Free A Love for Rebecca by Mayte Uceda

love.”
    “I’d say it’s the whisky talking,” Rebecca quipped.
    “The whisky? No way! I just  . . . love him.”
    “No, seriously, I think it’s the whole Scottish spell that’s been cast over you; it’s clouded your judgment,” Rebecca said.
    “You know what? I’m going to bed.” Lola yawned. “It’s been a long day, and I want to remember everything before I fall sleep. Tomorrow you can tell me more about this Sophie you’ve been talking about.”
    “Sleep well, Juliet,” Berta bid her good night.

DARING DÉCOLLETAGE
    In the morning the girls made tea and prepared toast with homemade lemon curd. Mrs. Munro had left it for them in the refrigerator, and they agreed it was the best they’d ever had. During breakfast, Lola listened to the story of the MacLeods, which they hadn’t dared recount in front of Rory. They also described Mary’s steamy scene down by the river with the guy with the copper-colored hair.
    Lola threw Rebecca a wicked grin as she imagined how embarrassed her friend must have been when she was caught spying.
    That same afternoon, Rory accompanied them to Mrs. Ferguson’s dress shop. The store, like all the others, was on High Street. They tried on several dresses, each one prettier than the last, but Berta and Lola settled on simple attire. Lola, on the other hand, chose the most eye-catching ensemble.
    “This is the first time the festival has been in Beauly,” Rory said. “You can already see lots of people arriving into town. There’s going to be eight groups, including Caledonia, which is Sophie and Kenzie’s band.”
    “Are you going to wear a little skirt for me?” Lola asked mischievously.
    Rory turned red. “I wasn’t planning on it  . . . but I suppose  . . . if you want me to  . . . ”
    “I do!” Lola said quickly, before he could change his mind.
    Sunday morning Berta woke up with a touch of a fever and a sore throat. The change in temperature had affected them all, but Berta, without a doubt, had caught a bad cold.
    When Mrs. Munro found out her renter was under the weather, she appeared at the door loaded down with cold remedies.
    “Here,” she told Rebecca, handing her a pot. “I made a good Scotch broth. Soup, love,” she clarified upon seeing the girl’s confusion. “This will chase away any cold, no matter how bad. Make sure she drinks it nice and hot. I’ve also brought some porridge—oatmeal. Her throat won’t be in any condition for solid food. Here,” she said, holding out two jars as she walked toward the kitchen. “You can add honey and cinnamon. In two or three days she’ll be good as new.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Munro. You’re very kind.”
    “Oh,” she replied with a wave of her hand, “it’s nothing. You remind me of my own children. They’re a little older than you, but a mother will stretch out her wings to protect any little chick in trouble.”
    “We’ll have to return the dresses,” said Lola, emerging from the kitchen. “Berta can’t go anywhere.”
    “Return the dresses?” Mrs. Munro looked at them, her eyes lively. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll stay and take care of her. It’s just a cold, after all.”
    “We wouldn’t want to take advantage of your hospitality  . . . ” Lola hesitated.
    “No, no, it’s all settled. You go to the festival and have a good time; your friend will be well taken care of.”
    Early that afternoon, Lola and Rebecca put on their Celtic Highland attire and emerged from the bedroom to show off their selections. Berta rested on the sofa, snuggled under a light blanket. Mrs. Munro was seated in the floral chair. She jumped up when she saw them. Berta, however, sneezed twice and blew her nose.
    “You look beautiful, my dears,” gushed Mrs. Munro. “Celtic dresses are always so becoming.”
    Lola’s outfit was made of two pieces: a fitted bodice and long skirt, both ruby-red with black piping. She had pulled her long curls back into a braid that made her look