibilities."
After a half hour, Guin managed to disengage herself from the new clientele. She opened the door and let herself out onto the patio, taking a deep breath of night air as she walked to the railing.
"You can smell the heather from here," a voice said behind her.
"Wha...?" She spun around, startled.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Andrew Beaton stepped from the shadows toward her.
"Oh, I...I didn't know you were here. I'm sorry. Did you want to be alone?" Guin could feel his eyes on her, and it made her nervous.
"No. The company is quite welcome, in fact." Andrew walked casually over to Guin and leaned on his forearms against the railing next to her. "The heather fields are over there," he said, gesturing into the darkness in the direction the wind was coming from. "My home is just on the other side of them. It makes for a wonderful atmosphere."
Guin breathed deeply and sighed. "I love the smell of heather. I didn't know that until I moved here."
"You're American." It was a simple statement, rather than a question. "So why did you move here, Guinevere Barnes?" He looked over at her, raising one eyebrow.
"I don't know," she replied, her eyes scanning the great dark expanse of land in front of her. "Because I had the opportunity, I suppose. I'm fascinated by Scotland, its history, its people. And then there's kiltboy hunting." Guin frowned. Why in God's name did I let that slip out?
"Kiltboy hunting?" he repeated curiously. Andrew's brief staccato laugh tickled up and down Guin's spine. "I don't suppose you want to tell me what that is." His sincere smile was both charming and contagious.
Guin grinned self-consciously. "Well, it's a concept a friend of mine and I came up with. We're both interested in Scotland, and decided that we needed men that, Scottish or no, would at least be secure enough in themselves to wear a kilt anyway." Guin laughed at her own silliness. "In fact, she came out here when I first moved, and we did do a little searching. Didn't turn up much, unfortunately." She smiled over at Andrew. "So, you don't sound like you're from these parts either." Guin didn't want to bluntly ask about his mottled accent, and hoped he'd take up her cue.
"I was born in the Highlands, but I've lived, well, lots of different places. But the Highlands are home. My heart is here."
Guin nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Well, I hate to cut this short, Mr. Beaton, but I really ought to call a cab or get someone to walk me home, before I get nabbed to meet more clients."
"I'd like to walk you home, Guinevere." Andrew took a small step forward, then stopped. Guin looked up at him uncertainly. "Giles will vouch for me, I'm safe enough."
"Why do you want to walk me home?" Guin gazed at him through narrowed, discerning eyes.
"Just to talk. I promise." Andrew raised his hand. "Scout's honor."
Guin's look remained skeptical, but she shrugged her shoulders. "I have to say goodnight to Giles first." She strode back into the room and was quickly absorbed into the throng of the party. Andrew followed a few steps behind.
"I'm gonna go, Giles," Guin interrupted the small group her boss was addressing, briefly taking his arm. "Mr. Beaton has offered to walk me home." Her eyes asked Giles the question she couldn't speak out loud.
Giles raised his eyebrows briefly in surprise, but simply said, "Oh, well then, you're in good hands. See you in the morning."
"Yes, see you then." If Giles is comfortable with him, then I guess I can be too. Besides, she knew her self-defense moves if it came down to needing them. But what was that number one rule...ah, yes, don't put yourself in dangerous situations. Guin shrugged off the thought as she went to collect her coat. Her own sixth-sense alarms weren't going off, and if Giles wasn't concerned, she wasn't going to be either. Alert, yes; concerned, no.
Andrew held the door open for her to exit. As they descended the steps, he slid his hands into the pockets of his tan trenchcoat and smiled over at her. "So what kind of a name is Guinevere Barnes?"
"It's just my name," she responded nonchalantly. "Everybody calls me Guin, though. So what kind of a name is Andrew Beaton?" she countered.
"Andrew is a good Scottish name, and this particular line of Beatons is a sept of the MacLeods," he responded.
"Harris or Lewis?"
"Harris. Do you know a lot about Scottish clans?" he peered at her as the darkness all but swallowed their forms.
"Some. Just a hobby of sorts, I guess. Like learning Scot's Gaelic. I'm not very good with it yet, but it caught my attention. And I like language. I speak Russian, although that's getting rusty with disuse. I used to know some French too." She broke off and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm prattling."
"Prattle away. I don't mind." His dark eyes glittered with amusement.
"You want to hear all about my boring life?" She laughed.
"It doesn't sound so boring to me. Not half as boring as being an antique dealer."
"Actually, to me that sounds very interesting."
"Well then you'll have to stop by my store sometime," he offered noncommittally.
"Yeah, I will." After walking a few minutes in silence, Guinevere stifled a yelp as her ankle twisted in an unseen hole in the ground.
"Are you okay?" he asked, quickly closing the short distance between them.
"Yeah." Guin turned her ankle in its socket to be sure. "Yeah, I'm fine. Stupid holes." Andrew offered her his arm, and she took it gratefully.
"So what else do you do with your time besides attend boring client parties?" he inquired as they continued on their way.
"Well, I volunteer at the women's shelter and children's home." She smiled at his look of surprise. "It's completely selfish, really. I like being needed, being the sympathizer. Makes me feel useful, important."
"And your work doesn't make you feel useful and important."
"To a degree, but not in a way that really counts, you know? Not in a way that directly touches other people." They stopped in front of a three-story house with a sign reading "Beardsley's Bed & Breakfast" in front of it. "Well, this is it," she said. Wordlessly, Andrew turned with her and walked her up the steps to the porch. "I don't know how they make it, I think I'm the only one living here right now besides the Beardsleys." Andrew kept her hand in his as she turned to him. "Thank you for walking me home."
"It was my pleasure," he responded. Leaning across, he kissed her briefly on the cheek, then released her hand and trotted down the steps, calling a gentle "goodnight" over his shoulder.
"Goodnight," she answered, watching his form casually slip into the darkness. What a strange man, she thought to herself. He really did want nothing more than to walk me home and talk to me. He didn't rave about his great accomplishments or wealth, he listened to every word I said, and didn't even claim a kiss much less push for the bed-board boogie... Guin's eyes went wide as she realized that this was exactly the kind of man that just a few hours ago she had sworn didn't exist. Dashing for the railing, she leaned out to try to catch a final glimpse of this mythological creature, but the shadows had swallowed all traces of him. Damn...Prince Charming shows up, and I let him get away. She sighed. Oh well, it was probably just an illusion anyway. If I got to know him, he wouldn't be the man I imagine him to be. Still, she searched the darkness for several minutes before turning back and unlocking the door.
Andrew watched from the shadows until Guin entered the house. He had sensed even before he had talked to her that she was different than the businessmen he knew, even different than Giles, who had impressed Andrew with his no-nonsense style when they met two years ago. Andrew was intrigued by this woman: she felt, she cared; she had interests outside of work; and she had a strong affinity for the land he called home. Yet she had a business sense that made her indispensable to Giles. His curiosity piqued, Andrew turned back to the dark road, making his way back to the McClury estate, and his car parked there.
"Urrrrgggggghhh!" Guin growled as she slammed her hand on the desk. "I hate computers."
"No you don't," Giles remarked with a grin as he passed, "you just hate presentation software."
"Correction accepted," she acknowledged with a weary smile.
The telephone on Guin's desk made a soft buzz, followed by the secretary's voice. "Ms. Barnes, there's a Mr. Beaton on line one for you."
"Thanks, Margaret." Giles raised his eyebrows at her in silent questioning. "There's nothing going on, Giles. He just walked me home. We talked. He's a nice guy. And no, I have no idea why he's calling. Go away." She waved Giles off with a smile, picked up the receiver and pushed the appropriate button. "Hello?"
"Hello, Guin. It's Andrew Beaton."
"Hello, Andrew. What can I do for you?" Guin settled back in her chair, not sure what to expect. At least he isn't a total mythological creature, she told herself. After all, he's on the phone right now.
"I was wondering if you were free this Saturday. I have several horses and two hundred acres, I thought perhaps we could do some riding."
Guin furrowed her brow. "I haven't had much experience riding."
"The horses are gentle, I'm sure you won't have any trouble."
"Well...I'll have to see. I don't have my planner on hand at the moment. Can I call you back in a bit and let you know?"
"Um, sure, that's fine." As he gave her the numbers to the antique store and his home, he fretted over her procrastination. It's just a horseback ride, I'm not asking you to marry me.
"Great. I'll get back to you on that. Was there anything else?"
Anything else?!? Are you kidding? "No. I'll be waiting for your call."
"Great. Talk to you later."
Andrew put down the receiver and shook his head in amazement. Women. More than 400 years of experience, and I still don't get them sometimes. He picked up the MacLeod insignia pin from his desk and turned it in his hand. Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod...you never imagined you'd be getting yourself into this much trouble 480 years after your birth. The phone rang once, then a second time before he picked up the handset. "Beaton Antiques."
"I am never going to get used to calling you Andrew Beaton. I still think you should have gone back to using Connor MacLeod."
"Ah, Rachel, it's good to hear your voice too." He laughed at the blunt way his adopted daughter and former assistant treated him. "Still can't keep from giving me motherly advice, I see."
"No, I can't. You're in a terribly good mood. What's happened in the Beaton universe to make that happen?"
"Just making some new and interesting acquaintances."
"I've known you for more than 50 years, Connor, you can't fool me. You're in love."
"Love is for poets, Rachel."
"I've heard that before. Hmm, and it seems that right after that you married Brenda Wyatt."
Connor closed his eyes. "Yes, I did. And I'm paying the price for that. And for Alex."
"It wasn't your fault that Brenda passed away. And Alex didn't leave you because of what you are, she left you because the Highlands you love so much bored her. She wasn't good for you anyway. So confess, dear. What's her name? What is she like? Has she met John?"
Connor laughed. "I just met her last night myself, Rachel. She seems like a nice lady. And if she decides to take me up on my offer to go riding on Saturday, she'll probably meet my son then. Are you satisfied?"
"Never!" He could hear Rachel's smile through the receiver. "Oh, Connor, I still miss working for you. I just miss you, really. It's been too long since we've seen each other. That's why I called. If I can put together a little trip, would you mind having a houseguest for a little while in, say, a couple of months?"
"You and Frank?"
"Just me, I'm afraid. He doesn't really like to travel, and I don't think I could drag him out there."
"That's fine by me, Rachel. I'd love to see you."
"And then I can check on...what did you say her name was?"
"I didn't." Connor chuckled into the phone. "It's Guinevere."
"That's quite a name. I look forward to meeting her."
"You're jumping to conclusions, Rachel..."
"I'm looking forward to seeing you both. Good afternoon, Connor."
Connor put down the receiver with an exasperated sigh. Good old Rachel.
The phone rang again. As he picked up the handset, the faint desire to say "MacLeod Antiques" crept into his mind. "Beaton Antiques."
"Andrew?" the now familiar voice of Guin Barnes queried in his ear.
"That's me. Hi Guin."
"Hi," she responded, suddenly caught in a wave of shyness. "Is that offer for Saturday still open?"
"It is until you accept it. Eleven o'clock, take it or leave it."
"Then I accept. But it might help if I had directions." Guin scribbled the instructions on her legal pad as he rattled them off. "Great. I'll see you Saturday at eleven."
Giles' face popped around the corner as Guin put down the receiver. "You are so nosy," she said teasingly.
"Yes, I am. So, you accepted?" He leaned on the doorframe and gave her a sly wink.
"We're going riding, Giles. It's not like we're getting married or anything."
"Hmmm...one thing could always lead to another, Guin." He smiled at her, but she simply gave a low growl and made a face at him.
"You'd better get your imagination out of the gutter, young man, because it's not going to happen."
Despite admonishing herself for doing so, Guin was eagerly anticipating her ride with Andrew. If nothing else, the talking should be interesting, she thought, attempting to be nonchalant as she pulled into a narrow paved lane that led to the Beaton house. Here and there along the roadway and in the land that extended to both sides, heather grew wildly in amongst the grass. She rolled down the window of her grey Volvo wagon to take a deep breath.
Guin was impressed with the house as it came into view. Large without being overwhelming, the architecture and dark, warm colors blended in well with the surrounding trees and natural hills beyond it. Guin pulled into the drive behind a racy silver Porsche. An all-terrain Range Rover in cobalt blue was parked next to it.
Andrew appeared at the front door as Guin disembarked from her car, and he waved. As she headed for the house, she smoothed out the heavy cotton blouse tucked into her jeans and pulled the end of her ponytail over her shoulder. Guin stopped in mid-step as she realized what Andrew was wearing. It was neither the heather-grey tunic or the hiking boots that got to her. Rather, it was the knee-length kilt in MacLeod tartan that made her cover her mouth before she could let out a startled laugh. Nice legs, she thought, and snorted as she tried to stifle further laughter.
"What?" he said, the innocent tone of his voice betrayed by the twinkle in his eyes and the grin on his face. "Haven't you ever seen a kiltboy before? I'm afraid, however, I'm a more modern...or perhaps modest?...kiltboy." Andrew lifted his kilt to show off the matching tartan boxers beneath.
Guin could stand it no longer. She laughed out loud until she couldn't breathe, tears streaming down her face. "You...are...just...so..." she gasped out.
"Wonderful?" he filled in for her with a grin.
She shook her head. "Weird!"
He frowned tauntingly. "You don't like it?"
Guin shook her head. "I love it!" she said, still trying to recover her breath. "You are too funny. You don't know how much I needed that after a very long week at work."
"I try my best. Shall we go?" Just then, the front door came open, and a boy in his early teens stepped out. "John, come meet my friend here."
The boy eyed Andrew and his kilt with both contempt and love. "Dad, you are such a geek."
"I know. You've told me a million times before. John, this is Guin. Guin, this is my son, John."
"Hi, John." Guin held out here hand for him to shake. Anxious about this meeting, Andrew was quite aware of the subtle disappointment in her eyes at the revelation that he had a son.
"Pleasure to meet you," John responded quietly, returning the handshake. "I'm going to Peter's, I'll be back later Dad."
"Did you..."
"Yes, I did my chores."
"Good. Have fun." Andrew waved as his son ran off, then turned back to Guin. "Shall we?"
The trainer had the horses waiting for them. Andrew helped Guin onto the back of a gentle bay, then hoisted himself and a knapsack containing their lunch onto the back of a beautiful dapper grey animal. They started off down a trail leading out from the back of the house and into the remaining vestiges of morning fog, the acreage of Beaton's estate laid out before them like an impressionist woodland scene. Guin realized that most of Andrew's land was virtual wilderness, with only the trails and bridges that ran through it requiring occasional maintenance to keep them from becoming impassable. The smell of fir and pine mingled with heather as they rode out of sight of the house; burns and streams were scattered across the landscape, along with copses of trees and wide open fields of grass and heather. The peace of it all seeped into Guin's bones while they trotted along at a leisurely pace.
Andrew stopped alongside a narrow stream, dismounting from his horse, then helping Guin to do the same. She looked up at him questioningly. "Now what?"
He signaled for her to wait. Opening the sack he had been carrying, he pulled out a light blanket and spread it in the shade near the stream. As Andrew continued to remove items from the sack, a light meal soon appeared: fresh, crusty french bread; brie; strawberries; chocolates; a bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes. Guin realized her jaw was hanging down, and worked to close it as Andrew finished the setting and held out his hand to her. Stunned, she allowed him to gently lower her to sit on the blanket. Cautiously removing the cork so as not to spook the horses, Andrew served them both helpings of champagne, bread and cheese on fragile-looking china plates. Guin ate slowly, staring at the man across from her in wonder and awe. He's a myth, she said to herself. This is a mythological land and he's a mythological creature. So how did I get sucked into this faery tale?
Andrew raised his eyebrows at her. "You're looking at me as if I'm a two-headed fire-breathing dragon."
"Maybe you are." She laughed. "Or at least about as real as one."
"Oh?" He gave her a puzzled look.
"Never mind." Guin picked up her champagne flute. "A toast: To the Highlands."
"To boring, tasteless client parties that bring people together." He grinned.
She raised an eyebrow wickedly. "To two-headed, fire-breathing dragons."
"I'll drink to that." They clinked glasses and sipped. Andrew set his plate aside, picked up a piece of chocolate and held it out toward Guin. When she reached for it, however, he pulled it back and shook his head. Her puzzled look gave way to an understanding one, and she flushed brightly as Andrew's laugh tingled down her spine. "Try again," he said tauntingly, holding the chocolate closer. She leaned forward and took the morsel between her teeth. The touch of his fingers on her lips sent a chill of excitement through her. Down girl, she told her self. Heel, heel. Good girl.
Several more pieces of chocolate, not to mention a few strawberries, went down the same way before Guin got up the nerve to try it herself. Picking out a small, ripe strawberry, she held it out to Andrew. He bit the fruit right next to her fingers, his lips gently sucking the juice from her fingertips and his eyes noting every expression on her face as he did so. I don't want to do that again, do I? she thought, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Darn straight I do. This time Guin picked up a cherry-filled chocolate. Intentionally she held it a little too firmly, and as he bit into it, the cherry filling seeped down her fingers. Raising an eyebrow devilishly, he held her hand and delicately licked all remaining traces of the chocolate and its center from her fingers. Guin took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I think I've had enough."
"Are you sure?"
Guin didn't have to open her eyes to know the look on his face. "Yes." She leaned back on the blanket, taking a deep breath and expelling the air in a long, contented sigh. "This is nice."
Shrugging to himself, Andrew cleared the remaining lunch items from the blanket, kicked off his boots and stretched out next to her. "Yes, it is." He paused a beat, then added, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"What brought the great marketing consultant Guinevere Barnes to the back woods of Scotland?" He glanced over at Guin, but her eyes were closed as she absorbed the sunlight beginning to infiltrate their shady spot.
"You just like saying my name, don't you?" she countered, raising an eyebrow amusedly without opening her eyes.
"Yes, I do. Now answer the question," he responded, folding his hands over his stomach.
"Okay. This is going to sound silly. I won a lottery jackpot, and this is the one place in the world that I wanted to be. Does that sound weird?"
"Not at all." Andrew thought of all the times he'd been away from Scotland in his half-millennium lifetime, and how nice it was to be back where he belonged. "So why are you working if you have all that money?"
"Well, it wasn't a huge lottery, so a little extra income is nice. And I don't know what I'd do with myself if I didn't have something to set my days and weeks apart, as well as something to give me purpose." Guin took another slow, deep breath of Highland air. "I'm not so sure about this consulting thing anymore, though. It's not quite what I really want to be doing, but it's a good job and I work with good people."
Andrew raised himself up on his elbows and gazed at her face. "If you could do anything in the world you wanted to, what would you do?"
Guin furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't know, really. I know at 27 I should have outgrown my belief that I could change the world single-handedly, but I still want to do that, you know? I want to make a difference."
"You could go into politics."
She grimaced, eyes still closed. "Ick. Not on your life. I don't want to play those kinds of games. I want to make a real difference. Have real meaning in my life. I just don't know where to start."
"Just start with one person at a time. Every little difference you make, it all adds up."
"I suppose so. I guess that's what I'm doing with my volunteer work now. I thrive on that sense of doing good for someone else."
Suddenly the sun was blocked from Guin's face. As she opened her eyes, she started at the sight of Andrew's face right above her. Her heart raced, and before it could slow down, he leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. Warmth spread through her, and a flush came to her cheeks. She watched him pull back, sitting on his legs and gazing at her with a sparkle in his eyes. "Is that it?" she asked with a touch of sarcasm.
"What, do you want me to take you here and now?" he asked, playfully straddling her and leaning toward her face.
Guin cupped his chin in the palm of her hand. "Actually," she began, placing one leg over his calf, "no." With a swift shove she rolled Andrew off of her and onto his back. Guin looked down into his startled face for a moment, then leaned down and gave him a deep, lingering kiss. "That's what I wanted," she said with a grin. She watched his eyes carefully as he gazed silently upon her, reveling in the affection revealed there, disturbed by the sadness and pain that lurked behind it. He seemed an old soul, with centuries of grief and joy reflected in his eyes, and her heart leapt out to him. Slowly Andrew reached up one hand to caress her face. He tugged at the ponytail holder at the nape of her neck and loosened her hair to fall around her shoulders and face. Running one hand through her hair, he closed his eyes and pulled her closer to him with his other hand. Guin rested herself next to him, placing one palm over his heart and laying her cheek against his shoulder. I should be terrified, the realization surfaced at the back of her mind. Instead, I feel so safe and loved and appreciated -- for the first time in a very long time, if ever. She closed her eyes. Please, God, I know this isn't real. I know this feeling won't last. But just let it stay this way for a little while, okay? I can live with myth, really I can.
"Guin?"
"Hmm?"
"The fact that I have a son bothers you, doesn't it?" There was no trace of accusation in his voice, but the question itself made Guin nervous. She swallowed hard.
"A little, yeah."
"A lot," he corrected in a flat tone.
Hot tears came to Guin's eyes. Not now, she thought in anguish, don't ask me this now, just give me a little bit of time to just lie here in your arms...
"Yes? A lot," he repeated, prodding her to answer. Eyes still closed, Andrew reached over to caress her cheek, surprised to feel the wetness of tears there. "Are you upset that I asked?"
"No," Guin responded with a sniffle. "Upset that it bothers me, when it really shouldn't. Upset that you noticed, too." She lifted her head as if preparing to pull away from him. Andrew tightened his embrace and brushed her hair away from her face, locking her eyes with his now open ones.
"It's okay." He stroked the remaining tears from her cheeks. "I didn't give you any warning that I had a son, you weren't expecting to meet him." He gently pulled her face back to his shoulder, laying his cheek against her forehead. "Can you live with me having a son?"
Guin searched her heart and came through with the answer: "Yes." After a moment, she added, "what about his mother, if I may ask."
"John is adopted. The woman who adopted him with me passed away in a car accident when he was an infant." Guin could feel tension shoot through Andrew's body as he talked about his former wife. "We had only been married a short time."
"And you loved her very much," Guin added for him. "What was her name?" she inquired gently.
"Brenda." Andrew breathed out the name with a mournful sigh.
Brenda, Guin repeated in her mind, logging the name into her memory. "Pretty name," she remarked aloud. "Why did you decide to adopt?"
"Because I can't have children," Andrew answered tonelessly.
"Not possible at all?" Guin lifted her head to look at him, but his eyes were closed again.
"Never has been, never will be," he replied with a terse sigh.
"Oh." She nestled her head against him again. "Well that stinks. But at least there are ways around it, if you want children. John seems to have a lot of affection for you, even if he thinks you're a geek."
Andrew smiled wanly. "Yes, he does. As I do for him. He's a good kid, you'll like him."
"I'm sure I will." Guin's mind drifted to the unfinished work sitting on her desk back at the Beardsley's Bed & Breakfast, but she swatted away the thought like a bothersome gnat. At the moment, she didn't want to move, and for some time they didn't, basking in the warmth of the sun and of each other's company.
Andrew sighed contentedly, turning his body toward Guin and pulling her into a full embrace. He kissed her delicately, but she could feel his desire for more. Maybe he wasn't kidding about taking me here and now. Her mind flashed to some of her less successful recent relationships. How many frog princes have I given in to only to find out they were just frogs? I wish I could believe Andrew was different, but... Though yearning for these kisses in her heart, Guin squirmed in his grasp.
Andrew pulled back and looked at her. "No?"
She shook her head, averting her eyes from his. "No."
He nodded, kissing her forehead and moving into a less demanding embrace. Guin closed her eyes, trying to stave off her own heartbreak at her decision. Her warm and joyful mood shattered, she sat up. "I think we should be getting back. I've got work to get back to this afternoon."
Andrew propped himself up on one elbow and raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she said, her voice filled with more conviction than she felt. Andrew shrugged nonchalantly, pulled on his boots and began to put the luncheon items back in his knapsack. Guin managed to get herself back in her saddle, with Andrew mounting his horse shortly after. For several minutes they rode in silence, Guin keeping a slight lead in front of her riding companion. Finally Andrew guided his horse up next to hers.
"Guin, I'm sorry if I offended you," he began quietly, looking straight ahead.
She shook her head. "You didn't offend me."
"Well, then, I'm sorry if I scared you. I would never intentionally push you to do something you didn't want to do."
"It's not that I....I mean, I just...oh phooey." Guin took a deep breath and tried again. "I've just had some bad experiences. I tend to get myself into trouble if I move too fast."
"I understand."
The house soon came into view again. Andrew whistled shrilly, and the groom appeared in the stableyard. Guin and Andrew dismounted and walked toward the house.
"So how many other employees do you have for this household?" she asked.
"Just Henry. I wouldn't trust the horses to anyone else, he's a good man. As for the house, it's not that much trouble for John and myself to take care of it."
Guin nodded as they arrived at the front of the house. She turned to him. "Thank you for a very beautiful day."
"You're welcome," he answered, hesitating. At last he leaned forward to kiss her, and she mirrored the gesture to accept the gentle kiss. "When can I see you again?" he asked quietly.
"Call me," she invited, stroking his face.
"I will." Andrew watched her walk to her car. He waved to her as she got in and backed down the short drive to the lane that would take her out of his world and back into her own. Leave it to Rachel to be right about this, he sighed.