printed copy

Bad Boys In Kilts

Donna Kauffman

ISBN 0758211996
Publish Date 3/7/2006
Format Trade Paperback
Categories Brava, Bad Boys, Contemporary
Currently out of stock

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Mad. Bad. (Barely) In Plaid.

You know those Scottish bad boys…they don’t wear anything under their kilts, and who would want them to? Now, USA Today bestselling author Donna Kauffman introduces the Chisholm brothers, three of the sexiest lads ever to leave a woman hungry for moor…

Bottoms Up

Rascal Brodie Chisholm has more charm than the law allows, which is a good thing given that he’s bailed out of university to run the local pub. Brodie loves everything about the pub life: the community, the darts, trading barbs with the lads, flirting outrageously with the lasses—except for Kat Henderson, of course. She’d probably kick his ass. But Kat’s about to show Brodie that the woman of his dreams might just be the tomboy next door and that billiards tables can come in handy for games other than shooting pool…

On Tap

Reese Chisholm is a definite man, sure of his ideas and strong of opinion about running the family distillery—until American Daisy MacDonnell shows up. The red-headed beauty has a lot of fancy ideas about promoting his family’s whiskey on the Web, singing their praises (very embarrassing) or something. Not that Reese can remember what she says when she’s sitting in front of him. He’s too busy fantasizing. Moors. Heather. Frolicking and rolling and moaning and….No. Reese Chisholm is all business. He knows what he wants. And what he wants is Daisy…

Night Watch

Tristan always felt he’d been born a century too late. He was a sheepherder, both by profession and desire, with a poet’s heart and a need to share a deep, hungry passion with one special woman. Bestselling author Bree Sullivan has come to Scotland looking to escape the paparazzi. Now, a surprise rainstorm has her stuck in the middle of nowhere, rescued by the world’s hunkiest sheepherder. And suddenly, being alone is the last thing on her mind…

Go on…Tartan up your sex life….

Chapter One

“This place isn’t big enough for the both of us.” Kat Henderson wiped her hands on the already grimy rag hanging from a loop on her coveralls. She glared across the cobblestone square as Daisy MacDonnell flipped the OPEN sign over in the small stationery shop that sat catty-corner to the Hendersons’ own motor-body repair business. “Call me Daisy Mac,” Kat mimicked, remembering how Daisy—all perky American perkiness—had introduced herself several weeks back upon taking over the place for her late aunt, Maude.

Of course, if that sign in the window was the only thing Daisy was flipping in Glenbuie, Kat would have been first in line to welcome their newest resident to their small, eastern highland village. Every male in all of Tayside, it seemed, had been panting after the Yank since the moment she’d stepped out of that hired car.

“Come now,” her father urged. “Enough of that. Hand me that wrench. This bastard is being a stubborn stick in the arse if ever there was one.”

Kat absently handed over the wrench, her thoughts still on the American interloper.

“If you ask me, I say you go over and befriend the enemy,” her father said conversationally, between grunts as he tried to loosen whatever it was that was stuck now. Given the condition of the old Cooper he was working on, it wouldn’t surprise Kat if the whole undercarriage was permanently welded together with ancient axle grease and decades worth of dried manure. Only Hinky Thomas would think a Mini Cooper capable of being used as a farm vehicle.

“Make nice with her? Why on earth would I do something like that?”

“Do you a sight more good than standing here, shooting fiery beams of hell through her front door, that much I do know.”

Kat muttered something under her breath, and reluctantly pulled her gaze away from Maude’s shop. She took the wrench when he waggled it back up at her, then handed him a rag when he asked for one.

“You can’t blame the lads for sniffin’ about now, either,” he went on. “Of course they’re going to do a bit of ogling and the like. She’s a might bit younger than most of the single lasses about town, yourself excluded. She’s not hard on the eyes, and besides that, she’s—”

“Fresh meat. I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me.”

Alastair Henderson rolled out from under the car and looked up at his only daughter. “I wasn’t going to use quite that language, but aye, you’ve hit squarely on it with that observation. She’ll be a challenge to them for a bit, then the dust will settle. More than likely she’ll take up with one or the other, and all will return to normal.”

“She can have all the rest of them, but why did she have to set her sights on—” Kat’s rant ended abruptly as she spied the object of her lust strolling affably down the opposite walkway, stopping just in front of—“Och, the ruddy bastard! Already staking his claim. And in broad daylight, no less. Cheeky wanker.”

“Such language. Yer sainted mum is surely rolling her eyes in the heavens, hearing you talk like that.” Her father reached up and snagged the dangling tool from Kat’s hand before she dropped it on his head, then rolled himself back under the car. “And I sincerely doubt he’s in there doing anything other than chatting her up. Although God love him if he could swing something more at half past eleven in the morn—”

“Papa!” Kat kicked the trolley he was lying on with the toe of her boot. She scowled when he chuckled. “It’s not funny. I’m in pain here. Your only offspring’s heart is bleedin’ and you’re wantin’ to raise a toast to the man’s sexual prowess.”

“What better reason to raise a glass, says I,” he responded, completely unrepentant. “At least it gives the rest of us poor sods some hope.”

Kat shook her head. “Incorrigible, the lot of you.” Although she was certain Brodie Chisholm had had more than a toast raised to his prowess. Which was well documented in these parts. And those a bit abroad as well, if rumors were true. And they likely were. She’d known his charming self all her life, as well as most of the girls he’d spent time honing those skills with. None of whom had been her. Something, of course, she’d been fine with. After all, she was more to him than any of those backseat crumpets would ever be, and proud of it. She’d much rather be his valued friend and confidante than chance losing the special bond they shared for a brief peek at heaven.

Not that she’d ever had the opportunity to turn down the invitation.

“You wouldn’t have us any other way,” her father was saying. “Your mum would be quite disappointed in me for spendin’ as much time alone as I have these past ten years and we both know it.”

Kat had nothing to say to that, because her father was right. Her mum made him promise on her deathbed that he wouldn’t wallow in grief and be a burden to their only daughter for the remainder of his days. In fact, what she’d said was, Find yourself someone to care about and do it before you’re too grizzled for anyone to find ye’ charming.

“And,” he added, “she’d have no patience for the way yer still caterwauling about over Brodie Chisholm all these years later.”

“Shh,” Kat warned, looking over her shoulder. As if Brodie could actually overhear them from across the square. “I’m not caterwauling.”

“Mooning, then.”

She glanced across the street, wondering what was going on behind that closed door. “I’m, uh, I’m merely looking out for the best interests of a good friend. After all, what do we really know about her other than she’s Maude’s great niece, come from America to start a new life. For all we know, she’s running from a husband and a brood of children. Or . . . or worse. Maude never spoke of her.”

Her father rolled out just far enough to give her a look of reproach. “Maude never spoke much at all about anything in her personal life. Kept to herself, that one. And you’d do better to simply own up to your role in this and stop trying to pin it on some innocent bystander.”

Kat huffed out a sigh. “Okay, fine. So I had kind of a crush on him that summer after I finished my sixth-year highers, before Mum passed, when we were, what, seventeen? That was over ten years ago. We were solid friends way before then and have been ever since. So, am I wrong to worry that he’ll get caught up in some passing fancy with the American? Honestly, how do we know she’s not here on some whim? Thinking it a lark to take on her inheritance herself. As if running a shop in a small highland town is a game to be played at.”

“And you know all this about our newcomer because you’ve sat across from her so many mornings over tea?” Her father wasn’t much for sarcasm, and even now, his words were laced with affection.

Kat’s cheeks grew a bit pink. “I’m only sayin’ that he might want to be a bit more circumspect, is all. Until we know what she’s about.”

“And I’m sayin’ that it’s a sad day when a Henderson wants something and doesn’t go after it. I’ve the patience of a saint, which is a good damn thing considering this son of a bitching bastard is about clapped out and I promised Hinky I’d find a way to keep it going. But even I’m about out of patience with you on this matter.”

“I didn’t come running to you for advice now, did I?”

“I’m just sayin’ that I don’t know why you didn’t play your hand when you were the only game in town. No, ye go faffing about until another woman shows up, making all the lads come sniffin’ ’round, then ye start mooning over what might have been and lost chances and the like.” He rolled out from under the car. “There are no lost chances, only missed opportunities. And you know what I always say about that.”

“Opportunities are the chances you make for yourself,” Kat repeated with him. She tossed the rag at him as he sat up.

Her father dabbed the rag to his forehead, blotting off the beads of sweat but leaving a bigger smear of grime behind. “You can pull the wool over everyone else’s eyes, Kat-omine, but no one knows ye like your papa. You and I both know you’ve wanted Brodie Chisholm for so long that you grew comfortable with it, accepted it for what it was, thinking at some point perhaps you’d press for more. Now there’s someone who might compete with you for that spot in his heart and suddenly you’re all concerned, claiming you’re looking after his best interests. All I’m saying to you is that for once, you might want to look after your own.”

Her father was right and they both knew it. “You think I’m being silly.” She gestured at herself. “But look at me, Papa. Daisy is as fresh and pretty as her name. I’m—”

“Solid as a rock and the best damn thing going in this town,” Alastair answered automatically.

It was silly, but his instant and unwavering defense made her eyes water a little. She quickly recovered by glancing back across the square again. Brodie was in there right now with Daisy. And here she was, just standing in the shadows, watching. Knowing, as she’d always known, that this one would be like all the rest, just another passing fancy for him. Only this time she wasn’t so sure. Daisy might not be a true Glenbuie villager quite yet, but she wasn’t some tourist passing through town, either.

And Kat knew she wasn’t the only one feeling the changes that came with time. Brodie came from a strong family, as did she, each of them with ties to Glenbuie that went back several hundred years. Despite his playboy ways, he’d want his own family someday. Had said so to her more than once, hadn’t he? Of course it had been in that dreamy, can’t-imagine-itnow kind of way, but the longing was there nonetheless. She understood it as she’d begun to feel that same longing a wee bit herself.

Her father was right about another thing, too. A Henderson didn’t sit idly by and let others take what was theirs. Shamed as she was to admit it, it would serve her right if Brodie found the one who settled him down, and Kat hadn’t done anything to let him know she fancied herself as that woman. It was supposed to be her. That it was always supposed to be her.

About Donna Kauffman:

Donna Kauffman is the USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of over 70 novels, translated and sold in more than 26 countries around the world. Born into the maelstrom of Washington, D.C., politics, she now lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, where she is surrounded by a completely different kind of wildlife. A contributing blogger for USAToday.com, she is also a DIYer, a baker, a gardener and a volunteer transporter for the Wildlife Center of Virginia and Rockfish Sanctuary. Please visit her online at DonnaKauffman.com.

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