Can't Buy Me Love (Sinclair Sisters 3)

Windows were decorated with trees and gifts. In the lingerie shop, mannequins in red tartan underwear wore Santa hats. And the newsagent’s window had been sprayed with fake snow. Even the big Presbyterian church at the top of the street had bright wreaths hanging from its doors.

A banner strung across the street proudly proclaimed that the Christmas market was the following weekend and included the town’s annual lingerie runway show. She cocked an eyebrow. It was an interesting choice for a Christmas celebration, that was for sure. Of course, Agnes already knew about the market. It was an Invertary tradition and attracted much-needed business to the town. The hotel was booked out for that weekend, and Dougal had been over the details of what the pub was doing during the event. Apparently, they were having Christmas karaoke. She needed to remember to buy earplugs.

Someone with a sense of humor had decorated the Benson Security shop window. It was filled with elves waging war on each other, armed with various stun guns, radios and assorted weapons. There were even casualties. One elf lay sprawled in the fake snow, a pocketknife sticking out of his chest and what looked like tomato sauce blood spilling out from under him. In her current mood, it was definitely a scene Agnes could relate to.

After banging on the door, she turned to watch the street as she waited for Logan. There were only a couple of other people out, and they were heading into the pub. This place was a ghost town, and yet, sadly, it was positively buzzing compared to the town she’d grown up in. The best thing you could say about Arness was…

She drew a blank. There really was nothing good to say about it. Located at the bottom of the Kintyre Peninsular, the dot of a town suffered from flat landscape, constant wind, and long car trips to anywhere interesting.

Man, she hated Scotland.

What was she doing still living here? What cruel fate was this to work ten years and end up in a worse position than when she started? She was the butt of some cosmic joke that just wasn’t funny. When the door swung open behind her, she turned to find Logan looking annoyingly hot in a royal blue crewneck sweater, faded jeans and tan suede boots.

“I hate Christmas,” she said.

A slow smile curled his lips. “Well bah humbug to you too.” He motioned for her to come inside.

“My sister Mairi’s in Canada.” She followed him into the warm interior of the shop. “She’s freezing her backside off under mountains of snow. Here, we get icy rain and endless darkness. In New Zealand, Christmas is in the middle of summer. Why can’t we have Christmas in summer? Nothing happens then anyway.”

“This is Scotland,” Logan said. “We’d still have rain for a summer Christmas, it just wouldn’t be icy.” He grinned. “Probably.”

She found his grin irrationally annoying. “I hate Scotland. And I hate rain. Cold rain. Warm rain. All rain. I hate all rain. And I particularly hate Scotland because all it does is rain.”

“Oookaaay.” Logan studied her long enough for it to become uncomfortable.

“What?” Hadn’t he cottoned on to the fact she wasn’t in the mood to be annoyed? Did he have a death wish?

“Have you eaten?” he asked, after what felt like an eternity of him staring at her.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” She was there to pick up some cameras. That was it. Then she’d head back to her hotel room and spend another night alone, staring at the tartan carpet.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you haven’t. When was the last time you ate?”

Now that he mentioned it, she wasn’t sure. “Breakfast?”

“Figures. Come on, Suzy Sunshine. Let’s get some food into you.” He snagged his jacket off the back of a chair as they headed through the shop and into the back of the building. Like a numpty, Agnes followed.

Before she knew it, they were in the alley behind the shop, and Logan was unlocking the car. “I don’t want food,” Agnes whined. “I don’t want to go out. There are people out there, and I hate people. I just want the cameras, and then I want to return to Fawlty Towers and continue my sad existence.”

“I know you do.” He patted her shoulder. “But everything will look much better once you’ve eaten.”

She glared at the hand on her shoulder. “If you pat me again, I’ll rip off your hand and smack you with it.”

“Right.” He opened the passenger door for her. “Get in and stop talking while I still like you.”

“I especially hate men,” she snarled as she climbed into the car.

Five minutes later, they parked outside a huge stone building that must once have been a church. Now it sported a sign proclaiming it Invertary’s spa and restaurant.

“I’m not dressed for this place.” She was wearing jeans and a sweater. This didn’t look like the kind of place that had Casual Tuesday.

“Nobody will care. Stop making excuses and get out of the car.”

“Fine. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get back to the hotel.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Like a recalcitrant teen, she stomped up the steps to the front doors, frowning as she went.