His Lass Wears Tartan by Kathleen Shaputis

said, “What a clumsy little beauty. Look how long the legs are compared to its wee body.”
    “He’ll grow into them. Look, he’s already trying to figure out which goes where.”
    “I’m truly exhausted for them both,” Bruce said as the mare nosed the gangly little thing.
    • • •
    Climbing over the stall fence, Rogue jumped down and landed inside Bruce’s arms. “I dinna need your help getting down from the fence, ya know.”
    “I know, woman, ya just helped birth a foal no less. It’s just my da taught me to assist a lady whenever possible.”
    The warmth of his hands on her waist pulsed electricity through her, soothing her worn muscles. She’d been crouched down in the stall most of the day and appreciated his steadiness.
    They watched the little foal struggle to stand, legs wobbly, even smacking himself in the snout. Once he accomplished that feat, he turned his little face to look over at his mama. “Does he not look determined? It’s just amazing. Somehow he must get all four legs working together before he gets himself dinner.”
    Rogue leaned against Bruce and took a deep breath of his scent. As she relaxed next to him, her mind clicked into motion, comparing this moment with her times with Jonathan. She experienced no unnerving stress, no extreme flutters in her stomach, no damp sweat as with Jonathan. She felt ... cared for. Nothing like in the romantic movies where the man and woman seem barely able to breathe together. She practically lost all thought around Jonathan, her heart racing and a dampness under her arms. This, this was comfortable, but what did that mean? That there was no spark, no zing between them? He was attentive and kind and didn’t mind being silly like when Diva practically washed his face the other day.
But is being friends all there is between us?

What would she say to Putney? The woman would be crushed; she was so smitten with this guy. Although, granted, he was gorgeous.
    A loud crash against wood at the other end of the room startled them. “Dougal, ya wild beast, be respectful of your new wee one here.”
    She turned her face and found Bruce focused on her. She smiled and blinked as his lips came down slowly to touch hers. Soft, gentle lips covered her chapped ones as she marveled at her body’s response to the kiss. She carefully snuggled herself into the curves of his solid frame like pieces of a puzzle perfectly joined together.
    Time stopped as they explored the sweet taste of each other with the tips of their tongues until their kisses became more intense. He ran his fingers through her hair, pressing her harder against him. She felt his heart pounding in rhythm with her own.
    Pulling away ever so slightly, he sighed as their lips parted. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long. I want to be with you all night.”
    Looking up at him through dark lashes, her lips numb and swollen, she whispered, “I’d not be complaining.”
    He kissed her lips softly, then above each eye. “Nae, you probably wouldna, but Miss Putney will have my head if I’m late with my delivery in the morning from oversleeping.”
    A shrill, sweet neigh made them laugh as they moved out of each other’s arms. A chill shivered through where Bruce’s body had kept her warm. As if reading her mind, he stepped close to her side, placing his arm around her waist and drawing her close. He led her out of the stable, and they walked the dirt path until stopping at the passenger’s side of his truck. With her body leaning against the cool door, he stole another long, lingering kiss.
    Catching her foot on the empty crate, she felt Bruce’s arms tighten around her before she tripped. “Oops, I forgot that was there.”
    “I’ll no have ya breaking your ankle.” He kissed her briefly and grabbed the crate, stowing it in the back of the truck. “See ya tomorrow?”
    She nodded and headed over the moat, dreamlike, smiling.

Chapter Seven
    With a castle full of guests, the staff’s mornings